Standing By

2: Alex

I still feel alive.

Of course, I was most definitely alive. But my looming future did not diminish my outlook on life as much as my family and doctors thought it should. I think I scared them with my cheerfulness sometimes. But, I was determined to feel alive until the day I died.

Dr. Mendoza sighed. I did that thing again where I got lost in my mind. I didn't hear her question. I shook my head slightly to bring me back to the present.

"I'm sorry, what did you ask?" I said, trying hard to sound innocent.

She was far more patient with me than I deserved. I didn't really take these sessions seriously, but my parents made me go to them. They think it'll help me come to terms with my situation. They mean well.

"I asked if you could tell me what you're thinking about," she said, giving me a patient smile. I smiled at her in return. As much as I didn't like therapy, I really did like Dr. Mendoza. She tried hard to make these sessions bearable, and let me talk about other things rather than the things my parents wanted me to talk about.

I sat back against the tan couch, leaning on one of her decorative pillows that were sprinkled along the length of the couch. My smile began to fade.

"I was thinking about... dying actually... feeling guilty in fact. I know everyone is uncertain about my relationship with death, and that concerns them. My parents especially. I don't want them to feel concerned, but I don't know how to help them," I told her.

"You want to figure out a way to make your parents feel better about the fact that you've made peace with your death when they haven't?" Dr. Mendoza clarified.

I just nodded. She didn't go on so I added, "You asked," with a chuckle. She laughed once in response.

"You're right, I did." She said as she scooted her glasses back up her nose and gave me another smile. She readjusted herself and then leaned in towards me.

"Alex, you seem to spend a lot of time thinking about what your death will do to others. Which is only natural. But, I want you to think about what's going on in your life now."

I nodded in agreement. She was right, just because I was cheerful and present on the outside, did not mean I was on the inside.

***

I was diagnosed at birth. No one was really sure what it is, but they knew it was something. My breathing was an issue immediately. The doctor on call examined me and after some tests, he found that I had a bad infection living in my lungs. Since then, my lifespan was always changing. At first, I was given days. My parents sat heartbroken in the hospital, cherishing what time they had with me.

After those first few days, the medication I was given seemed to work. The infection didn't spread, and it actually started to heal. I was given hope. From there, I was given months, then a year. Every year it changed. Every year, infections came and went. I fought each of them off, but my doctors never could figure out what caused them. I was tested for every genetic disease, every known respiratory disorder. Nothing. Finally, my doctors settled on persistent infections.

I tried to convince everyone that I've created something new and wanted a disease named after me. No one thought it was funny. I wasn't really trying to be funny, I just wanted answers.

My life sentence changed often. My parents were told two years, five years, maybe ten years. Once I reached each milestone, sometimes barely, they stopped guessing. By the time I was ten years old, I was tired of the guessing and asked everyone to just treat me today and stop planning for my death tomorrow.