Is It Ok to Want More?

Living with cystic fibrosis I always thought as a child and teenager I would be ready to die when death came. That I would be tired of the fight for life and ready to role over and let death happen. How naive I was. Me and my best friend Lou were on our way back from London yesterday and while we were driving along we started to talk about my transplant, as I often do at the moment. It's my way of unpicking at the seems of life, rummaging through the memory's, deciphering the codes in my head left from the trauma of it all. Because when your told your dying, when your so poorly you can barely stay awake, your brain starts to loose pieces of information along the way. It's like it decides what it can deal with and starts to throw out all the other stuff until you are back on the road to recovery and then you start to find all these lost memory's.
Memory's such as ringing my nan and telling her I wasn't going to get a second transplant and I wasn't going to make it. Nothing can prepare you for that conversation, not even your delusions as a teen that when death came you would be ready. Starting to relive those memory's, it's so painful, so raw, it's like going through them for the first time because each time you remember something else and it's all new again, the pain slices through you and the tears sweep my face.
I can only just remember the howling cry of my brother, even as I write about it, it feels so fresh so new and I want to reach Into my memory and wrap my arms around him And tell him how it all turns out ok.
I still don't remember all those conversations I made to so many of my close friends and family that day. I wonder if they will ever come back, part of me hopes they will stay hidden. Am I ever ready to deal with these moments of pain. There are still things I cannot remember from my first transplant and i am sure if they were to come back to me they wouldn't benefit me in anyway, they are hidden some where in the deep fog of protection, possibly just dropped out of my brain forever never to be found.
There is something else I have learnt from this experience, not only am I not ready to die but I'm finally ready to live. Now this may sound confusing for everyone, iv never shied away from life or walked away from an experience to be had but iv never thought I wanted to live to be old, joked about the fact I don't want wrinkles and simply thought that 50, 60 or 80 sounds to old. Sorry for those who are that age, but being young those ages do sound so old to me. Until the penny dropped, stu said to me today about sorting out his retirement fund. My reaction was to well up, I want to be there! I want to be with him when he retires, sending him off down the golf club in the day while I natter away to my friend Lou and go to the spa or some retirement like leisurely thing!
This may sound selfish of me, it does to me. It sounds like I'm simply wanting to much and I should just be grateful for every day I get, god I promise you I am. Sometimes though I catch myself wanting more and hoping I never have to relive those conversations with my friends, not just in my memory's but in real life.
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