Someone was diagnosed and passed away within weeks. My first thought was, ‘At least it was quick.’ Then I caught myself, I was stunned. Had that thought really just popped up in my mind? As someone who is ‘suffering’ (should that be afflicted, infected, fighting or just simply call me another person dealing with cancer?) with the same infernal medical issue, albeit of the bowel cancer flavour, I was horrified with myself. I may be poorly, I may be in pain sometimes, I may know that my life expectancy will be shorter than I had hoped (I was planning on doing a hundred plus, haha) but the last thing I want is for my illness to be quick.
I’m falling apart slowly. I know this as well. But it doesn’t change the desperate need in me to live. The last thing I want is for my time to be quick. I’m not fighting, like everyone says. “She put up a good battle fighting this horrible disease…” That’s what people say, isn’t it. But for me, it’s not true. I’m living my life, like any other person. I just have these awful masses on my liver that if I don’t go and get my juice (chemo) every two weeks, they will grow and take over my liver until life is no longer sustainable. But I’m not fighting. I go with this flow, get my juice, sleep a lot, and try and make sure I do fun things on my good days.
Maybe for some people it would be a relief to go quickly. Not me. I’ll put up with the aches and pains, the uncertainly and that damned scanxiety every four months as I wait to see what that latest CT scan is going to tell the doc. I’ve come to terms with the facts of my disease, and I am actually in a good, happy place. When the end finally comes, I want people to say, “At least she took a long time to go.” I’m that bad smell that refuses to disperse, and I’m planning on sticking around as long as possible.