Six Weeks

Life sucks, and then you die.

God how I wish that were true. If that had been true maybe I wouldn’t have such a problem, because life had been good. And now I’m going to die.

My eyes glazed over at what I had just heard. I felt like I wasn’t in the room. Like I was watching my own life play out in the worst possible way. My mind couldn’t handle the information it had just been given.

“How long?” I asked softly.

“It’s hard to say exactly but…”

“How long.” I added more forcefully. The doctor sighed.

“Six weeks,” he looked at me with sympathetic eyes. I wanted to punch him in the face. Doctors go around all day pretending they feel sorry for every one they diagnose. And yet they have no idea themselves what it’s like to be told you have incurable cancer, that you only have a month to live when you should have had eighty more years. “I’m so sorry,” he added. I just shook my head. I had no tears. Not for this doctor, not for this hospital who made so many promises they couldn’t keep. They say it’s to give hope. All it does is make it hurt more.