I don’t know you and surely I never will. The only thing they have told me about you is that we share the same country. I would like to write you some words.
These days getting the growth factors have not been the best days of my life, so I don’t want to imagine how yours must have been with that damn disease for so many months.
This bag not only contains what is necessary for you, but it also contains hope, laughter, optimism, courage, joy, and you can not imagine how much love I have put into it.
I have no doubt that you will soon be fully recovered and you will have happier days than what you used to have before.
I don’t think I should give you any advice, but surely now you will dare to do things that you wouldn’t dare before. You will value the things that we take for granted differently. The things we believe we are entitled to due to the mere fact of being alive; like your beloved one’s laughter, a friendly hug, dedicating a little more time to your parents, reconciling with that friend with whom you got angry, saying “I love you” to that special someone, or smiling for being alive.
I would like to thank “Imparables contra la leucemia”, what a great family have I had behind the phone all this time and with what affection have they treated me! And of course, to the nurses of the Apheresis unit of the Virgen del Rocío hospital in Seville and to Dr. Escamilla: thanks for such a humane task, so necessary, and for taking such good care of me.
To those who read this, know that you’re only a few shots of growth factor away from saving a life. A ridiculous price to pay for which we will forever have the satisfaction of knowing that there is someone somewhere who is still alive thanks to you.