And Yet...

Despite my long-held belief that I will only "live until I die", I find myself in a position in which I had to make a decision to stay alive.

I have a pesky patch of cancer that has to be removed and, as a (former) non-healthcare consumer, am finding it challenging to work my way through the system. It was never my intent to "fight" cancer, but this one is ridiculously small and totally accessible, so I'm having it removed. It's grown so slowly that it would take years and years to kill me! I may be pro-death and all...but I'm also pro comfort!

Plus it's interesting to see how my boyfriend (and some of my friends) became VERY pro "stay alive" when it was found. So here I am, staying alive...but using every ounce of energy just to navigate all the doctors and tests and other intrusive (and occasionally invasive) hallways to health.

Interesting psychological aspect: I wasn't particularly tired before it was diagnosed, though I had known it was there for four years (it doesn't show up on mammo or ultrasound and was growing very slowly, so other than repeated mammos and ultrasounds, I did nothing). But once I had the diagnosis, THEN I became severely fatigued. I know it's psychological, yet it's also quite real. I take lots of naps. 

Oh, and it STILL doesn't show on ultrasound or mammo, so I'm scheduled for an MRI next week, more doctor's appointments and tests to come and eventually, a lumpectomy. Fortunately it's palpable and after a growth spurt in the past few months, visible. So despite having no high-tech diagnostic evidence (and trust me, they tried and tried to find it with machinery), we're going forward.

I'm still seeing it as a science experiment (at least consciously...my subconscious is kicking my butt and putting me down for naps every day), but they tell me it will become "personal" once I get the surgery. I found the punch biopsy fascinating...I still admire the small, healing hole next to my nipple with wonder...so perhaps I'll hold that sense of amazement post surgery, too.

This whole journey has made me draw in from all but a few close friends, the ones I know have the wherewithal to be of assistance (mostly moral support, but then afterwards, there will be some recuperative assistance needed.) Like a small death, only the ones we can rely on remain. I have hurt a few feelings declining offers of support (or not asking, or not allowing) from friends who were clearly otherwise distracted. 

And so, thanks to our litigious society and healthcare/Medicare rigors...I wait. Not unhappily, really...I do love to nap...but the inconvenience is massive! If I were dying, I'd just be giving away stuff and hugging friends goodbye! But now, instead, I listen to doctors and walk down high-tech hallways to machines and blood draw stations and strive to be positive.

An older friend (an MD) wrote his own "dementia addendum" to his Advance Directive, saying, "I desire that nature be allowed to take its course so that the first potentially lethal disorder I encounter is allowed to assist me in my final exit." I feel that way, too. I do still plan to refuse life-extending treatment when (if) I reach age 75, but as a robust 65 year old, I'm listening to my doctors (but mostly to my friends.) 

Waiting, not yet dying. 

What IS Your Life Worth??!

A friend told me about an individual she knew who was very excited to get a terminal diagnosis. The person who was ill went about saying, "Did you hear the good news!? I'm dying!!" Not very many of us reach that level of acceptance, but she did (and when she died some time later, it was a well-planned, peaceful death).

For decades I've been urging people to plan their deaths: do the Advance Directive, finish your will, find the person you trust most to be your Medical Power of Attorney and other activities to assure you'll have the death you want.

What I didn't discuss, and am now in the middle of discovering, is how difficult it can be to talk to healthcare professionals when you are NOT afraid of dying.

A wonderfully funny, vibrant 85-year old woman I know told me that her doctors tried to put her on Prozac when she told them that she had quit taking all those prescriptions that were "keeping her alive" in their eyes. In her eyes, she feels good some days and crappy some days and can still do everything she wants to do. Plus, she says with gusto, "I'm 85...how much longer do I want to be here anyway?" Trust me, this dynamic person does not need antidepressants.

Nor do I. A recent diagnosis (as yet indeterminate) has one of my doctors telling me how many other docs I'm going to have to see and what my prognosis may be and what other multitude of diagnostic procedures I need to undergo. And though I'm on Social Security and work for extras (like groceries and other fun things!), she disregarded my question about copays. It has come to my attention that doctors and Big Pharma both like to say things like, "How much is your life worth?" as a way to scare you into doing whatever bit of modern medicine "healthcare" they want you to have. Afraid to let one test go undone because you might sue them. A sad commentary. Another bit of research shows that a woman needs to have saved up more than $131,000 for her part of healthcare expenses post retirement.

I see an advertisement for a cure for Hepatitis C (on TV) and though I don't have that disease, I know people who do. I have heard from reliable sources that each treatment costs $58,000 or thereabouts (I admit, I haven't done further research. Let's just say it's exorbitant!) And your doc, or your pharmacist may, in fact ask you, "How much is your life worth?" 

Well, here's the answer...it's not worth $58,000 per treatment. Just not. Shouldn't cost that much anyway and most assuredly not worth that if it causes me further stress or leaves me homeless. Not worth $131,000 over the next 15 years, either. My life is about how today is going, and today is a great day! (And if I had $58K extra, I'd be giving it to people who need food or shelter anyway).

One of these days I'm going to feel bad and fail to rebound from some disease or another and I will die. So will you. Let's just live every day to the best of our ability and maybe we'll find ourselves - like my aforementioned friend - at age 85 doing whatever we please and laughing at the scare tactics others endure.

Or maybe we'll not make it anywhere near 85, but we will live each day to the fullest (and take as many naps and soaks in the hot tub as we want). We'll tell our family and friends that we love them and get our affairs in order so that if we get hit by a bus, or get a diagnosis that might possibly become a problem (but the docs want to spend thousands and thousands of your dollars treating) ...we'll be ready to go.

In my last blog I wrote that to me "Death is Always a Viable Option"...in this one I want to say, "One of the benefits of having cancer is death." I can already hear the gasps and the docs reaching for their pens to write an RX for Prozac! 

I don't plan to die any time soon, but I live each day as if I may. 

Do you? Are your affairs in order? I plan to be writing this blog when I'm a feisty 85-year-old like my friend, still snubbing my nose at most of what modern medicine has to offer. But if I'm gone by then (even long gone), please know that I'm happy and looking forward to whatever else comes once I leave this life. 

And maybe, just maybe, I will die with $1 still in my pocket! I would sincerely like it to come out even!