I was the dead man. The doctors were convinced I had a long and slow physical and mental deterioration ahead of me, leading to the predictably miserable aforementioned demise. I got the impression they didn’t really know what was wrong with me. First it was stage IV cancer, and then it was cryptococcus. Seriously? Crypto – coccus? It’s everywhere, apparently.

I declined repeated attempts to consider surgery. Odds were I wouldn’t live more than a year regardless, if their diagnoses were right. But I took the meds, even though they caused me to hallucinate*. Hallucinations don’t matter to a dead man. Not much does.

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