"I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page. If my name is not in it, I get up."
- Benjamin Franklin
It was the summer of 1990 and the future for Scott Edwards appeared bright. He had just completed his Senior year of high school; his girlfriend of three years and he were discussing which college they wanted to attend; most importantly, the Grim Reaper was nowhere to be found! Unfortunately, like so many other times in his life, things were about to take a turn for the worse.
He had seen the look before, the doctors' look of sorrow that is. "Scott, I am so sorry to tell you this, but you had a relapse and you're going to need another bone marrow transplant." His monthly doctor's appointment was supposed to be routine, and why not. He had already beaten the Reaper twice, the game between the two of them was over in his eyes. To the chagrin of many, the Reaper wasn't through with him, not by any stretch.
It seems almost out of a bad horror movie, the date his second bone marrow transplant was to take place, that is. Friday, December 13th, 1990 is a day that will forever be ingrained in Scott's memory. "Why in the hell did they have to schedule my surgery on the Reaper's favorite day of the year?" He made this statement to his mother moments before the nurse was getting ready to wheel him into the operating room. "Scott, you will beat this! You have already done it a couple of times and you will do it again! Just remember that all of us love you!" Scott's mother Karen was frantic. The Edwards clan had been down this road before, but it was different this time. The insurance money was basically depleted from all of his previous treatments. Long gone was the specialist from the Mayo clinic. This go around would be performed locally; it's not that his current surgeon wasn't skillful, but it wasn't the Mayo clinic and everyone knew it.
The second transplant proved treacherous for the young Mr. Edwards. When he finally woke from the procedure, everything was amiss to him. "Scott, can you hear me? Scott it's your mother. Please say something." The comforting voice of his mother was an echo to him. His eyesight was filled with images that he would later describe to me as flying cockroaches, the pain was excruciating. "Scott you're going to make it. Hang in there, the doctor is on his way." His mother's echoes were of little solace to him at this point. The Grim Reaper finally had his boot on Scott's throat. The only thing left for him to do was apply the necessary amount of pressure.
For one reason or another, the Reaper decided to let him go. Most believe that he got distracted, or maybe he had a previously scheduled appointment that he was late for. After spending the next two weeks recovering from the Reaper's grip, he was discharged. As his mother pulled into the driveway of their home, he couldn't help but crack a smile when he saw a couple of his schoolboy chums waiting anxiously to cheer him up. For a while it worked, he actually felt happy, but it turned out being a false sense. "Jesus, watch out. I am going to throw up." He then jumped off the couch, darted between his family and friends and opened the door to the bathroom. The vomiting was intense. When he finally finished, he looked down at the muddle and noticed that pieces of his intestines were floating on the water. Scott Edwards was eighteen years and eight months of age at the time. If the Grim Reaper was going to have his way, he was never going to see nineteen.
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