As I sit here researching my disease, pondering of this life I see. I wonder how much time I have left and how much of it is meaningful.
I'm scared to die, but I'm scared too of living in constant pain and suffering. To gasp for each breath as if the next will never come. So unbearabley unable to comprehend the light-headedness that takes over and as I fall to the ground unable to move I without a sound drift into the darkness where there is no light, and there is no sound. This is what I picture at the end...
I try to make sense of all this but how do you do that when none of it makes any sense. I spontaneously get sick and with a rare disease that's incurable. I feel as if I've been given a death sentence and I have a limited time left to live. What have I done that was so horrible that was so unforgivable that I was given a death sentence?? I just don't understand anymore. I was meant for more; to do more. I tried to inspired people through my writing and I feel I have somewhat done that but I'd want to reach a broader audience. So I can actually see an impact in peoples lives. I watched a tv series that puts things in perspective. No its not fair and it sucks but we can get through with the people closest to us there to help us through it. Through all of what I've been through already I've learned that I must be patient and wait but I also must be vigilant in that I keep the doctors on track with moving forward in the transplant direction.
So I ask, at what point does one throw in the towel and at what point does one say "I'll never give up"?