I saw the grim reaper. He’s a friend.

I’ve been sick recently.

If you’re familiar with serious or chronic illnesses, then you know too well what I mean when I say the fear has been debilitating.

In 2019, I was diagnosed with leukaemia. There was no price too high to pay in order to stay alive.

2 countries. Dozens of doctors, countless more nurses. 6 months in hospitals. The obliteration of my bone marrow, and the desperate hunt for a replacement donor. Half a million dollars, and thousands of pills.

One near-death experience. It haunts me still.

The grim reaper stood,
Patient, at the foot of my bed.
Not far from where my head rests,
I see him over there.

I can’t seem to say a word.
Everyone else seems unaware.
I hear their worried voices
fill the heavy air.

“It can be your time” he tells me,
“If the pain is more than you can bear”.
His heavy question dulls the ache,
Quietly it lingers there.

It was a merciful offer,
A kind extended hand.
That tempting moment stood in time,
I wondered: did I dare?

Finally, I turn to tell him
As the day slips away,
“I’m not yet ready,
I think I’m going to stay.”

Almost exactly to the day, it’s been 3 years on. I’m still here.

I fear death more than I ever did. Yet, I know first-hand how much he can also be a friend.

Today, I’m living with the price that was paid. The consequences of chemo, chemo and more chemo — including Cyclophosphamide, derived from mustard gas — have led to lifelong illnesses that I face daily.

And the anxieties that come with them… They’re tough to explain and tougher still to understand.

30 stares down at me,
Asking if I will get there
I always dreaded getting old
The irony is unfair.

Death hasn’t yet gotten me,
But he lingers in the air.
His fingerprints are on my skin,
I know he’s waiting for me there.

For now, I’ll take the good days as they come. Scribble out mediocre poetry on the bad ones. I question how long I’ll be around for, but I’ll live my life like I’ll be a hundred one day.

Wish me luck.