5 Stages I Went Through After A Terminal Diagnosis

I'm not a religious man. When I'm given sage counsel from believers it will always fall on deaf ears and most people who know my situation also know that praying is not on my spiritual menu.

Christian friends would try to nudge me, offer to pray for me and I would imagine have done so. That's sweet but I'm fine. Really, now, I'm fine.

I'm not fine.

I have thought about how I could bargain. Ask the man upstairs? Doesn't exist - not to me - and besides begging isn't my style.

So I tried to work out a deal with anything that I could, hoping some fictitious deity may notice. I was kinder; I didn't kill that spider in the corner of the room, I helped a guy in a wheelchair into a shop that had a hefty step. I even donated to a cancer charity... the irony of which was not lost on me.

I felt by doing good deeds - deeds, I might add, I would have done anyway - I was buying life units. Maybe a really good deed would buy me a year! What would that be? Give blood? No I needed bigger. Leave my organs after my death. Not bad.

So I went out of my way to be nice, to be fun to be with, to laugh at stupid unfunny jokes, lend money to unworthy friends, go out to some party when in reality I was feeling sick and tired and just wanted to sleep. Anything to buy life.

I don't think it worked but I hope the result is folks smile when they remember me and not frown at the memory of the Prednisone anger years. I hope.