While I was unconscious, I heard Sean crying, repeatedly asking, "Why won't the bleeding stop? Please, stop bleeding..."
"Annie, please, don't scare me."
I could smell the disinfectant pervasive throughout the hospital.
I heard a doctor tell Sean, "She could have lived until next spring, maybe even longer."
"But she said she ran out of money and chose to end the treatment."
"Her condition is now beyond control; there's no point in further treatment."
Sean retorted, "Are you telling me my wife is about to die?"
Without waiting for the doctor to respond, he raised his voice furiously, "I want my wife to live. If you can treat her, do it; if not, get out and find someone who can!"
He summoned countless specialists, declaring no expense was too great to keep me alive.
But terminal illnesses aren't always swayed by wealth.
Sean became obsessed, refusing to listen to reason, insisting on taking me abroad for treatment.
His wealth and influence let him wreak havoc in the hospital without interference.
Until my best friend Lily arrived, carrying my will.
Long ago, I had made it official, leaving all decisions to her should I become incapacitated.
I had specified that if I couldn’t move, eat, or drink, they should let me go because I dreaded pain above all.
Lily slapped Sean and shouted, "With all your money, what were you doing all this time? Showing off now is too late, Mr. Smith! She's dying!"
"Don't even think about taking her anywhere. Where I am, she stays."
Sean, stunned by the will in Lily's hand, froze.
It took a long time before I heard him, crying, pleading softly, "Lily, let me take her. Please, believe me. She can make it. She won’t die. What will I do if she’s gone..."
Lily, looking at him coldly, retorted, "A heartless man like you can live well without anyone. Stop pretending to care; you're just disgusting yourself and everyone else."
She pushed Sean away, sat beside me, and took my hand.
As soon as she began to speak, tears fell.
She asked me, "Do you really not want to live?"
Her crying made me so sad; I wanted to lift my hand to wipe her tears.
To tell her not to pity me.
I was just going to sleep a long, deep sleep.
Once asleep, there would be no more pain.
She asked again, "Can you wake up one more time?"
"It was you who said we should say goodbye properly to leave no regrets. You haven't said goodbye to mom or me; how can you bear it?"
Tears fell from my eyes too.
Suddenly, the life monitor beeped, and the doctor urged Lily to talk more to me.
He said there were signs I might wake up.
That day, Lily held my hand, afraid even to drink water, alternating between crying and laughing—a frightening sight.
I had been ready to die, but her actions made me feel I was bound to wake up and comfort her.
Struggling against my failing body, I finally opened my eyes in the middle of the night.
