The Time Of The Terminally Ill Extra の小説・ストーリー

"It is hard to accept that I will soon be gone, forever and will never see my family again. How does one deal with such things or even accept it" Doctor Wilson firmly held Bradley's hand and squeezed it gently. "I am really sorry about this, sir. You know, had this case been spotted earlier, we could have been able to handle it. But at the stage it was when we discovered it was already terminal. All we could do was micromanage it to earn you a few more years to live". Bradley let out a sigh of exhaustion and said: "Well…what will be will be. I guess I just have to accept my fate and make my last moments with my family count; because all they will have left after I am gone are memories. I got

I asked, my voice thick with hope. Dr. James sighed, his face a mask of professionalism. "On the contrary, she’s slowly dying." "No," I whispered, my knees buckling as I slumped into a chair. "Ashley!" Freja exclaimed, rushing to my side. Dr. James continued, his tone detached. "It’s called terminal lucidity. Sometimes, patients in critical condition show brief signs of recovery just before they pass away. It’s likely your mother won’t last the month." His words felt like a punch to the gut.

"I ordered your favorite soft pink wedding dress. After surgery, the designer will take your measurements. At our wedding, you'll be the most beautiful bride." I smiled and touched his face. This was my farewell. Tears streamed down my face, and a silent thought echoed. "Ethan, there won't be a wedding for us." As the doors to the operating theater closed, I kept my gaze fixed on the three people I loved most; I wanted to commit their faces to memory. Once these doors closed, I knew I would never see them again. As anesthesia dulled my senses, the world around me faded away. My death was declared at precisely 10:00 pm, as indicated by the wall clock.

The number struck him like a physical blow. 22. The number of months he had left to live. James froze, his sharp gaze fixed on the billboard as if it were mocking him. Clementine stopped too, sitting at his feet and looking up at him with curious eyes. He could feel the weight of the number pressing down on him, the stark reminder of his mortality breaking through the fortress of denial he had so carefully constructed. Two months had already slipped by since the devastating diagnosis—a rare, terminal condition with no cure and no options for hope. The doctor’s words had been clinical, precise, and unyielding, as cold as the man he’d delivered them to:

My voice was barely above a whisper. "I have a terminal illness. It's going to take my life soon. I'll be dying." My dad's face turned white, his eyes bulging in horror. "What do you mean, you're going to die?" he screamed, his voice echoing through the room. Tears streamed down my face as I continued, my voice shaking. "I have a few more months left. So, please, stop getting on my wife and my nerves. I want to spend the time I have left with Alice and our baby. When I'm gone, read my will and abide by it. Make sure no one hurts my wife."

Looking at her best friend’s pitiful appearance, she knows that she would not live long. “Anna, I don’t want her to get worried about me. Besides, it’s all I can do to make it up for Andrew. I know Mandy would love him when she gets to know him better. And it will only happen if they live together.” Janet Collins explained in a weak voice. The doctor informed her directly that she’s suffering from terminal cancer which means no treatment to eliminate the cancers. They could only give her medications to relieve symptoms and make her feel as comfortable as possible.

“W-what are you talking about?” “There is a phenomenon we experience with terminal patients where they get a burst of energy before they…pass on-“ I snorted disbelievingly, then frowned “are you saying my mum is going to die.” “I’m not saying she will definitely. It’s a thing we have to inform families about, incase this is your last moments with her.” I had told Lily about it and all we could do was watch her from outside, while fighting our own internal battles. Lily left the hospital earlier. I was only convinced to leave by Hannah when she promised to call if anything changed.

"My bones are conducting the winter early this year, I think. But I wanted to be here. I needed to see one more happy thing manifest before my time runs thin." She let the sentence trail off into the ambient noise of the terminal, leaving the finality of her words hanging in the space between us. She didn’t need to finish it. I knew exactly what she meant—the shadow of her illness was moving through her system with a quiet, predictable rhythm, and we were all acutely aware that the clock was ticking down toward the inevitable end. But today wasn't for grieving; today was for the future.

Not because they were absent, but because they existed, carefully worded documents that used phrases like experimental compassionate protocol and terminal patient participation program while burying the actual substance of what patients were agreeing to somewhere in paragraph nine of a document most of them were too sick to read carefully. Eleven patients. All terminal. All told they were receiving an experimental treatment that might extend their lives. None of them told the treatment was derived from research into my mother’s biology, continued years after my father had supposedly ordered it destroyed. Four of them died within weeks of treatment. The files didn’t specify whether the treatm

“This was a joint decision made by all the specialists.and oncologist invited for this case.” The words landed like a hammer. Dr. Brendan paused before continuing. "What we can do is make her comfortable. Manage her pain. Ensure she spends whatever time she has left with dignity rather than in hospital rooms undergoing procedures that won't change the outcome." Ivan swallowed hard. "How much time does she have?" The doctor hesitated. "Every patient is different, but based on her current condition... I'd estimate a few weeks. Possibly less if her organs continue to deteriorate at this rate."