Jodie-Lee will never know if the professor’s hunch that tomatoes cause cancer is true. She’s dead.
For years now I have ordered my Spring bulbs from your once excellent online service. This year I ordered the newly developed daffodil bulbs that have brilliant white petals with a bright pink centre. I was quite excited to see the buds forming. Then when they flowered they were all bright yellow. It was such a disappointment.
I contacted your Complaints Department and they said that it was quite a few months since I had made the order. The replacement time had lapsed and I should have made the complaint about getting the wrong bulbs earlier. But I couldn’t, could I? Not until they flowered.
I ordered these special daffodil bulbs the week the doctor told me I have terminal cancer. This was to be my last Spring and the pink and white daffodils were to be one of the joys of the last Spring season I shall see. They were called Delnashaugh Daffodils. They cost me $79.99 for 30 bulbs. There’s no chance now of ever seeing these flowers in the real.
Now that the cancer has spread to my liver I found the yellow daffodils to be offensive and inconsiderate. There’s no need to offer to replace them. I’ll probably be dead even before they arrive in the mail. It is so upsetting to have my life end with such a disappointment.
My friend Rebecca is an enthusiastic gardener and I have included her full name and address, plus half a dozen names of other daffodil bulbs of various shapes and shades from your catalogue. She would appreciate getting them along with the 30 Delnashaugh Daffodil bulbs, and I would regard your sending them to her as adequate compensation for the gross error you made during my terminal illness.
Mrs M. McPherson
Lloyd would reheat a mug of coffee twice a day. He would place the mug in the microwave, press the one minute button, and start.
Every time he would impatiently pace up and down in front of the microwave; this was one minute of his life wasted. One minute wasted! How things would add up! Reheating twice a day meant two minutes wasted a day. That was almost quarter of an hour a week. Multiply that by the number of weeks in a year and it would come to thirteen hours. In round numbers that was one whole day wasted every two years. In a decade that would be five days. In fifty years it would amount to a month or so.
How he would appreciate that extra month at the end of his life! “Hey!” said God. “You didn’t waste two minutes a day reheating your coffee. You drank your coffee cold. You saved a month! Here’s that extra month tacked onto the end of your life!”
Time went by. The end was near. Lloyd lay on his hospital bed wracked with bone cancer. The pain was excruciating. Things dragged on for an extra month.
Norman was a very tidy man. The lawn and garden around his house was a picture. He would spray quite a lot under the trees and under the fence railing. Always with Roundup.
“Nothing beats Roundup,” Norm would say. “The weeds see me coming with my back spray pack and they start running.”
That’s why he would spray very often, like once a week. Every Wednesday. It worked. As was said, his lawn and garden was a picture.
Anyway although at first he thought he was getting the flu he’s recently been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. That means that these days his wife, Pearl, has to do the spraying.
The legendary film star, Fortescue Langworthy, has died aged 97. What an icon!
Two years ago he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Two months back he was diagnosed with bowel cancer and has been receiving experimental treatment in Mexico. He had just returned from Mexico when he came down with pneumonia.
The family have asked for privacy at this sad time.
The cause of death is unknown.
It had been the most horrific twelve months of his life. Blair had undergone operations and chemotherapy and goodness knows what. And now he was as cured as he could be. His last appointment with the specialist was over. All was well. It was the beginning of a new phase of his existence. He was heading home.
That was when the writer of this story couldn’t decide whether to have him choke to death on a hot dog he bought on the way home, or let things alone.
“How may I help?” asked the shop assistant.
“I would like a hot dog, please.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re out of them.”
So that was decided. Blair returned to his car alive! Hurrah!
As he got into his car he had a heart attack.
How stressful! Conchita was worried sick. Her husband was away for the afternoon and she was a mess. When he came home she had to tell him; she was in love with another man and she was going off with him. His name was Rex. As far as Conchita was concerned, her marriage was over.
Conchita’s husband arrived home. “Honey,” he said, “I’ve something to tell you. I went to the doctor’s this afternoon and I’ve got cancer. It’s terminal. I’ve been given three weeks at the most.”
Oh the relief!
Look, said the doctor, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your cancer is terminal.
Oh but doctor, said the patient, how long have I got?
You haven’t got too long, said the doctor. Maybe a month, six weeks. During that time we’ll make you as comfortable as possible. There will be days of discomfort, but nothing that can’t in the main be relieved.
But doctor, I don’t want to die yet. Can’t they operate or something?
There’s very little can be done. It’s too advanced, said the doctor. Would you like me to tell your wife, or is that something you’d prefer to do yourself?
I don’t know. I’m just bewildered. Shocked and bewildered. I don’t feel that sick. Maybe there’s a mistake?
I’m sorry, said the doctor.
OK, said the tutor at the Med. School. Times up! Swap roles now. The one who played the patient now plays the doctor. This time, you are to role-play breaking the sad news of terminal cancer to the spouse.
Felicity had cancer and was in hospital. Dying. She was in America. Her daughter was with her. Her son, who lived in Australia, was coming over.
For two weeks her son stayed and visited every day. Then he had to go back to Australia because of family and work commitments. He came to say goodbye. He left for Australia.
O the grief… Felicity… how she wished she was dead. How she wished she was dead.
Violet was the mother of three. She had cancer. She was thirty-six. Her three children were ten, eight and four. They visited their mother every day at the hospital.
Violet’s pain increased. They put her on morphine. She started to slur a little. She started to hallucinate. Her children were frightened of her.
Violet told the doctor she was not to take the morphine. The pain was excruciating. Her children continued to visit. Violet smiled calmly.
Today, Violet’s long dead. Her children are all grown up. How they would like to wind the clock back.