He had a highly malignant Lymphoma that seems to show a relentless power over the talents and knowledge of his physicians. The illogic of this disease seem to find its own logic for survival by destroying its host. He had tried his latest grueling attempt at triumph with therapies only to be rebuked by nature. He was dying slowly and the flicker of recognition sat despondently on his brow. Left to his own devises in a private room where all bravado and smiles are washed away, he would curl up in his bed and listen to the softest of melodies and peace would surround him. It was truly a wonder of the human mind, of its many interiors, imprisoning the harsh within the softness of art.
The day before he was released from the hospital was the twelfth day before Christmas, he asked if he would make it to New Year. And as all scientist tend to wear the cloak of realism and statistics he was told "most probably." The weak smile faded from his face and within those few fragments of time where his brain's interior collated his desires to the reality, a defiance rose on the edges of his green eyes. The brows raised and the crows feet multiplied in a state of determination and then moments later it was gone.
It was the spring from hell the next year and a daily flood of rain mushed the grass into muddy puddles. The sun now hiding behind the gray and desolate clouds, barely registered itself. He was readmitted to the hospital weakened and emaciated from the fight against an enemy he could not fathom. His demeanor unchanged but a vestige of a smile still lingered on the corner of his mouth. He had beaten the time alloted to him. There was no rejoicing nor contempt, just a flicker of defiance on his brow. After the comfort and care had been given to him, he went home again, this time he was told for good.
Yet as the summer sun began to part the clouds and heal the wounds of a frightful spring, he was readmitted frail as before, a little more of the little less of a body on him but a lot more of the defiance in him. His brow was set in permanence now into what had been fleeting and on demand before. He still wanted to sit up in bed without help and minimized the agony that only his face would betray but never his voice.
It was the twelfth day in June in the morning and he lay in bed, dressed in a suit that betrayed the thinned, bony form of his being. He wore a blue tie against a starch white shirt. His face was all smiles from end to end. The wrinkles of a fallen face and the gravity drained flesh disappeared to a face of a youth. it was a remarkable transformation. His eyes and mouth was pinned to the sides in a constant smile. He joked and shook hands with his physicians and nurses. A thank you of sorts for their endeavors.
At around 3:30 PM he was wheeled into the hospital chapel. His only daughter was married there a half hour later by the priest. After the ceremony the family went back to his private room. He kissed his daughter and his new son-in-law and wished them a safe journey on their honeymoon.
It was 6:00 PM the same evening when his loving wife came to the nursing desk and wept longingly.
Against all odds known to man and medicine the power of the mind reigns supreme.