BigBen

6. People often ask “what would you do if you had a year to live?” to get some sort of insight into the psyche of the person answering. It is posed as a challenge, for whatever the answer, people say that you should be doing that anyway.
Live for the Moment!
Well, I know what I would do if I had a year to live. Even 6 months.
I got back from Basic Training in the best shape of my life. I was chiselled out of stone. Very impressive. I had made it through, and was full of myself. Indeed, if you were to ask me, I would have said that there was nothing that I could not do.
When I returned home, there was a letter from the Red Cross, stamped twice with the word ‘Confidential’. What was this? I asked my mother what it was and she replied that it came shortly after I had left for Training.

I opened the letter, and read it carefully. Not quoting verbatim, of course, but the letter was very professional and went something like this:
Dear BigBen931,

This is to inform you of test results from your blood donation from the date JUNE XX, 19XX. Our tests have indicated a positive result for the antibody #$%&*%$# and subsequently we are obliged to inform you of the results. During our regular screening process, donated blood is subjected to several tests that would indicate the acceptable nature of the product. Due to the positive result, you are no longer allowed to donate blood. We thank you for your patronage.
Please take this letter and the enclosed lab result to your family doctor AS SOON AS POSSIBLE so that subsequent tests may be taken.

Well, that didn’t seem too terrible, but who was I to say one way or the other? I went to my family doctor and took the letter.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor said casually. I explained that I had never felt better. I was on top of the world.
“Have you been overly tired lately?” he wondered, and again I re-stated that I could accomplish anything, I was a super-human 17 year-old soldier.
“Wait a second, doc. What does that test say?” I was starting to get a little nervous. What was with the questions, and why could I not donate blood anymore? Why did the Red Cross insist that I talk to a doctor? What does a positive result mean, and what the hell is this anti-body anyway? I was still a virgin at this point in life (although I would have denied that fact to the death, fearing that my inexperience with women could imply weakness, inability or lack of interest), I had no tattoos, no IV drug use. My blood could not be any cleaner if I tried.
“Well, it says here you have a rare blood disorder called _____________. This means that your blood stops carrying oxygen and you get increasingly tired. Eventually, you can’t perform normal functions and are bedridden. The end stages are not painful, and the speed at which it advances makes it very hard to treat.”
“What do you mean? Am I going to die?”
“You should get your affairs in order, yes” was his calm and soothing reply.
I did not really thinking that I was done for. This must be some kind of mix-up. I was perfectly healthy, and on the contrary, I had never felt better.
“Now what?” was the natural response, and the doctor told me that they always do a confirmation test to rule out the false positive test. They would take blood samples and send them to Winnipeg, where the western Canada blood testing centre was. It would take a week to get the results, but the odds of a false positive were 100,000:1. The doc would get me some literature on the disorder (he kept saying disorder instead of disease, and kept assuring me I didn’t catch anything, and I couldn’t give it to anyone) and arrange for medication to slow things down, and give me oxygen when I needed it.
Well. What would you do if a doctor gave you that news? You would take a trip, see the seven wonders of the world. You would jump out of an airplane; you would ride a motorcycle across North America, letting the wind whip through your hair. You would eat fatty foods and drink lots of booze. You would make love, do drugs, with a devil-may-care attitude.
No; unfortunately, the reality is much less exciting. I went home and reflected on my young life of 17 years. I thought about how old I felt. I traced back all of the bad things I had done, and dreamt about how things could have turned out better if only I had been a better person. I thought about spending time with friends and family. I quietly thought about what it will be like at the end. The doctor said it wouldn’t hurt, right?

Well, statistics have a sense of humour some times. Needless to say, I don't buy lottery tickets. I am fine, and love the phrase "FALSE POSITIVE".

Wise reader, what would you do, in the same situation?

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Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.