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.