He had woken up that morning, with the usual tremors. I had a quick breakfast and went for a walk along the waterfront. She rained all night. The streets remained wet and slippery. I would have to be careful not to fall. The trees wept drops of sadness. Her leaves wet my head through my barely grown hair. It was the last chemo they gave me. No treatment was inevitably positive. My meager energy reserves would be eaten up by the bloody cancer I suffered from.
The clock without hours would arrive, the cup without a bottom, and life without a future.
The postman called twice. He handed me a brown envelope (no return address). I carefully opened it, reading its contents, I was confused, stunned and accelerated.
In a hospital in the United States, a supposed and strange quantum bed that had the power to cure all diseases. Due to the seriousness of my ailment: of those selected, I was the winner of an award that consisted of a test at no cost.
I packed my bags and headed to the indicated address. They assigned me a companion as a therapist, with whom I boarded a plane. I went into said mosocomium. After exhaustive studies, I was placed in an etheric bed for five fifteen-minute section times. I was fine, physically and emotionally. Nothing changed in my person.
He rested in an armchair in the room, looked out the window at the river, the clouds and that wonderful sun. The long-awaited diagnosis was made to beg. It seemed to me that the healing was a chimera.
Twenty endless days in which the therapist encouraged me and tried to shorten the wait for the results. The much desired moment arrived, in the hands of several doctors who told me that it was extremely encouraging. All analyzes and studies were negative. Would I be cured, oh did they lie? I was left with the unknown. My appearance radiated well-being, radiant, super, a reed silhouette and a peach skin.
Thirty years passed. I remember on some occasions, that nightmare, that I do not know if it was real or a dream that I fulfilled.