The Time Of The Terminally Ill Extra Novels & Stories

“Treatments you say? They are experiments and honestly, I am not ready to be anyone’s lab rat,” I didn’t want to spend my last days in a white pale room surrounded by death. I want to be happy. I want to go with a box full of memories, I want her to remember me as her nagging annoying best friend, not the ailing patient that she watched drift away from herself daily. God, I want to live a little before I die and although I have tried to explain this again and again, it is almost like nobody is listening. “Does he know?’ she asked folding her hand and glaring at me. “Does he know his future wife is terminally sick?”

I scowled, and she cracked up. "Turns out it's chronic. Terminal. The doctors claim I only have so much fight left in me. They had a treatment plan, the final one, and I was excited to see you again. To go home. But I got the news on Friday that it had failed. There’s nothing they can do.” “I don’t buy that.” I shook my head, bringing my laptop to research it. I know the basics. Too much sugar or too little. Why would someone die from it?

She didn't have much time left, and she didn't want to waste what little time she had in the hospital. She wanted to spend more time with her mother and her son. "I know. I'm prepared for it. Can you increase the painkiller's dosage? The pain has gotten a little more intense lately," Clara said. The doctor sighed. He could understand why Clara would make that choice. What surprised him was Clara's calmness in the face of death. He had seen many terminal patients in his career. Nearly all of them tried desperately to grasp at the possibility of survival once they found out that their days were numbered.

The voice carried across the quiet night, older, rougher, but still the same. “I’m not here to finish anything,” he called. “I’m here because it never finished me.” She kept the barrel steady. “You escaped once. You won’t again.” “I didn’t escape,” he said. “I was released. Quietly. Medical parole. Terminal diagnosis. They thought I would die in a bed. I chose to die somewhere that mattered.” He took one step forward. She racked the slide. He stopped. “I have six months. Maybe less. The doctors said heart failure. Ironic, isn’t it? All those years watching yours beat for each other, and mine finally gives out.”

Terra questioned looking between them. “I'm an old man, of course I'm taking medicines for unforeseen illnesses as my immune system is liable to contact any little sickness.” He explained and Terra just stood away looking at his aged facial features and tired hands with fear, like it was deja vu. “I just don't want anything happening to you.” She explained with vulnerability and he smiled warmly staring at her. “Everything will be okay.” He didn't want to tell her about his terminal illness and his life span, so he just assured her. He stretched out his hand and she held it giving it a warm squeeze.

They said that we would most likely need to stop pursuing treatments aimed at curing Beth’s cancer, and move towards palliative treatment options that were focused on pain relief and quality of life. Most jarring of all, they said Beth likely had just one to two years left to live… as though her dying was no longer a remote possibility but a certainty. It was a harsh reality that I simply wasn’t willing to accept. So I asked questions. Lots of them. And no matter how many questions they answered, I kept asking more. I was looking for a loophole, a crack, something to prove this wasn’t real. How can you be so sure it is terminal? Can we operate again? What is the risk it will spread to oth

“Winnie, don’t fight over me. This is all my fault. “My illness is holding you back. I’m dying anyway, so all these treatments are just wishful thinking. I’ll be damned if I affect your life anymore.” His face was pale as he held Winnie’s hand. “I’m already very happy that I had three more years with you. “Winnie, I hope you have a happy life with Benjamin. I’ll see you in the next life.” After that, he ran out with teary eyes. Winnie was anxious. She looked up and slapped me across the face. “Why can’t you be generous toward a terminally ill patient? Are you even a man?” she said through gritted teeth.

"You don't have to be afraid. I won't hurt you anymore, I swear." Just then, Bernice hurried back with the report. "Ms. Winslow, we have the results. This is a palliative care drug for terminal patients, used to ease their pain at the very end." Geri knew exactly what palliative care meant. Her hands trembled as she took the report. It felt like the heavens were playing the cruelest joke on her.

“I'm terminally ill, Hayes. I have Aplastic Anemia and those pills you saw me take were just my medications." “I'm dying, Hayes."