A Doctor comes up to you in the middle of a street. A day like any other, and then he stops you, and points to a lump on your throat.
“You might want to get that checked out” he mentions briefly. You see that he has a white coat, and an MD next to his name on his nametag. You get that he’s a doctor so you grab him, stop him for a moment.
“What do you mean?” you ask, touching your throat, your fingers passing over the small lump.
His eyes had a dismayed look, like the kind you see when you can’t adopt the dog from the shelter.
“It’s not my right to diagnose you” He begins, “But it’s my moral obligation tell you if I think you have the symptoms for cancer”
He waves your hand away and disappears into the crowd. In a nearby store you look into the reflection of the opaque glass, to see that there is indeed a lump in your throat, dreading the possibility that he may be right. You immediately go to the nearest hospital and painfully await the results.
In the cold waiting room of the doctor’s office, your ears hear the words of the doctor, but your heart refuses to believe it. It’s Cancer. It’s Thyroid Cancer.
“There’s no easy way to say this” The Doctor began in a remorseful voice, “No patients has ever recovered from this level of cancer.” he paused taking a deep breath before continuing "The best we can do is palliative care” He stopped, reminding you that a hospital was a place people died in.
“How long do I have to live?” you asked hopefully
He sucked in a slew of cold air, “1 Month.”
Sitting in the waiting room, by yourself, you sit and wait; pondering about how you will spend every second that you have left.
It hits you like a truck, death is inevitable, there isn’t a way out, and my days are numbered. You sit there, wondering, what was the point of it all? The grind, the amount of work I did, what kind of life did I live?
How do I want to spend my final days? This time between now and my guaranteed death. How am I going to spend this little time of mine? The rest of my life? My final days?
You sit there in the waiting room, the quiet stomping of boots, the coughing of patients, the silently ticking of the clock, the squeaking of wheelchairs, the creek in the chairs as you lean your weight into it, you feel your heart drop, your mind tethered to the thought of how you’re going to spend the time between the now and your inevitable death. The Final Days.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
This issue this person faces does not only apply in that scenario. If the Doctors could find a way to extend your life by a month, you will still inevitably die, a year, and still the same problem, a couple of years, decades, 30 years, 40 years, 50 years death comes to us all, and only when we realize how close death truly is are we forced to consider how we want to spend this time between Now and Death. Our final days.
The scenario of finding cancer simply brought the reality of death closer to us. If the cancer miraculously went away, we are still stuck with the same problem of spending our final days.
How you spend it is for you to decide.
Do what you love. Do what brings you happiness. Do what brings you joy. Do what makes life meaningful.
I can’t tell you what those things are, because our answers are unique to ourselves. A Doctor loves to save lives and a Baker loves to bake. I can simply make things more apparent, to bring you closer to the nature of life and death so that you can begin to consider how you want to spend your days; between the right Now and your Death.