You find out that you will die in five years or less. How did you find this out? What would you do in those five years?
/** NOTE : obviously this is a fictional account as I have not been given 5 years to live. **/
"Five years to live." The words left the doctors lips and crashed into my brain leaving me reeling. They began a looping echo while I stared stupidly at him. His lips continued moving and random sounds reached my ears, but it was as if he had suddenly switched to speaking chinese.
I had gone in for my regular checkup and had mentioned to the doctor that my headaches were getting worse and that I had failed to have my monthly hormonal changes for the last 3 months. He had ordered an MRI. "Just to be safe", he said. When it was done and I was back in his office awaiting the results, he looked at me gravely and said the words that everyone dreads but never truly expects to hear. "Tumour."
He said it was still small, just sitting on my pituitary. In fact, it may not even be cancerous. However, the odds of that were slim, given my previous hypothyroid-like symptoms and my malfunctioning reproductive hormal system. The surgery would be a small quick procedure to remove the growth, and we would only really know in five to ten years whether it would metastasize to the rest of my brain. I would live a normal life for those first five years. After that, well, it was anyones guess.
Once the shock wore off, days later, I began to plan. If I only had five years left to live, by god, I would live them! I would travel to all the far-off places I had ever dreamed of : Ireland, Russia, St. Kitts and Nevis, The Maldives, Bhutan. I would take my family with me and make as many memories as I could. Memories to last them a lifetime. I would write, every day. I would give my dream of becoming an author my fullest attention and effort.
My diagnosis would have given me financial freedom. My dread disease and life insurance would pay out allowing me to stop forcing myself out of bed every morning to get to a job only to travel back home in the evening, exhausted. I would have the freedom to try, and possibly fail, at anything I chose, giving myself the opportunity to possibly succeed beyond my wildest dreams. I would not waste time doing something simply because it is practical and brings home a paycheck.
I would go back to studying. Maybe I could get a teachers diploma, allowing me to work half days and get a break during school holidays. With the extra time, I could study other subjects, just for the fun of it. I would work as a teacher, filling those eager faces with a love of learning.
If I were told I had five years left to live, I would prepare a lifetimes worth of letters, emails, messages, to remind the ones I love that though I might be gone, the love will always, always remain.
/** NOTE : obviously this is a fictional account as I have not been given 5 years to live. **/
"Five years to live." The words left the doctors lips and crashed into my brain leaving me reeling. They began a looping echo while I stared stupidly at him. His lips continued moving and random sounds reached my ears, but it was as if he had suddenly switched to speaking chinese.
I had gone in for my regular checkup and had mentioned to the doctor that my headaches were getting worse and that I had failed to have my monthly hormonal changes for the last 3 months. He had ordered an MRI. "Just to be safe", he said. When it was done and I was back in his office awaiting the results, he looked at me gravely and said the words that everyone dreads but never truly expects to hear. "Tumour."
He said it was still small, just sitting on my pituitary. In fact, it may not even be cancerous. However, the odds of that were slim, given my previous hypothyroid-like symptoms and my malfunctioning reproductive hormal system. The surgery would be a small quick procedure to remove the growth, and we would only really know in five to ten years whether it would metastasize to the rest of my brain. I would live a normal life for those first five years. After that, well, it was anyones guess.
Once the shock wore off, days later, I began to plan. If I only had five years left to live, by god, I would live them! I would travel to all the far-off places I had ever dreamed of : Ireland, Russia, St. Kitts and Nevis, The Maldives, Bhutan. I would take my family with me and make as many memories as I could. Memories to last them a lifetime. I would write, every day. I would give my dream of becoming an author my fullest attention and effort.
My diagnosis would have given me financial freedom. My dread disease and life insurance would pay out allowing me to stop forcing myself out of bed every morning to get to a job only to travel back home in the evening, exhausted. I would have the freedom to try, and possibly fail, at anything I chose, giving myself the opportunity to possibly succeed beyond my wildest dreams. I would not waste time doing something simply because it is practical and brings home a paycheck.
I would go back to studying. Maybe I could get a teachers diploma, allowing me to work half days and get a break during school holidays. With the extra time, I could study other subjects, just for the fun of it. I would work as a teacher, filling those eager faces with a love of learning.
If I were told I had five years left to live, I would prepare a lifetimes worth of letters, emails, messages, to remind the ones I love that though I might be gone, the love will always, always remain.
No comments:
Post a Comment