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Terminal Illness Quotes

Browse 56 quotes about Terminal Illness.

Terminal Illness Quotes

“Darkened Light by Stewart Stafford Ephemeral life fading, As a ground shadow, The cat in the shade, The sun's arm draped. Pose for a photograph, Thousand-yard stare, In denial of expiration, That bodily eviction. Take a breather inside, Too drained for more, Crash and burn out, Let quietus wash over. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“I think of Gould and his essay every time I have a patient with a terminal illness. There is almost always a long tail of possibility, however thin. What’s wrong with looking for it? Nothing, it seems to me, unless it means we have failed to prepare for the outcome that’s vastly more probable. The trouble is that we’ve built our medical system and culture around the long tail. We’ve created a multitrillion-dollar edifice for dispensing the medical equivalent of lottery tickets—and have only the rudiments of a system to prepare patients for the near certainty that those tickets will not win. Hope is not a plan, but hope is our plan.”

“In 2008, the national Coping with Cancer project published a study showing that terminally ill cancer patients who were put on a mechanical ventilator, given electrical defibrillation or chest compressions, or admitted, near death, to intensive care had a substantially worse quality of life in their last week than those who received no such interventions. And, six months after their death, their caregivers were three times as likely to suffer major depression. Spending one’s final days in an I.C.U. because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie on a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said goodbye or “It’s O.K.” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” People have concerns besides simply prolonging their lives. Surveys of patients with terminal illness find that their top priorities include, in addition to avoiding suffering, being with family, having the touch of others, being mentally aware, and not becoming a burden to others. Our system of technological medical care has utterly failed to meet these needs, and the cost of this failure is measured in far more than dollars. The hard question we face, then, is not how we can afford this system’s expense. It is how we can build a health-care system that will actually help dying patients achieve what’s most important to them at the end of their lives.”

“Preferably, I’d like to die a painless death, and how many times have I thought of it… but because it saddens the people around me, I was not able to say it. But that, too, is a lie. If I were given a chance, I would love to live. I do not want to be separated from my loving family. (From Dare ga Otome Game da to Itta! / Who Said This Was an Otome Game! / 誰が乙女ゲームだといった!)”

“Truth or Care by Stewart Stafford It's not every day you find out you're going to die, A sweaty doctor hit me right between the eyes, With my body's Judas kiss and then I was prey, Life had left me without any cards to play. Reading the shocked expression on my face, The doctor played his "it's treatable" ace, Treatable is good but curable is better, Survival hinges on the placement of letters. Turns out I never had a chance, sadly, The doctor lied to me and lied badly, Flop sweat had put truth to the sword, And I'm writing all this through a ouija board. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown days, a week, a year, or a decade, each far too precious little and yet, poignantly too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer. That fear-ridden, irreversible release lingers in the doorway, but hesitates for reasons we don't understand, leaving us to weep with a mixture of angst and gratitude all at the same time. It is finally ushered all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place. When the time finally comes, we can be enveloped in a warm cloak of long-awaited acceptance and peace that eases our own pain. It quiets the grief which has moaned inside of us, at least some, every single one of those bittersweet days, weeks... or years.”

“Three, 300, or 3,000 - these are the number of unknown hours, days, a week, a year, or a decade, each far too precious little and yet, poignantly too much at the same time, to see an irrevocably declined loved one languish and suffer. That fear-ridden, irreversible release lingers in the doorway, but hesitates for reasons we don't understand, leaving us to weep a special cocktail of tears made of angst and gratitude, permeating us with some of the deepest emotions we will ever know. Finally, the release is ushered all the way in, to comfort and carry our loved one to that Better Place. It also envelopes us in a warm cloak of acceptance and peace that eases our own pain. It quiets the grief which has moaned inside of us, at least some, every single one of those bittersweet hours, days, weeks... or years.” Until that day of our own flying away, and beholding our loved one again, in that Beautiful Paradise.”

“Being an Author who writes and advocates about tough things people go through in life; the Holy Spirit encourages me to encourage all people to be persevering in-spite of whatever hardships they are going through, or whatever horror they feel they are facing in their lives”

“Parents: Do you have babies and toddlers who are afflicted by terminal illness, rare and incurable diseases? When all is not well for them, read to them this beautiful, enjoyable and lively healing book breathed by the Holy Spirit of a Sovereign God for your little ones' healing: Dear Baby Be Healed From Terminal Illness: Cutting Through soul and spirit by Stellah Mupanduki ...You will forget that there is illness in your household because you will encounter the healing presence of the Holy Spirit touching you and your little one with sound healing. Smile...cheer up, all will be well for you.”

“The pressure remains all in one direction, toward doing more, because the only mistake clinicians seem to fear is doing too little. Most have no appreciation that equally terrible mistakes are possible in the other direction—that doing too much could be no less devastating to a person's life.”

“Scarlett lived by the (thankfully) ancient medical creed: If it tastes awful and smells worse, it’s probably good for you. Julia wasn’t so sure about that. She lived by the edict: If it tastes awful and smells worse, leave it the hell alone. On the other hand, if it tasted good and smelled better, you either ate it, squirted it on your neck or fucked it. It hadn’t led her wrong so far.”

“Poppy Devine did not deserve cancer. Poppy was sweet and industrious and careful and measured and always, always did the right thing. If anyone deserved cancer it was Julia. Julia was loud and opinionated and disagreeable. Rude, some might even say. She went out with bad men, took unnecessary risks, pushed people to their limits, swore like a sailor and flipped the bird more than any female in the history of the world. It should be her number coming up in the cancer lottery.”

“Why this girl? Why had this girl crawled right under his skin and made an uncomfortable home there? Why did he want to make things good for her, to see her smile, to make her face and her voice make all those interesting shapes and noises? Why did he want to stay up late with her when he knew she should be sleeping, just to hear her talk about maths and politics and the state of the world? This was not Quentin. Quentin did not like skinny girls. He didn’t like serious girls. And he really hated bossy girls. Quentin loved curvy, fun, uncomplicated girls; girls who laughed at his jokes and took off their bras when they danced on tables. If they wore bras at all. Yet here he was, washing up and mopping and feeling like five kinds of an arsehole over hurting the feelings of some skinny, serious, bossy girl.”

“He shook his head at her question. Did women really think men cared about that stuff? Did he care if she did this all the time? Definitely, definitely not. He could honestly say he did not give a flying fuck whether this girl dragged guys home every other day to have her way with them for seven hours. He was just glad as hell she’d decided to do it with him. Today. And hopefully maybe again. Sometime.”

“She frowned, and the effect was so pretty he wondered if he was going mad. Why did he find this cranky, kooky woman so damned appealing? He knew for a fact he could go out tonight and drag home some hot, willing chick who would stroke his ego and never argue with him about anything. He closed his eyes and remembered just how good that felt. Willing women; god bless them.”

“Julia had been angry most of her life. She may have grown up in wealth and privilege but she’d had to fight to be heard and seen. To be validated. To be something other than a piece to be moved around her parents’ Monopoly board. Rage had given her a voice against their manipulations and the guts to walk away. But it had also become ingrained. There were times when she’d contemplated therapy for it. Right now, she was pleased she hadn’t. If anything could kill this cancer it would be the weight of Julia’s wrath.”

“Look,’ she said, sidling a little closer to him in the lift. ‘I understand this wasn’t what you bargained for when some cute girl at the café dared you to jump out of a plane with her. You were in it for thrills and sex and you got breast-cancer girl, her terrifying friend and her flaky mother. That’s above and beyond. And I totally get you’re here because you’d feel like some louse if you left her now, but it’s okay, she’s going to be fine, I’m going to take good care of her.”

“We’ll make a wellness altar, I think … have some incense burn¬ing, fresh flowers every day and string some lights around it …’ Poppy rolled her head to the side. ‘Still think it’s a good idea?’ Julia blanched at the tackiness of a wellness altar with fairy lights and a water feature, but what the hell, she already had a three-metre girly snake ruining the ambience. ‘Sure,’ she said. If it made Scarlett happy. Poppy laughed. ‘I’m going to remind you of this conversation when your apartment looks like a Chinese brothel.”

“Ten looked confounded that anyone would consider the world’s most slavishly adored hot beverage in such a way. Julia felt momentarily sorry for him. He seemed like a guy who’d had it all figured out – join a band and get himself laid every night of the week. Living the dream. He had no fucking clue what was ahead of him.”

“With the Stellah Mupanduki healing books breathed by the Holy Spirit of a Sovereign God, you will find inner peace and your hope is fulfilled. God is above all powers. Do not hesitate to read and find your healing in this day and age. Get rid of hopeless thoughts and embrace these healing books given to you by God Almighty himself and be healed…There is no doubt about this…Hallelujah...Sacred Writing…So that you are healed...Anointed Readers”

“The beauty of having blog books 1 to 9 by Stellah Mupanduki, is that, they strongly touch your life in a random way because of the Holy presence of the Holy Spirit of a Sovereign God, who knows how to intercede on your behalf in matters you know nothing about. You will be uplifted and strengthened with sound healing, cleansing and protection coming from God Almighty for your your body and life and everything in your life. Amen…”

“*Terminal* is a harsh word when used in the context of death and not one we'd ever uttered aloud. But according to Webster's, it's also a place people pass through on their way to somewhere else. Deborah knew her "somewhere else" was heaven. She was just hoping the rain was delayed. I scooped a tear off her cheek and tried to slip around her question. "We're all terminal," I said, smiling gently. "None of us makes it out of here alive.”

“All suffering is caused by the illusion of separateness, which generates fear and self-hatred, which eventually causes illness. You are the master of your life. You can do much more than you thought you could, including cure yourself of a "terminal illness".”

“From personal experience, I completely agree that it is often easier to go for monotone sadness. When I was starting out, I wrote a gazillion short stories that ran the gamut of human suffering - drug addiction, child abuse, terminal illness, loved ones dying by all manner of misfortune, etc. In hindsight, it's clear that I mistook the power of the situation for the power of the story.”

“We all know to feel sympathy for those who've suffered from drug addiction, child abuse, and terminal illness, so the set up elicits an emotional response that the story itself very well may not earn. Energy generated by the fiction itself is likely to produce more light.”