This morning I was reading Kaylin's blog over at Cancer is Hilarious. She has had all sorts of cancers before the age 30 (4 diagnoses I believe) and now is faced with a recurrence that looks like will do her in sooner as opposed to later. She has a dilemma. She wrote:
"Now that my very aggressive and deadly bone cancer has come back for a third time, I don't have many options. It is almost a certainty that it will kill me. There is one regimen of chemo left that might prolong my life, but of course chemo is absolute hell, and I am on my own here in NY with no family or husband to take care of me. I'm not entirely sure I can handle it on my own, for the third time. So now I am trying to decide what the rest of my short life will look like: do I stay in NY? take a break to feel healthy and enjoy myself before chemo? Or start right away to maximize my chances of remission? Should I move back to CA where I have family to take care of me? Should I be planning my death? How should I spend the rest of the life I have left?"
My comment back to her is to skip the proverbial bucket list and go find her happy place to live out her life - on the beach, in the mountains, visiting friends, what ever works for her. But my question for all of you is if you were given this kind of diagnosis, what would you do? Not a bucket list, but how would you make yourself happiest if you were given a short time to experience it?
Personally I find the idea of a bucket list a bit of an avoidance mode - you focus on doing the little things that you want to do but are skipping the big picture that you are dying. I keep changing my mind. Would I want to live on the beach or in a cabin in the mountains? Would I watch sunrises or sunsets? Would I continue to seek medical care or go the palliative route to be more comfortable? (Probably palliative.) My funeral by the way will be a kick ass event where everyone has fun and not a lot of tears. And the guest list will be huge.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Dec 2, 2019
Aug 29, 2016
A long sad day
Yesterday I drove my parents to the memorial service for a neighbor from my childhood. It was a 330 mile round trip. By the time I got home it was nearly 9pm and 12 hours from when I left the house. I don't travel so well these days so I made a point of getting a lot of sleep last night.
Susan died last fall from breast cancer, six weeks after her diagnosis. She had ignored pain in her ribs last spring because she thought she had strained something. She was a farmer and very active. Also her tumor was so far back and so close to her ribs, it may not have shown up on a mammogram. It wasn't until she started feeling many more symptoms did she end up in the emergency room and got some very bad news.
Her mother was also diagnosed with early stage breast cancer in early 2014. So in speaking with her two remaining sisters, I made a point of telling them both they should consider themselves high risk for breast cancer. They agreed and said they had already spoken to their doctors about it.
It was a nice memorial service and internment of her ashes followed by a family gathering at their house on the ocean. I got to catch up with both her sisters, mother, and another friend from 4-H back in the 1960s.
I also met a woman who has the same rheumatologist as me. Her rheumatoid was more advanced than mine and she has had six joints replaced - both ankles, knee, and hips. I can't remember them all. She has refused to go on to a biologic and has been on methotrexate for 14 years. She was in a wheelchair because of her recent surgeries. I never want to be in a wheel chair. Another sad reminder of the implications of my ailments.
Between a memorial service, a long drive, and seeing the implications of rheumatoid. It had an emotional as well as a physical toll. I need a day off today but have too much to do.
Susan died last fall from breast cancer, six weeks after her diagnosis. She had ignored pain in her ribs last spring because she thought she had strained something. She was a farmer and very active. Also her tumor was so far back and so close to her ribs, it may not have shown up on a mammogram. It wasn't until she started feeling many more symptoms did she end up in the emergency room and got some very bad news.
Her mother was also diagnosed with early stage breast cancer in early 2014. So in speaking with her two remaining sisters, I made a point of telling them both they should consider themselves high risk for breast cancer. They agreed and said they had already spoken to their doctors about it.
It was a nice memorial service and internment of her ashes followed by a family gathering at their house on the ocean. I got to catch up with both her sisters, mother, and another friend from 4-H back in the 1960s.
I also met a woman who has the same rheumatologist as me. Her rheumatoid was more advanced than mine and she has had six joints replaced - both ankles, knee, and hips. I can't remember them all. She has refused to go on to a biologic and has been on methotrexate for 14 years. She was in a wheelchair because of her recent surgeries. I never want to be in a wheel chair. Another sad reminder of the implications of my ailments.
Between a memorial service, a long drive, and seeing the implications of rheumatoid. It had an emotional as well as a physical toll. I need a day off today but have too much to do.
Oct 28, 2015
I miss my friends
The other day I learned that another one of my online cancer friends passed away. I had never met her in person but we knew each other for probably close to 8 years on line. She lost most of one leg from cancer and instead of bothering to tell people the medical reason, she would just say 'shark'. As it was much more interesting.
She also became a stand up comedienne and performed at clubs in the Chicago area where she lived. She was very supportive to me when dealing with ups and downs of cancer and was quick to provide supportive words when I needed them.
She has now joined the ever lengthening list of friends who are no longer with us because of cancer. I miss them all, from the first friend who died from cancer, Andy, back in ~1983 to Lorri, just a few days ago.
You can coat cancer in a pretty color and wear boas, hats, shirts, and carry colored bags, and light up buildings. But its no pretty, its not a war, it sucks.
She also became a stand up comedienne and performed at clubs in the Chicago area where she lived. She was very supportive to me when dealing with ups and downs of cancer and was quick to provide supportive words when I needed them.
She has now joined the ever lengthening list of friends who are no longer with us because of cancer. I miss them all, from the first friend who died from cancer, Andy, back in ~1983 to Lorri, just a few days ago.
You can coat cancer in a pretty color and wear boas, hats, shirts, and carry colored bags, and light up buildings. But its no pretty, its not a war, it sucks.