Tomorrow marks the end of the Mayan Calendar and some fear that this will be the end of the world as we know it. There are several reasons why this would be of interest for somebody with a cancer with no cure.
Firstly, and most obviously, we all die. Well, most of us. If this happens, none of my love ones would have to see me die, and deal with it, we would all be dead together. Those who survive, would be so upset about several people dying, I would be but a speck on their thoughts. This would be preferable to just little old me, coming to the end of the line of my fight with cancer treatment, which if that did happen, would cause, I imagine, a national day of mourning.
Secondly, if the apocalypse does come, and I manage to find my way into a bunker, I do not have enough drugs to last me for more than a month. I would be on borrowed time. Borrowed time without the chemotherapy and borrowed time because the people I am in the bunker me would murder me after a few days without my pain medication. If they then ate me, they could get myeloma. Maybe I just wouldn’t tell them.
Thirdly, those with myeloma cannot really run or manage large hurdles. If the apocalypse was a gradual process, rather than say, one where the switch just goes out in an anticlimax, I would be one of the first to die. I have always said it. I have watched ‘Independence Day’ enough times to know this much. I have looked it up in the dictionary and I know it was not the apocalypse, but if I was on James Cameron’s ‘Titanic’, I’d be one of those people who hit the propeller before landing in the big tank posing as the Atlantic. If the actual apocalypse happened slowly, as the current rain suggests, you just know that I would fall into the crater created by the earthquake inside my flat. Or, let’s imagine a tree were to fall in my vicinity, I would not be able to jump over it or dodge it. I’d either be crushed or break my neck tripping on a twig. At least it would end quickly.
Finally, if a disaster did happen, in those last moments on this world, I would not be able to tell the people I love just how much I love them and how they make me feel. Those people would go to the grave without me warming their hearts further. Shame.Should I start calling them now? I probably would regret that on Saturday wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t even be able to blame it on the booze. I find the best way to get through life is to bottle such things up and hope that the people who touch my life know it intrinsically. This is what I hope at least. I don’t know if this is the reality.
Obviously, I believe all this hysteria to be a load of old tomfoolery and the people who fear it, should be thankful that their body is not waging a war against their being. When I actually stare into the face of possible death at the end of January or February, at that moment, outpourings of truth and Hallmark feeling are not anticipated, maybe just a few group emails.
Be Safe People. Hug and Embrace. If that fails, just have a beer.
The end of the world is not nigh.