Yes, we're all going to die, but...

One of the most interesting comments I have heard from people since my diagnosis has been, "Well, we're all going to die someday."  Even my original oncologist said, during our first appointment, "There are no guarantees in life; we all die." 

This is a reality that most of us choose not to think about, deal with, or examine closely until we are forced to.  And even then, we still avoid-avoid-avoid as much as possible, because really, who amongst us wants to die?  Who looks forward to leaving behind their loved ones and their lives, even if what we believe it means peace and happiness on the other side?

I have a friend who calls herself ChemoBabe (and she really is).  This morning, she posted something that I thought was fairly profound, and I want to share it here:

"My friends with metastatic disease are on my mind today.  Let's get one thing clear. 'You never know how you're going to die. You could get run over by a truck' is not helpful.  Having mets is like standing on a sidewalk and watching the truck come at you in slow-mo. You have a lot of time to contemplate all kinds of details about how it will hit and how it will feel on impact. This is not the same thing at all."

I cannot understand fully this comment, because I do not have metastatic cancer.  Let me repeat that - I DO NOT have metastatic cancer, so don't get the wrong impression.  But her comment struck me anyway because so many people have said some derivation of, "You're going to die anyway" or "You could get hit by a bus tomorrow" since my diagnosis.

This is true.  I could get hit by a bus.  In fact, funny story - I once narrowly missed being creamed by a bus on a business trip to Denver.  Walking along the edge of the sidewalk I stumbled off, just as the city bus was pulling up to the curb to stop.  I remember the words vividly and loudly in my head, but I don't know where they came from:  "Don't move.  Do not move."  And so I didn't.  But I lost some hair as the bus's mirror gently grazed my head.  Ask Steve - he was standing right next to me and thought I was a goner.

But (as usual) I digress.  Except that I understand there are no guarantees in life - if there were, I wouldn't be sitting in an infusion chair right now, getting started on my seventh of 10 chemo treatments.  No - I'd be in perfect health and mowing my lawn and planning my summer and writing my research paper. 

And I understand that everyone is going to die someday - but now is not my day.  I come from a long line of long-lived family members:  my great-grandfather was 99-1/2.  His daughter, my grandmother, was 81, if I remember correctly, but had smoked heavily for most of her life - never got lung cancer but finally did get emphysema in her late 70s.  My parents are 77 and almost 79, and even with associated health problems they are still going strong.  So why, at 48, should I be dealing with this shit?

There might be truth in saying "There are no guarantees."  But for someone dealing with cancer, there are many unknowns to be contemplated.  Even with chemo and radiation I have a high metastatic recurrence rate.  Do I want it to come back?  Hell no!!  Do I think it'll come back?  Maybe.  I can't say No as much as I'd like.   I have to accept that possibility.  And so while I'm not watching the bus coming along in slo-mo, I have to prepare for the fact that next time, there won't be a voice in my head saying, "Don't move."  If it comes back, I'll deal with it then.  

So I ask this of all of you, please:  Try and remember, next time to talk with me, or someone else, or even to yourself - yes, we're all going to die someday.  But it doesn't make me (or anyone else) feel any better to equate the transit system with the uncertainty of our future.  Because sometimes, you can not move and just lose a few hairs; other times you stumble and fall, all your hair comes out, and you die.  

I'd still like to believe that bus has passed me by.