This is not a happy post in the least. Today, my family lost a member, my cousin. His name was Ben, and he had leukemia. He had two bone marrow transplants from his mother, but neither of them took. After the second failure, they told him there was nothing they could do, and gave him a choice. Take meds, and live for 6 months, or not take meds, and live for 6 weeks. He lasted 5 months.
I hadn't actually seen him in months. Every time I was in his area, I was sick myself. I didn't want to speed up his end by giving him whichever bug I had at the time. The last time I mentioned this was to my mother, yesterday. Now that seems silly. He's gone, now.
When we were young, he used to throw sand in my face and tease me, with the company of another cousin. The last time I saw him, I gave him a hug, the last hug he had from me. He was too weak to fight me off, then. But he'd grown up so much. He'd finished his HSC, and was looking at a promising life.
He was diagnosed soon after we discovered the malformed blood vessel in my brain. We both had life-threatening conditions. But his leukemia claimed his life, while my AVM is shrinking.
He wasn't supposed to die! He was supposed to get better! He was supposed to survive, like me!
I'm sorry, so so sorry, Benny.
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