Living vs. Dying

Now that is a title that is going to give one pause. The fact is that once I really started to think about what the meaning of “early palliative care therapy” meant I started to shudder and feel frightened. What, me, frightened?

I have been living with this cancer for two years and despite being positive on a daily basis as well as telling myself and my friends that I am still being realistic about my diagnosis I have not thought very much about actually dying. In the early days, when I was so extremely sick and actually at death’s door I did think about it and was prepared to go but now I find that two years of living has made me feel very attached to LIFE. It is a considerable wrench to pull myself away from longevity and stare death in the face (which I have not done yet, to be honest).

Therefore I am going into this palliative care discussion with some trepidation.

Screech, stop the bus, hold on, er, excuse me . . . .

Here’s the rub; it took a whole month for the palliative care person to actual contact me and her lame excuse was that she had been ill. Okay, well I let that pass (although I had spoken with someone at the Foothills, when they called me for a  “follow up” that it had not happened and I expressed myself in no uncertain – but polite – terms) and listened to her plan for the next discussion. That discussion, as I understood it, was to have occurred last Thursday. Not a call, not a message, nada. My reaction the first time is similar to what my reaction is this week – and that is to respond to the phone call with “sorry but you are too late, she’s fucking dead”.

Yeah, sometimes I can be a total bitch.