It was Monday. I was supposed to go to see my hematologist to get the official diagnosis. Before the appointment, I simply knew everything what I was going to be told. I knew my diagnosis, I knew what the treatment would look like, I knew approximately how long it would take and what possible side effects it might have and so on. I tried to stay calm and think positively. The doctor had me sit in a chair and as it is seen in many movies, the doctor had to break the diagnosis to me. But I knew what it was going to be, but despite that, when she said: “So, Sir, you are sick.” it was like a big slap on my face. We talked about the upcoming treatment in the capital of Slovakia. (100km away from me) Of course, the talk about the chemotherapy, all possible side effects and all restrictions did not leave me cold. In the deepest spot in my mind, I was still hoping that all of that was just a bad dream. Constant emergence of questions such as: why me? how? when? why?? and again why?? I am 22 and I am supposed to be playing my drums at home, but not being at hospital as an onco-patient. Oh, my…
But, I guess, life is about this, too. It can’t be rosy forever. Ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows…
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