WindmillSlayer posted:

Cancer.

Cancer is when cells forget to die, or thats how my elementary teacher explained it to the class before she had to leave because the chemo left her far from healthy.

Cancer forgets to die, but the people don't. They still die. My teacher did.

Words mean everything.

Cancer.

Death.

Chemo.

Reliance.

The moment when people stop calling you, giving you support.

The moment the flowers don't arrive anymore.

The moment when you stop caring about the flowers, because it's just to much effort.

The tubes.

In the mouth. The arm. Cathed. Four or five tubes.

They hurt, but it's to much effort to care.

Cancer keeps on forgetting to die. You suppose it might be doing it on purpose.

But you never forget how to die. Your doctor might tell you how to die. He might even help you.

The morphine drip comes down the tube, just a little to much for your withered and weary body.

You know how to die. It's the only thing you have enough energy to care about anymore.

You keep pressing the little grey button.

You suddenly care about the calls.

About the flowers.

About the people who cared about you, regardless of how long ago it was.

You remember.

And you wish you hadn't pressed the button so many times.

A nurse walks in and sees you. She gives a sad smile and leaves.

You're too tired to cry out.

Almost, but not quite, too tired to care. Even about death.