The Time Of The Terminally Ill Extra Novels & Stories

He asked sadly, "So, you think we should just give up and watch Grandpa die?" Jennifer said calmly, "Everyone will eventually die. You're trying so hard to treat Grandpa because you don't want to have regrets. But shouldn't we respect Grandpa's wishes? He's the one suffering and in pain. Do you know how torturous it is for terminal patients to undergo such futile treatments?" Maxwell suddenly hugged her. "Max... Maxwell," Jennifer called out softly, wanting him to let go. But Maxwell sounded broken. "Don't move. Let me hold you just a while."

Carl clung to my lifeless body, refusing food, refusing water. I had no idea how long he stayed like that. The air was thick with decay, the stench unbearable. I had no choice—I entered his dream. He held me tight, whispering over and over, "Yara, don't leave me." I stroked his back. "Let me go. I don't want my body rotting away—it'll be horrible. Please... cremate me. Scatter my ashes into the sea. That's my last wish."

"This is not something you find in a standard medicine cabinet, Sarah. This is a heavy-duty palliative care medication." "Palliative?" I echoed, the word feeling like ash in my mouth. "It’s for advanced cancer patients," she said, her voice dropping into a somber register. "Specifically, it’s a drug administered when the stage is unredeemable. When the goal is no longer a cure, but managing the excruciating pain of the final months. Whoever is taking this drug is living on borrowed time. Six months, maybe less." The room seemed to tilt. I felt a sudden, sharp chill that had nothing to do with the office’s air conditioning. "A few months?"

Sofia probed, and the doctor nodded sadly. “Due to the delay in administering treatment, the condition has already become terminal.” “What are you saying, doctor?” Sofia asked, her voice faltering. “In a couple of days, Ryan Barnes will no longer be with us.”

After being diagnosed with severe systemic lupus erythematosus, my attending physician advised immediate hospitalization. The medical bills were expensive, so I stepped out of the hospital and called my husband. After my 188th call went unanswered, I walked into the hospice service office with my diagnosis report in hand. I said, "Hello, I'd like to schedule my own cremation." The staff member noticed the butterfly-shaped rash on my wrist and looked at me with sympathy. "Sweetheart, did you come alone? Are there any family members with you?"

I was already irritated anyways. "The lady is dying," I muttered letting my softness disappear as i spoke with clinical coldness. "From what I checked, she might not even make it past tonight. She’s terminally ill and initial treatments were neglected, so there is nothing much we can do. Well, maybe if my parents pump her full of drugs then she might stay in this coma for a month longer before passing, but that’s no way for a person to live, Alpha,". I kept my eyes locked unblinkingly onto his, refusing to look down this time.

Granted, they had always gone over different ways to get har to forgive him but they couldn't act on their ideas because that might only make things worse. But this...this was the most terrifying idea of all. "You do realize that one doesn't plan to get terminally ill?" "This could work.I mean, I would be so thrilled to have her by my side again." "And how do you plan on fallen terribly ill?" "I could lock myself in a place filled with dangerous chemical until I'm sure I won't get cured or I could start smoking again... this time, I would smoke every fucking second so...." "I really want to punch you right now."

“Unbelievable! What luck! You buy the insurance, and the very next moment, Mr. Jameson dies for real. I’ve never been this unlucky in my whole life.” He could curse all he wanted. Before I bought the policy, I spent a fortune on expert advice. The coverage fit perfectly with the cause of death—three lives lost in a typhoon. There was not a single loophole. The company had no choice but to pay. Before long, one hundred million was wired into my account. I counted the zeros, and tears almost fell from my eyes. In my past life, I lived on plain boiled noodles to save money. I could not even afford pickled vegetables and only sprinkled a little salt.

Bertha realized that he seemed to have a lot to say tonight, so she just silently hugged his waist, she looked up and seriously listened to Shane's story. ''Recently, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he only had a few months to live, he didn't dare tell his wife. He didn't want her to know about this, so he asked me to think of a way, but in matters related to death like this, it's tough for me to choose.''

"He was suffering too when he hurt you. That night, he locked himself in his room and wouldn't let anyone disturb him. He's terminally ill, he could die at any moment. After breaking up with you, he lost all hope and wanted to give up on life." Wendy remembered how she had brushed off the girl’s words. “This all sounds like some kind of soap opera. How much of this is true?” Wendy’s response pushed the girl over the edge. “How can you be so cold? He’s dying, and you’re here making jokes instead of worrying about him!” Wendy didn’t respond. Seeing people looking their way, the girl wiped her tears and pulled out a pre-prepared note from her bag, handing it to Wendy. "If you want to see him, c