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For a long time, I had imagined what it was like to be diagnosed with a terminal disease. My uncle, who was very dear to me, died of lung cancer. It was later revealed that, despite recognizing he had a short time left, he had forgotten to warn the rest of the family. I couldn’t get my head around the thought of resigning to one’s destiny. Later, I had an insight that provided me with much-needed insight.
I was part of a team that toured the local hospital about two months ago, organized by a local charity group. We were supposed to spend time with them and raise their spirits. In the course of interacting with the patients, I met a middle-aged woman named Martha, who was a mother of two kids, a girl and a boy, and was undergoing palliative chemotherapy as a treatment to control Metastatic Melanoma.
The Melanoma had been detected earlier and treated, but while she was in remission, it recurred undetected and spread much faster beyond the point of being treated. The second time it was detected, she decided to reconcile with her fate. It struck me that she seemed to be more positive about it than I was. She explained that the support and company of friends was what kept her going forward. She thanked me for paying them a visit. Later, I couldn’t help but wonder whether our support would have made my uncle’s final moments better or even encouraged him to fight the disease. It was a worthy experience that I will hold dear for the rest of my life.
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