What maketh a man.

What maketh the man. Pain? Pleasure? Achievements? Riches?

 
Of birth and death, the hospital.
Its forlorn wards beckon, its assortment of treatment mind-boggling and overwhelming.
It pains to see how diseases wears the person from the inside.
Even the strongest do fall; disease, it consumes the individual.
First physical impairment, then it eats at your will to live. You're left nothing but a shell of your former self.
I dislike the hospital. And yet I've frequented it so much recently, it's became a routine.
When the day this routine breaks.. Sigh.
Let this be painless.

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At times, scarred heavily and battle weary, we're afraid to take steps forward.
Apprehensive that things wouldn't go as wish, that things would go wrong, that the stabbing pain of the unhealed wound would once again, tear at you.
I've been asked the same question by different people, but my answer hasn't changed. 'I'm afraid.'