Story (12 April)

This is another oldie, I think I wrote when I was in Jr. High. My teacher said she cried when she read it. At the time I thought that was pretty sappy, but time and experience have corrected that misguided feeling. I recently found it tucked away in an old binder, and thought I’d dust it off for whoever reads this thing to see.

“I Have a Disease”

I have a disease that is slowly killing me. I don’t know when I’ll go, but it’ll probably be sometime soon. The doctors gave me six months to live, but I know it’s gonna be less that that. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.

I first found out that I had cancer when I was thirteen. It sucked. I was always in and out of hospitals, and they were always sticking needles in me, telling me that it wa the last test that they need to do. Liars.

It started giving me trouble when I was fourteen. The doctors thought that the cancer had spread. Then they did something called a biopsy (that’s where they open you up and check to see if the cancer had spread) and to me that the cancer had spread to my lungs. That’s when I learned that I had six months to live.

There are way too many things that I want to do before I go. DisneyWorld, Universal Studios, you know. Oh, I know it’ll never happen, because we simply can’t afford it. We could apply for Children’s Charity, but my mom’s too proud, and dad’s never home. I think he’s off having an affair, mostly ’cause he works in an office building, he’s rarely home, and I watch lots of movies.

My brother used to treat me like crap, but now he visits a lot with his friends. His girlfriend is real nice, sometimes she brings me flowers. It’s the thought that counts. I know that my brother is taking this predicament hard, and sometimes I wonder if he sleeps any more. He looks sicker than me some days.

The guys on the football squad gave me a helmet and jersey signed by all of them. That was really nice of them. I wear the jersey a lot, but I keep the helmet by my bed. I want to be buried with it.

The kids at school have brought flowers and cards too. Some of the guys even “sneak” me some good greasy food, because the hospital food tastes like puke (and I would know). “Sneak”, because I think my nurse knows, but let’s them do it anyway.

My cancer has hit just about everyone I know pretty hard. I have no problem, though. There’s a preacher in the room next to mine, and we visit a lot. He even got me to be a Christian, and told me not to be scared of death because I’m going to heaven. Not that I was scared anyway. Heaven sounds pretty cool, and a whole lot better than this stinkin’ hospital bed.

My cancer has been acting up lately. It’s really painful. It feels as if my lungs are disintegrating and my blood is boiling inside of me. I was on the respirator for 13.5 hours yesterday because of that attack. It isn’t going to be long now. I’m giving it two weeks. Tops.

I wish I could think of a word that describes how I feel with cancer in the blood and lungs. I can hardly breathe as I write this final paragraph. The reason I haven’t mentioned any names is because I don’t want my family and friends to be overwhelmed with sympathy cards and the like. But inspite of that, I will mention my name, just so you know who was talking to you here. I’m Jack. Goodbye.

Note–> this story seems to have struck a chord with some people. Let me know what you think of it, but please don’t tell me if you cried. I hate knowing I caused that.


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