Once the decision was made we could all relax and get on with it. There was a lot to organise: the clinic, my will, a final psychiatric evaluation. The travel arrangements alone took a while: for someone in my condition, travel is difficult and painstaking. My parents refused to help with them, so they were left to my oldest friend, Ian. Now, with two weeks to go, all that was left was the waiting.
“We should have a party,” I said to Ian. “Get everyone together. Say goodbye, celebrate my life, that kind of thing.”
Read more at our fiction page: A Bitter Martyr