I met a guy not much older than me (by three years) at the hospital yesterday when I went in for my morning chemo. He had just come back from Hawaii, and needed blood badly. He has the same type of leukemia that I was diagnosed with, yet his case is terminal. The moment all the nurses left, he asked me if I smoked pot. He says it helps. Yeah, but it's just not my thing, you know? This man is seriously near death and all he wants is to smoke a bowl. Okay, so if it deadens the pain, whatever...I just know that there are so many more things I would do in his case than smoke.
It's scary that his and my case are a lot a like and yet different. He didn't take care of his body and his leukemia came back. I talked to my nurse, she said that I have a 50/50 chance of it recurring. I can't believe it.
The frailty of human life has become painstakingly apparent to me over the last few days.
I just can't see that being me, you know? I have so many other things planned. Life holds lots for me. This damn disease won't be the end of me. I will fuck it over royally if it does.