Tuesday, 6 January 2015

We're all terminal

A friend is dying. More a friend of a friend if you want to get technical, but someone who I'd enjoyed spending time with. He's far too young, a little older than me, in his mid-40s. 

He's certainly drunk too much during all the time that I've known him. He's dying of liver cancer, I'm told it's not alcohol related. 

He doesn't have long now, it's all been terribly fast. He only went to his doctor with stomach pains last autumn. 

He's been told there's nothing they can do for him now. Basically, they've said, "go out and enjoy yourself". 

It's wise advice at any time. We're all terminally ill, in a sense. 

I've been hit by that fact more and more over the past couple of years. A few deaths among The Spreadheads. My own diagnosis with an incurable and potentially fatal lung disease (so give up smoking you div!) catchilly called pulmonary alveolar proteinosis - no wonder the acronym, PAP, is popular. 

Don't worry, I'm in fine health. The disease is a bit of a mystery and I could just have spontaneously shrugged it off according to Doctor Wikipedia. 

It's all made me think though. I'm probably at a fairly good age for a proper, full-on mid-life crisis. I used to think they were for lightweights, defeater as I was of a daily mid-morning crisis brought on by alcohol withdrawal and the like. 

I am running out of time though. I want to keep positive on this. I've got about half my life yet. Believe you me there are times when I've wanted to - and even actively tried to - shorten it. Now I want to make the most of it. 

I had a counsellor once who told me during a session: "you will die and everyone you love will die." I'm not sure how great that is as counselling, but it's a fact I've not given enough consideration to. 



So, it's about bloody time I (and perhaps you) started to put some effort into making these days, hours, minutes and seconds last longer by filling them with something more worthwhile than doping myself with an unrewarding drug.