...this is it

We are at the end. I feel it in every part of my being. My mom is transitioning from her body onwards right in front of me. I cannot stop crying. I keep thinking about everything my mom has given me throughout my life, and how connected we really are. I know that connection will never die. Her body may fail, and her spirit will leave, but it will scatter to find homes in the people she loves. I just hope that I can carry part of her strong spirit with grace. While I lay crying with my head on her chest she uses the little strength she has left to brush my tears away. That is grace.

She is afraid of overburdening those that care for her. I believe that the devotion I give to her reflects the devotion she gave to me. I also believe that people need to learn how to care. Caring for others is how you build true strength. It is what keeps me afloat in dark water because I am reminded of all that is greater than myself. We are our own worst enemies. I feel far from sinking because I know that as long as I can give, I can be happy. It is something that can never be taken from me. 

She wants to be done. When the real painkillers came out she wanted to put an end to all of it. She does not feel awake anymore; she drifts in and out of sleep constantly. The thought of seeing people is exhausting. She is tired, bloated, and uncomfortable. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult. It takes incredible effort for her to focus on conversation. I know in every vibrating cell of my being that she will go when she is ready. That she needs to struggle until she finds peace with her body and all that it has achieved while carrying her. Her struggle is feeding the strength of her soul. Her soul is already fantasizing about running, swimming, or flying in her next form. 

For my mom, this process is leaving her vulnerable and weak. She wants to process her death, but has trouble finding the energy. However, she is not scared. She is accepting all the changes as they come. Her biggest worry is leaving the people she loves. She wants all of you to know that she holds you in her heart. She does not regret her choices; they were the right choices for her. It is important to her that you know accepting the uncontrollable brought her peace. Surrendering to her body let her focus on loving deeper. 

This year (and every other) that we had together was a gift. Thank you mama for teaching me the power of an open heart. It is my time to carry her gently out of this life just as she brought me into it.

Acting with love

“What you think you become, what you feel you attract, what you imagine you create.“

I woke up crying from a dream. That rarely happens, but this one truly bothered me; mainly because of the content. It involved a good friend that I knew for over a decade. Our children were close in age, so we saw each other often. After my first stroke she saw me at a function for the children. I was sporting a cane. When she asked what happened I explained that I had a stroke. I never heard from her again. 

There were friends that I knew and would see while I was out. Now I was was on my second stroke. They turned and went a different way to avoid me. It became quite evident that I made old friends uncomfortable. The high energy, make-ridiculous-list Lynda was now awkward. The number of tears I have shed over this behavior could fill a bathtub. Until you have suffer a life changing event it impossible to know the right thing to say or do.  Having terminal cancer is even harder. I now know that I have the power and knowledge to change people’s persception of me. Suffering in the ways that I have is foreign to many people. The way that I feel about my own disability and illness influences the way others treat me. I used to feel like a victim expecting those around me to soften my suffering. Now, I feel empowered knowing that it is my own responsibility. I can change the relationships I have and make them better.

I went out for the first time in over 3 months and saw people race to get through their check lists—something our society endorses. I remembered that at one time, that was me. So I cut a little slack on the judgment of my old friends. I was that person who couldn’t find a minute for compassion. Someone may be suffering, but life goes on.

There are two sides to my life. The precancerous side and now. I understood that Lynda with a list . I recognize the friends I had the were a reflection of the life I was living.

And then there’s now.... the opposite of the woman above. This new version of me is patient, compassionate, and (within reason) has time to give. I have discovered a host of beautiful people who say... I wish I had know you sooner.... I think we would be friends. People I have never met, and may never meet. They open their hearts to me. They take time to write warm thoughts, they send flowers. Some are from my past, many I have yet to meet. I may never meet them. In am so grateful for their kindness and compassion. I now understand “what you feel you attract “, the kindness I have received from family, old and new friends feeds my soul.

I asked my husband if we could put on a deck. I can no longer trike, and am craving sun. I don’t move well at all, so cruising across grass is hard now. A nice flat deck would be a dream. Because he is the most wonderful husband in the world he started to draft plans. Never one to take the easy path it is a 2 tiered deck. I got so excited about this project. I never expected to hear that there was a 1-2 month wait on the lumber  (guess Covid has everyone building deck right now). This was sad news....time is not on my side. We’ve been doing business with Curier lumber for years. Their sister company ( Milford lumber) was across the street from The Good Loaf. They are great people. So when John got the news he went to explain our situation. Three days later John got a phone call from the lumber company. They there able to piece together our order, and the lumber would be here in a few weeks. I cried like a baby. It is a business with a heart. I will be forever gratful.

I would like to offer a bit of advice:

Try to make time for your aging parents, many are simply lonely and need to know they matter.

If you know someone who went through or is going through a life altering experience, reach out to them. Avoiding them makes them feel like you don’t care.

Never make a promise that you can’t follow through. That sets up an expectation, which leads to disappointment.

And most critical, act on your feelings. If you see you spouse across the room and you think ,”boy do I love them”, get up and give them a hug. They can’t read your mind after all. Too many missed moments go by because it takes effort.

Thank you all for the extraordinary kindness I have recieved these past months… it makes dying easier.

and sleeping easier 😉

The painful truth

Most of my life, I have pursued quality over quantity. I remember, in my 20’s buying a “little black dress”. It wasn’t cheap.  It still hangs in my closet today and I still love it and wouldn’t hesitate to wear it...Genevive even likes it. 

John and I have been building our home for 25 years. Why so long? Because we weren’t willing to compromise. Because we are not the Rockefeller’s.  We did much of the work ourselves. I wanted cedar shingles on the roof. When we got the quote, I choked. John said, if you want them...are you ready to roof? We did.

At The Good Loaf I maintained that same attitude. Even when money was tight the quality and labor intensive procedure never changed.

After 3 strokes the quality of my life changed. Obviously not for the better.  Every day became a battle ground. All my focus was on moving. I could not longer walk and look up.  My new world was reduced to staring at my feet. We were a family that did things together. We used to hike and climb in the Mount Washington valley.  We would go to Maine and kayak around the islands.  Now John and Genevive went without me. I joined them up north a few times, but as soon as they left on an adventure I would break down and sob. They felt bad, I felt bad. So I stayed home... no better. They felt bad leaving and I felt bad making them feel that way. There simply was no approach to this new family dynamic.

To say I struggled with my broken body would be down playing the reality. I hated it. I cursed it. I sobbed over it. I felt that this new version of me no longer had a purpose. I can’t tell you how many times I said to John and Genevieve, “I don’t want to be here anymore “. The world I’d lived in required all of me. I loathed the thought of being a spectator. I wasn’t comfortable relying on others. I felt useless.

Years of this negative self talk was changing my positive energy. I was Eeyore except instead of the tail, it was my whole right side. I was not going to subject others to this version of me. So I stayed in. I retreated from people.  I was unwilling to accept my “new normal” The negative talk got louder. I contemplated methods of suicide..... it  makes me so sad to say this; it’s humiliating to say this. I started this blog with a commitment to the truth. It makes me uncomfortable when people say I am tough. Nothing is further from the truth. But I simply couldn’t hurt the people that stood by me as I lay in the gutter.

I started to bleed—a telltale sign of trouble. I never had a colonoscopy. This went on for two years. I never told my family. I didn’t care enough about life. It got worse. I knew something was very wrong. Finally I went in for a colonoscopy. No surprise to me, they found cancer. I had a PET scan. The news got much worse. Cancer in the lung and liver. I met with many oncologists. It was terminal. I got my wish, I would not live past a year. There was lots of talk about chemo to extend my time but the quality of that time would be the trade. Nothing would cure me.

I made a choice. Quality over quantity. It was time to redefine myself. It was time to explore what I could offer with my broken body. It was time to find joy in the love and beauty of simply living. No, I could no longer run 10 miles, but I can spend 10 glorious minutes with my daughter. The pleasure from those moments out match any high from a long run. I no longer felt the need to achieve, I felt the need to accept what I have and be ok with it. It was LIBERATING. 

Here’s my confession. I’m not brave and I’m not tough, I made these choices after years of gut wrenching depression. I had visions of me aging and it wasn’t pretty.

The terminal diagnosis  was almost a relief. It prompted me to live it the present. As a result my depression faded. This opened the door to truly living, a door that I had closed long ago. I found that my spirit and love for people was still there. I had deep empathy for suffering. The ego grows bigger when you are surrounded with success. My shrunken ego moved aside to make room for compassion. I found a new purpose and you are reading it now. 

There are people suffering from depression around you. You may be suffering from depression. Mine went too far. If you are terminal learn to accept your death. If you are suffering deeply try to accept the circumstance and be gentle with how you are handling it. Be proud of yourself for all of the little growths you achieve. Every month requires you to readjust to the next phase of your new normal. Fear is crippling. You don’t need to waste time worrying about something that is out of your control.

What have I learned from all of this? Try not to let your sadness go too deep. Redirect the negative voice. Once you allow it to flow freely it will carve a path that you will habitually return to. If you feel your self sinking, move. Go outside. Don’t think, just do it. Live your life in the present anticipating future obstacles robs you of the moment you are in. And most importantly, please love all of yourself. I finally did.... just a little too late. 

Leave your ego at the door

Defining ego has always been a struggle for me. When I hear the word, I immediately make the association with egotistical. I didn’t study psychology in school, so I guess that puts me a disadvantage. 

My ego continues to plague me in everyday life. Since my short term memory is better, I will offer a recent example. My older daughter’s life is different that mine. Many times we don’t align, and that’s ok. If you have kids then you understand. There is one thing that we do have in common. We are both headstrong and stubborn.

Something was bothering me a few months ago within my family. In my quest for candor I decided to address it. Now before I sent anything, I tried to make sure it came from a loving place. But it was not well received. I had this need to prove my point—to be right. This behavior lurks in all of us. Yet we often don’t calculate the cost. We didn’t speak for almost a month. No big deal, unless you’re dying.

I never liked getting into an argument with my husband. He can spar with the best of them. The guy should have been a lawyer. It is exhausting. I learned if your going to disagree with him it better be worth it. We are both headstrong. Now maybe there is a theme at work here.

The other night we were discussing a topic that we didn’t agree on. John is an engineer. Practical, analytical, and had a keen lawyerly delivery. I’m the flighty, arts farsy, “I don’t want to hear details let’s just do it” kind of person.

Before we got to far into the discussion he said, “we don’t think the same way. “ And that’s ok. He was right... and without my emotions and ego in the way, I could completely understand. And that was that.

Here’s where it gets gray and fuzzy for me. I’ve been through some serious depression. I felt bad for myself but I felt worse for my family. I would constantly apologize for our situation. It was my duty to take responsibility for our crisis. That is the western way. It never occurred to me that that was my ego. I attached myself to something that I had no control over. By doing that it drove my depression deeper. Because I am an emotional feeder, I became good at it, and I took my family with me. In the depth of my depression I could only see and hear the negative loop I was convinced was the truth. I couldnt see what it was doing to others.

If only I had removed the ego, that prevents me from attaching on to something that I had no control over; leaving more room for my happiness. 

I think the secret to dying peacefully is truly letting go. My sister and father struggled with this. It seems to be easier for me. I think the strokes were my training ground. I simply have less to lose. With time the seven stages of death would fade. Acceptance and gratitude allows me to continue to enjoy my life

There is a poem I read after my dad died. The message felt so relatable in my sorrow;

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

-W H Auden

https://allpoetry.com/Funeral-Blues

As I let go of my dad, the poem’s impact on me changed. I will always miss him, but can read this with less ache.

I’ve haven’t gracefully understood Buddhism. I read and re-read passages and still don’t get it. It appears to give calm and peace to millions of people. My husband would pick on me about my fixation over the Dali Lama. He just emulates calm and kindness . Who doesn’t want that in their lives? Does he have any attachments? What is considered a healthy attachment? As we age do we inherantly understand that you can’t take our stuff with us? If you look at the bell curve that most people associate with the progression of life, maybe when you are on the back side of the graph is when you must learn to let go.

However, If I didn’t attach to my ego, would I bother to put the work into the Good Loaf? Would I put the work into this blog? Is attachment passion? Does passion arise from ego? Can you have passion without ego? Can you have success without ego?

I have driven deeply into my attachment to creating. I have let it impact all aspects of my life. When I owned the Good Loaf I chose to forgo sleep, nourishment, and time with family. I produced something I was truly proud of that provided for my community. In return I recieved praise from customers. They fed my drive to create, and in turn fed my ego. I now have a quiet life. I have deep connections with my family. I am more present than ever. I am grateful for all of it.

I have been letting go for a decade, running, cycling, swimming, climbing ,baking.  I’ve been called the lady with the jogger, bread lady, trike lady. I guess now it’s blog lady. I had to let go, adapt, and reinvent myself.

Lately I’ve been cleaning out my closet so there is less for John and Genevive to deal with. As I hauled shoes and clothes from my closet, I had that attachment twinge. I shook it off and I let it go. The went back in the closet for more.

May I offer a suggestion, pick something you love and cherish, and give it to someone you care about. Don’t cheat and pick something that was earmarked for goodwill. It should make you hesitate. If you are a runner, swimmer, althete of any kind, give up those hours and offer that time to a volunteer organization. Practice letting go.

This is where it gets hard, soon I will have to let go of my family and friends. I have to accept that I won’t see my daughter have an amazing career, or see her get married, or give me grandchildren to hold. I have to accept that my husband may re-marry. I have to accept that I will been gone before my mother. 

I have to accept that over time my family will have to let go of me.  And as was the case for me with my dad, over time the words of the poem wont hurt so much.

Sometimes we are kinder to our pets than people

Genevive came home the other day visibly upset. She attends school with a young woman who is a part-time hospice nurse. For obvious reasons this is a hot button topic with our family. The woman was sharing a situation with a patient who is suffering from ALS. In this case the disease progressed rapidly . The patient had no DNR, and her family couldn’t let go. It was explained to Genevive that with this disease the person either suffocates or starves. They lose the ability to swallow. The solution is to give a drug that will suppress their appetite. How is that humane?

I watched my sister suffer and die. The week before her passing the sister I knew was gone. Her ravaged body was there but the spirit had left. I wonder if modern medicine weren’t available would her body surrender sooner? I struggle to understand the benefit of prolonging suffering. Suffering for the family as well as the person. If compassion is a piece of every religion why would we allow prolonged suffering? If death is inevitable, and the path to death is only through pain and suffering, is easing that suffering wrong?

My best friend’s mother just passed away from lung cancer. She was 89. She died at home. Hospice came, but only in the final days. Their method to give comfort in the end is through various opioids. Death is accelerated through the use of morphine. It’s a balance of letting death take a natural course, and preventing suffering. At that point all quality of life is gone. Death at the hand of cancer is often painful. Hospice care givers are some amazing humanitarians. Every day they assist in the final days of a life. It’s a highly emotionally charged environment to walk into.  Everyone involved is forced to confront mortality in their own way, leaving them completely drained. 

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about my death.  When the morphine comes out you’re toast. In Buddhism staying fully present while dying affords you a chance to discover life’s deepest truths. That won’t happen if you’re doped up.

I had many, many reasons to seek help, mental health help. Terminal cancer was the breaking point. My goal in seeking help is  to die peacefully. It requires acceptance and letting go. It requires loving oneself. It requires discipline. I was physically disciplined, but mentally it was a free for all. In Buddhism it is said that the practice of meditation can foster an environment where a person can endure both emotional and physical pain, which in turn allows one to remain present To seek discipline now, and to manage one’s death is a marathon of the mind. I’m not so sure I will get there. 

It is difficult to be present in everyday life.. I’m rarely able to achieve it.  Last night I didn’t feel very well. It woke me from sleep. I decided it was an opportunity to exercise control of my mind during discomfort. Not pain, but discomfort. I didn’t fare well. Why should I? This method requires practice which I don’t do. I’ve been in pain but I am scared that it will be beyond my ability to maintain control. I will concede and lose to the drugs. Then I will no longer be aware of the last minutes of my life.  

I had a beautiful German  Shepard (max) he was old and sick. When he couldn’t play ball, had trouble getting up, and had no bladder control; I knew it was time. A gentle woman came to the house to assist. I built a fire, placed his bed in front of it, gathered all his favorite toys, gave him treats as Genevive held his head in her lap, and the woman administered the medication. 

I know this is dangerous territory, but one of the first things I did after being told I was going to die was research physician assisted suicide. It’s illegal in our “live free or die state.” However all the states that surround New Hampshire allow for it.

Many people have commented on how brave I am. I am not brave. I'm a yankee. I’m practical. I’ve had 3 strokes, a cerebral thrombosis , and now terminal cancer. I get the hint.  If I have to leave this earth early, I want some terms. It’s the ultimate exit strategy. If I were brave I would not be searching for a gentle way to die. If I can’t be present there is no reason to prolong death. I would prefer to die like my dog. 

In writing this piece I’ve discovered that my choice of death represents not the person I am but the person I want to be. It reveals stark truths that unaddressed will leave me searching for an easy way out. I will continue to evolve, and hopefully will put the work into staying present in my life and at my death.

If you look good and dress well, you don’t need a purpose in life. -Robert Dante

My mom was a pretty lady. She wouldn’t leave the house without her hair and make up just right. I get it. I did my share of “ window dressing”.  I have a closet full of beautiful clothes.... (let me know if you are intersted, I have sizes 4-8 ;)). 

After the first stroke, I tried to walk in my favorite clogs. You must understand that I have no balance. My brain was robbed of oxygen, and and communication to my foot was cut-off.  Here is a good comparison: if I told to make a pen move on a table with only your mind... nothing would happen. That’s me with my foot; I have the part but can’t use it. So I repeatedly toppled over, and the clogs were thrown to the back of my closet alongside all the other pretty and fun shoes. Flats and slips (knockoff crocks ;)) were my new best friend.  

I like pretty things. I know I’m getting into personal taste, but I don’t get the loving urge to hug a hairless cat. In the bakery it was the ugliest loaf of bread that was still in the basket or donated to the piggies 🐷 !!

I’ve been giving things up for almost a decade and I’ve had to adapt or conceed. Glue and duck tape couldn’t keep my right hand holding a pen!  We take for granted the functionality of our bodies. When I saw my neurology team about my depression, they said they weren’t worried because I still put effort into how I looked. Interesting way to gauge someone mental health. 

When my dad was sick with lung cancer, it wasn’t the loss of hair or weight. Those were all tangible things. I watched him walk into a bank where he’s done business for years, he looked broken. That ripple effect was evident when I saw how the teller treated him. 

My sister went to great lengths to hide her cancer, she would sport a wig, draw eye brows on, paint on some rough and plaster a smile. She kept up with this even after 6 yrs of chemo. She may have been good at this, but her broken spirit couldn’t be masked.

We are all aging (except Jane Fonda). The glowing skin gives way to gray wrinkled skin.  As our body’s decay our value shouldn’t. There is experience and wisdom in those wrinkled vessels. I’ve been on the fast track of aging. I went from running 5-10mi a week to having 70 year old ask if I needed any help. Now I’m sitting with death. I’ve been through the 7 stages of death about 20 times and I’m sure I’m not done. The idea of my legacy seeps into the quiet moments when I am alone. When I am alone, and sitting with my life.

I love standing still.  When I don’t move, no one knows that something is wrong with me. I love being invisible, disability and punishing cancer treatments throw you out of the middle.  Anything out of the middle grabs our attention. I’ve been guilty of noticing too much just like everyone else. 

My discovery is that beauty is found in the spirit you carry with you. If it is solid, it can outshine an awkward body, a bald head, and a disfigured face. This was a hard fought lesson. It took a terminal illness to get here.

I have tried to instill in my daughters that you were put on this earth for a purpose. In youth the goal is to uncover what that is, and then contribute as an adult . They both heard me. They put their value on their minds and less on their looks. These are courageous, compassionate, intelligent women. They are my legacy.

MMM natural sunscreen tastes SO GOOD !!!!

My dumping ground ... no judgment

This section on the blog is where I have tantrums and fail miserably at being noble. Ive said...ok ...be honest I’ve screamed and cried, “THIS IS SO UNFAIR” but who ever is in charge has not put in his/her hearing aids.

I was having vision issue with my left eye. Sometimes sight was blurry and other times the eye went dark. I could bring the sight back to normal but only after drowning myself with water. The thought of losing my vision was tipping the scale of my sanity. 

I called my neurologist...about 5 times before I could get an appointment and only after agreeing to see an optometrist first. I knew it was a blood flow issue. I told the nurse it was a blood flow issue, but I’m just a patient. 

Finally I get my MRI. Ive had dozen of these and never had a problem in the tunnel. This one was 11/2 hrs so I got a little ancy. Now because of the strokes I have spasticity which gets worse when I’m uptight. So when the technician pulled me from the machine, the first thing he said was, “are you upset with me” Apparently I was giving him the finger!    

Then the neurologist meets with radiology and discusses the results. So my doctor came in the room and says “you look better than I expected, and you speech is not that bad” what the heck does that mean??  Of course I fully expected this to be cancer related and was prepare to hear about a tumor.

 I didn’t expect to hear what was really going on. When you have a thrombosis the main vein get a clot and in my case they won’t touch it. This creates uneven pressure in my head and can prevent good blood flow. Over the past 6 yrs brain cells have been dying. Effectively the damage is growing. There is only 1 drug that can slowdown the problem. I took it once and had a out of body experience in Whole Foods.

This sucks and I have yet to find a reason for all the shit that’s happened to me. I want to believe that this gives me the right to prop myself up on pillows in my chaise  lounge dispersing wisdom.  But all I feel is a growing empathy for myself and all the suffering in the world. Maybe all this suffering is creating a brilliant star who will shine when I’m gone. So far she has given me hope that this is not without reason 

On a more positive note…life is good post surgery lol

They give flight to angels in wheelchairs

After the 3 stroke my life felt unbearable. I cried at least once a week and many times wish I had died. My best friend of 30 years saw a segment on Chronicle about an “ability center” in Stratham NH called Project Walk. I’ve been to several physical therapy places. This one is physical therapy on steroids! The owner Jacqueline Arlen , has the most beautiful aura (think Dali Lama) I had a saying from my dad, “the fish rots from the head” in this case the “ the fish illuminates” from the head. There is magic with in those walls. These are all caring and tough kinesiologist. Most clients are either quadriplegic  or paraplegic. Kindness and understanding is swirling around and everyone breathes it in. Don’t get me wrong you better want to be there. They work in ways I’ve never seen done before. I would leave there shaking, sore, and exhausted and yet, invigorated. When you suffer a brain injury the damage is usually grave. There is nothing more frustrating than having a part of your body physically, but having no control over what it does. I once asked my neurologist what would happen if we cut off my leg and replaced it with a prosthetic . He said, “ you would just drag around the fake leg” I loved this place and was going back until I got the cancer diagnosis. 

You see, the detached insurance companies, make blind decisions on what to pay for. Project walk is unconventional and so it’s a fight for payment. These people should be paid double. I stopped going because of the fight for coverage.

I told Jackie of my diagnosis and she said the most insightful thing: “you are your diagnosis but you are not your prognosis “. Now you can understand why I love her. 

We stare at people with disabilities because they are different. We stare at them. We act like there are less that us. In fact they are so much more than we will ever be until we have suffered as they have. They deserve a hero status the next time you encounter someone who is disabled applaud them for staying in the fight

www.pwboston.comProject Walk Boston

Who can I blame

I have been to almost every hospital in New Hampshire, Dartmouth in Lebanon the most. I have no fondness for this place. I think they call my reaction  to that hospital  PTSD. Ive been ignored by many because I present as a healthy person. I drove 1.5 hours with a head full of blood clots and was sent home with a bottle of Aleve and an explanation that i was in a migraine cycle. I was diagnosed with a cerebral thrombosis and never referred to a neurologist. It took me 5 days after my first stroke before anyone would see me, and even then they sent me through the ER.. ( and we all know what that’s like). I was told that I had a bleed over the phone, and didn’t know that a bleed was a stroke, until I saw my physical therapist. 

I’m not a angry person but even typing this sends my blood pressure through the roof. The results of this kind of treatment are detrimental in ways I hope no other person has to experience. 

I now have terminal cancer. Although it makes no sense to many, I have chosen to forgo treatment. My life, and that of my family has been severely affected by my physical issues. I’ve been blaming the doctors for years. I’ve had anger for years. I’ve had stupid issues with my brother, with my mom. Now I’m dying and all I want is to go with love in my heart.

We give too much power to those in a white coat. They are human. There are the geeky kids that were in your school. They have lives beyond your medical issues and a patient load that for many is unmanageable. When I make the choice to let the disease run a natural course every physician I saw would re-introduce my chemo therapy options. They took an oath to maximize lives no matter the cost or quality. My Dad died of lung cancer. My sister died of lung cancer after 6 years of chemo (think of having the flu for 6 years). Their treatments were punishing and it was hard to watch.

It is not that I’m against treatment, but with a terminal diagnosis, the outcome doesn’t change. Only when the outcome occurs changes. No one can predict that time. My Oncologist gave me a year—and when I pushed for details I had 9 months of reasonable health. As of today I’m at 8. Why am I telling this detail? I played the numbers game in my head and it does nothing for me but I cannot stop those hearing those words. I now know better. I made a choice to live every day fearless. Some times the less you know the better.