I was, obviously, rushed to the hospital. Even after I had told my girlfriend that I would be dying anyways. I had slowly slipped into depression and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
My pain-filled couple of days led me to go sooner than everyone had expected.
It probably hurt more for me, because I wanted to do one last thing before the day came.
What a pity that I remembered that on the way to hospital in the ambulance. I needed one because I could not even get out of bed due to the severe pain. I scared my girlfriend. She was most likely traumatised.
She also started crying a lot and eating more ever since I told her the news. Luckily, she wasn’t getting fat.
She was not ruining her chances of finding love again after I had left.
I don’t remember much about the trip. I was too busy being drugged to remember much. I remember waking up to my mother’s tear-stained face.
I believed that I truly was dying. My parents’ hope filled calls were all just a way for them to deal with the situation. They just wanted to reassure themselves that what I said was not true. They did not want me dead.
Well, I was sorry that I would be dying