THREE DAYS TO DIE

THREE DAYS TO DIE

You know how it is. A sudden tiny increment of knowledge comes to you and you think ‘Ah! That’s what that means.’ That’s why I’m in a hurry.

There’s that thing they say about three days before you die. I was reading in the Metro News about a nursing home in South America. They had a dog who would go and sit on the bed of those inmates who were close to the end. I thought the dog might be giving them something; an infection or what not; that maybe the cause and effect were reversed. But no. This dog had a death hunch. The trouble was it made no sense. How could your death be foretold three days ago?

Now I understand. I’ve had that incremental shift. I’ve got something. I’ve got a grasp of something I didn’t have before. Sometimes it’s only being in a given situation that permits you to understand it. It’s not until you fight a dog that it bites you on the bum. And last night something happened. Now I know. I know I have just three days to live.

Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, I’ll be dead. While I’m writing, something is withdrawing.

It’s not a premonition. You must understand that. It is a decision. Something deep down says ‘enough is enough’ and that is it. Enough actually does end up being enough and from that moment the inexplicable countdown begins. Why it’s three days and not weeks, minutes or seconds I have no idea. But that it’s to do with a personal decision, I now realise.

Years ago, back in 1995 when Chris learned for certain that he would never walk again. That was on the Wednesday and Saturday night he was up and gone. But I never put the two together. But for Chris it was clear. He had give up the ghost. Throughout his illness it was the one hope that kept him alive and when that nurse spelled it out for him, delineated the grim truth… Well. That was it: Bang! Over. Done and dusted.

He asked me once what palliative care meant. I lied, thank god. Otherwise, the weight of guilt may have killed me.