I'm Jimmy Plunger, I hadn't been feeling well for a while, for differing reasons.
I knew my slut of a wife had started cheating with my cunt of a best friend a few weeks ago, but for a few months I just had felt ill and had gone to see my doctor, Dr James McNab. He'd been our family doctor for maybe 4 decades and was close to retirement. He had done some tests at the start of the previous week and I had an appointment on Tuesday for the results.
I should have been in the prime of life but certainly felt far from it, both physically and mentally. A cheating slut of a wife will grind you down very quickly, the fact that is was with my best friend made it ten times worse, two people you hoped you could rely on, especially now when I was ill and needed those I could rely on to have my back.
This was to be a big week with the test results and once I knew that I was going to make my mind up about what I'd do about my wife and best friend.
Monday set the tone for the week, my little pug, we'd had him for 8 years and he was like a kid to us, we loved him even if we thought it funny to call him 'Flatnose'.
Poor little guy was run over outside of the house by a fucking huge pantechnicon with 14 wheels. Now the poor little fucker had more than a flat nose, he was more or less a part of the road surface. He tried to bite the truck's wheel as it bore down on him so I suppose KIA fits the bill as 'cause of death'.
What a shame, the little fucker was the most loyal thing in the house, he obviously knew more than I did because for years he had growled every time my supposed best friend Dave called at the house. I'd miss Flatnose, Dave not so much.
Tuesday arrived as the day of reckoning and I'd taken time off work to go to see Doc McNab. As my doctor since childhood, we knew each other well and I always spoke to him with respect, never using his first name, always Doctor or Dr. McNab. When I sat in front of him I knew straight away it was bad news, he never bullshitted me, looked me in the eyes and said, "Jimmy, I'm sorry to say it's bad, you have cancer, it's one of the worst sorts and it is very advanced. It's pancreatic cancer and the survival rates are incredibly low. I'm sorry but this type never really has early warning signs and we are well past anything but managing it and your pain."
To cut a long story short, Dr. McNab knew my entire medical history, he knew I was unable to have children, I'd been tested earlier in our marriage and it appears to go back to mumps in childhood. My swimmers weren't up to the job, simple as that. I'd also been badly injured a few years ago in a motor crash with a drunk driver that left me with a damaged hip that meant my walking was a bit laboured and I endured hip pain, especially in winter months.
"Jimmy, I'm sorry, if it can happen it seems to happen to you, you couldn't catch a break if you had massive, big sticky hands... apart from that beautiful wife of yours, of course."
I'd been looking down at my hands and at the last line I raised my eyes and gave him one of those looks. He understood the look instantly.
"Oh, for fuck sake!" I'd never heard him swear before. "You are joking Jimmy, that bitch has thrown her furry hoop over some bastard's Johnston? What a cunt! Ooops sorry, I shouldn't.........."
"Don't worry about it Doc, she's not worth your anger, nor my sorrow. Doc I need to know what my short future holds. How long have I got? And Doc, what will the end be like, how will I be, will I be able to function, I need to know so I can plan what I must do."
"Jimmy, pancreatic is a vicious aggressive cancer. I'm sorry to say you could be gone before three months are out, or sooner, and at best.. well, you might get 6, 9 months maybe a year tops but probably not that long. I'm sorry son."
"Jimmy, the end is likely to be a load of palliative care with you mainly being out of consciousness with very strong pain relief, you are going to need someone to take care of you son, be that family or professional help. My advice is to get everything done that you feel you need to do as soon as you can, this could lay you low very quickly. Don't delay anything important."
"Actually Doc, that makes my decisions a lot easier. I don't see me being able to rely on my wife and I've no close family. Doc I can't see me sticking it out to the bitter end just for its own sake. You familiar with Dylan Thomas, Doc? The Welsh poet, the dying of the light guy?"
"I know him Jimmy, that is one of my favourite poems, I've always hope that my patients would read and understand that poem and fight like hell. That said Jimmy, your race isn't winnable, you just fight for as much time as you need or want."
"Well, Doc, I've always admired that poem "Do not go gentle into that good night." I've always understood it to mean that you should fight for every last breath, fight to keep living and damn dying. Now I see a different meaning, oh yes, I intend to rage against the dying of the light, but just in my own way. I'll be seeing you Doc and thanks for everything you've ever done for me and my whole family over all these years. I wish you long life and happiness in your retirement."
I left Doctor McNab's surgery, he had given me all manner of reading material, a host of prescriptions, mainly for pain relief and my promise to visit him regularly to update him and allow him to give me any changes of meds that may help better with the pain. I also left with a curious look from him, almost as if he could read my mind. The finality of my words of thanks, I think he knew well what was in my heart.
The remainder of Tuesday at home was a quiet day, I had said nothing to the slut about my tests or my appointment today, she no longer rated any consideration from me, and I was damned if I'd tell her anything she didn't strictly need to know, such as the fact that I had decided that she was to predecease me.
On Wednesday morning I called into work and resigned, I wouldn't need a job, shit I had money in the bank, nobody I cared to provide future finance for and I'd soon be dead, even Flatnose was gone.
My boss who really was a good friend to me, well, he was shocked, told me he had thought I was happy working with and for him and that all was good. I thanked him for the good years, that I had indeed been happy but that he would soon find out the reasons behind me quitting but sorry, right now I can't say any more.
