You think that everything that you do... your hard work, meticulous planning, your good will... will make everything turn out so that it works in your favour...
But when you stand there, at the foot of the bed, and peer over a man of your age who is reduced to a vegetative state... you can't help but cry.
Like it wasn't bad enough that life gave him a congenital, chronic and terminal disease which will see him live half as long as you or I... Life also had to throw in a terminal bleed in his brain, while he was doing something that he loved, which means he will probably never see his long-term girlfriend again, or finish his university degree....
Why the hell is it not me lying there, a symbiotic creature with those... machines, which are keeping me alive? Why am I being spared?
So where does this leave me? Do I not even try, knowing that at any second it could all go to waste?
I don't know, maybe I'll just keep going and hope for the best.
"There, but for the grace of God, go I"
