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I got a reward for being the best writer in our group, even I haven’t written a single word for more than one month.
It’s so tempting to quit, but, always a but, it’s time to go back to the game.
I have an almost perfect excuse: my radiation therapy hit me really hard. I had thought that my situation couldn’t be worse, I mean after going through all of these, the chemo, the surgery and I should be immune to any kind of pains, but instead it seemed to be intensifying and there would always be something worse, with new symptoms, new sufferings being thrown at me just as I thought I had a handle on the old ones.
There’s nothing new about the fatigue, the running stomach, and nauseas. But besides these, there is a funny taste in my mouth all the time. It makes the best food in the world taste like rubber. And my stomach has become my worst enemy. You can’t image what it would be like if two opposite sensations—the nagging hunger and the sickness of being over-fed, could both exist, congealing in my stomach, torturing me.
Under such situation, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
Writing was supposed to be a welcome distraction, however, it stopped to work this time. I guess I kind of resent this fact, and I simply stop trying. I spent most of time lying in bed, in junk novels, in stupid TV programs. I felt like a stinky fish, rotting inside out, piece by piece, little by little.
However, every night, no matter how exhausted I felt, I still needed to pull myself together, dragged myself to the hospital and walked into that damn thick door. Get stripped, lie down, and be pinned down on that torturous table.
Sometimes I would imagine, maybe one day I would mutate, like the spiderman who absorbing too much deadly radiations, and I would also have super power—healing, definitely I want super-healing power, so I could fix myself and everyone else outside that damn door, including that 22-year-old boy who suffering from colorectal cancer.
That’s purely crazy illusion. But in that illusion, I don’t feel like a rotten fish. I am still a human, whole and secure.
Dempsey: I really pray for your health. You deserve an everlasting life, only bacause you are cherished by kindness and compelling the aweful. I have been sick ...
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