How bad is bad?
A quarter of a cup of blood from the lungs every few hours; that seems to be bad. (Or maybe it's good, that the metastatic tumours are bleeding, I have them on the run, yeah?).
Pain is beyond anything I could have described. Sleep is out of reach, there's only an eerie doze lit with dreams I don't want to recall.
There's no Care Team, but that may be a good thing. I can't look to a magician for salvation, nor for a prognostication..."How long have I got, Doc?"
I'm on my own, with nothing left but the determination not to die. And that's the way it should be. This is my fight. Not that of some doctor, or some insurance adjuster.
I love my wife and my dogs so much. Maybe I'm supposed to 'fall into the arms of Jesus and let go.' I have been told this, more than once.
I am staying. (And since present is the Five Minute Friday prompt this wek, I igure I have that covered.)
There is no more the world can do,
there is nowhere to hide,
and there’s only one way through
to the other side
of this vale of blood and tears,
if another side exists,
and that’s to put aside my fears
and with all strength resist
temptation to give up the fight,
to rest, now, and give in,
for even in this fading light,
I still think I can win.
This may kill me; it will try,
but I’ll only be dead if I die.
This clip from Avengers: Infinity War says it best. (Click here if your device loadeth not the video.)