EXO SMUT TIME: THE SHIPS

The Bucket List- Pt. 1

1995, One Year

How are people supposed to react when they're told they have a limited amount of time to live?

Are they supposed to break down?

Have a fit?

Or do they remain numb? Almost in disbelief? From personal experience, I would say it would be this. A cold and numbing feeling taking over your body, from head to toe. In this case, my body reacted before my brain did, and small droplets of water fell down my cheeks and onto my lap, darkening the light jeans for a moment before it went back to it's original color. And even as I brought my hands to my face, muffling the quiet sobs, just how grave the situation was, isn't exactly grasped. The idea that my life span has been cut down to twelve months, one year, wasn't the problem.

The problem was the fact that I had no idea or any remote knowledge on how to handle the conflicting and major inconvenience. Even as I tell you this, you can tell that I am beyond confused and just stupidly numb. But as I sit here, on the cushioned clinic bed, it starts to sink in. I start growing aware of my surroundings and everything is closing in, air difficult to get into my lungs. The doctors and nurses are around but they're not doing much, if anything I become a spectacle in their eyes, a new test subject for the amount of wires and machinery they'll connect me to in the near future. They'll say that it's to find a way for the illness to be delayed in my body.

I can hear them, but I'm not exactly listening. Not exactly comprehending. All I know is that I have a year, twelve months that will soon be reduced to six, then three, and finally one month. They say that I won't be able to feel it inside me, not painfully at least. It'll be uncomfortable, and a harsh reminder that I'm technically a ticking time bomb. But not painful. I'm not sure if it's supposed to make me feel better, or have some sort of comfort coming out of this, but it only proves to make me cry harder. I pull my legs close to my chest, two nurses finding the scene before them too much to bare. I hear their footsteps despite my loud sobs, I feel two pairs of arms circling my body. In their soft and smooth voices, they tell me I need to find a way to breathe, to gain oxygen back into my lungs, otherwise I might pass out. Honestly, I don't think it'll make much of a difference if I pass out or not, the painful reality will still be there.

"Valvular heart disease. Unfortunately, we detected it far too late. It's advanced rapidly, which would explain the times you've fainted."

"One year... can be delayed to two or maybe three years if you're lucky. Surgery is the only option in this case, if finding you a donor is impossible."

"Your upper right valve isn't closing properly. Blood isn't pumping correctly in and out of your heart. We can put you on the heart transplanting list... but it's very difficult to find a donor that will match..."

All of it is just a nicer way of saying that I have no cure, no possible way to extend my life to an extra twenty years. Somehow, I make it out of the hospital room with my prescribed medicine in hand, instructions on how much to take inside the small pharmacy bag. I don't think the medicine will do much anyway, my pink slip to death has already been signed. Each word that the doctors told me swirl around in my head, each word making little to no sense, no matter how many times I analyze it. No matter how many times I make my brain scream it at me, the only words that stand out and make perfect sense are that I'm dying.

I shuffle up to the pay phone just outside the hospital, taking out ten cents and cashing them into the pay phone slot. I dial the number that is by this point, engraved into my memory, eyes scanning over the first bottle of pills. For the blood pressure. I chew on my bottom lip, a hand coming up to put a strand of hair behind my ear that then follows to push my glasses up. Finally, after the third ring, the phone is picked up. "Hello?"