Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling the dark journey with us. Oh be swift to love, make haste to be kind.

Why do I have to keep reading the damn statistics? I work with the stuff and know that you need to base it on hundreds, even thousands of patients; however, sometimes we base side-effects on one patient, which results in a drug-withdrawal. See, the beauty of risk-benefit analysis is that authorities are shitting themselves because someone may get a headache from eating paracetamol. Hence, if a brain-head had come up with paracetamol today; would my company be allowed to market the drug???? FDA??? Anybody home???

Why I bother with all of this is because I don’t have a thousand brain tumours, just one. Just one Maria tumour, if you like. Statistics isn’t as much fun any more. Risk-benefit analysis (didn’t even really get that far, to the really juicy stuff) isn’t fun anymore, for now I’m not just a patient number, but an actual patient. Ironically, my new found experiences may have provided me with a competitive edge in the field of…

Statistically, my chances are relatively dire. But I’m not a patient number in a clinical trial. I’m just me, “Mia”, who wants to drive her 20 month-old son to Fredagstomten in her very own “Crimson Millway” (USED TO BE SWEDISH) V40. I’m actually one of those women who wants to grow OLD with her husband! I don’t give a care in the world for cosmetic surgery. All my husband and I have done is sign a contract to THIS SONG! How could we have been so wrong? Will our 10 am appointment tomorrow with an impartial psychologist help us gain perspective?

See, it’s not about writing a letter to my husband and son. The question that is circulating in my head is how many? 10, 20, 30 or 100??? I’ve learned to set high goals at work, during my so called MITP (no clue what it actually stands for) so that I may get my bonus. My goal is to live to 11-JUL-2078. I don’t care about my bonus! I just wanted a meaningful job. Thank you for talking to me as a non-monkey and actually hiring me as a consultant ie. giving me a chance to work for the best pharmaceutical company in the world with the slogan “Life Inspiring Ideas”… I’m sorry I couldn’t turn up at the office that Wednesday morning, the last day of January. I so much wanted the CONOB cases to go through, to make Spotfire and BOb work, to see a bridge evolve between hands on and IT solutions. Perhaps the latter is wishful thinking, who knows.

The brilliant Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) supposedly said in An Ideal husband, 1893:

“When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers”.

I don’t know how my husband and/or my work has anything to do with it, but I prayed to God to make me feel more human. And he did. Why?