Give Me Two Weeks

Seven weeks have passed since I started the chemo-drug Methotrexate. Sadly, my dose has increased, which seems to be normal -a fact they didn’t share with me at first. Once a week, I meet the Nightingales, that’s what I call them. A form of endearment, a tribute to Florence Nightingale and all the others who followed in her footsteps, and take care of us when we need them the most.

A Woman Called Rose

I had already checked out, my friend -as usual- took her time, she was not even near the register. I had time to kill, and I sat down on the bench close to the checkout and watched the people around me. I am in no hurry on Saturdays, I can piddle around as I please. 

Is There Hope?

I have a disease that can take up to fifteen years off my life expectancy, and I happen to find this highly inconvenient. I have been setting the age of my demise at 80′-something, so fifteen years less would mean I could say bye-bye with 65, which is just not an option. Don’t you dare cheat me out of my years!