I'm 27 and Dying, but I Feel Content

OMG-who was it, Peter? that hoped we get a light topic for Sunday? Not sure I can do this. I feel for the young man, and then there's his parents! It's all so unfair! Such a short life...and I can think of nothing so devastating as burying my child. It'd be the end of me.

And don't give me that crap about 'god works in mysterious ways' either. If this is the best our supreme being can do, we need to start taking applications to replace the sick sadistic SOB.

Not a fit topic for Sunday, IMHO...sorry, I just went off there, my maternal thingy blew up.

Greetings:  Re: Todays Topic.    See you on Monday.

PS Lets hope these storms are minimal.

This is, indeed, a breath-taking occurrence to be told you have a form of cancer, and that the prognosis is that your life as you know it in this world will end shortly.  In my long and checkered career in dealing with situations like this, I remember the counsel of two young women who developed a therapy program to work with young children who had experienced a loss of parent or family member:  you walk with hope in one hand, reality in the other, and pray for a miracle. 

When my late husband was given a diagnosis of the "big C" he asked our oncologist how long do I have - and the answer was probably 8 to 10 years - turns out that few people die of the particular form of lymphoma that he had - they succumb to the complications of everything else that comes along in those years.  And he was right - David's death certificate 8 years later reported the primary cause of death as "failure to thrive."  This nearly broke my heart, as we had given him such exquisite care, but a different type of lymphoma was now in his stomach and he could not absorb nutrients from food - and could not even keep any food in his stomach.  in addition, he had developed a third cancer which had then metastisized in his bones.  The three cancers were listed as secondary causes - but technically, he failed to thrive.

Among the myriad things I learned in those 8 years was how to advocate for his care and how to coordinate with specialists, how to blend facets of Eastern and Western medicine, and most of all, how to love him very deeply and eventually how to finish his sentences when he couldn't.

I sincerely hope that anyone facing a diagnosis of a life-altering condition has someone who can devote the time and energy needed to learn everything there is to know about the conditions impacting that person, and how to effectively use their words to gain the very best of appropriate care on the patient's behalf.

Money talks - there is no doubt of that - but a caring partner is worth a million!  Also research into which hospital or medical centre might be doing studies to determine treatment options is often an answer.  When I mention blending Eastern and Western medicine, I am not advocating use of untested herbs or native nostrums that might endanger a patient further - but I know from experience the help that acupuncture, massage, healthy foods and plenty of rest can provide - for the patient and for his caregivers.

I'm also very aware that getting a proper diagnosis can be an unnecessary challenge - as our patient above notes, warm honey and lemon is a rather poor prescription and yet it certainly wouldn't have harmed - he simply had not been given the kind of overall assessment that could have led to some possible early options.  Sounds from the description as though there are none however.

In our part of the forest here in the great northwest this weekend, we are seriously studying the results of smoke and vapors from a manufacturing plant because the rate of leukemia in children in downriver towns is now much higher than one would see as a "normal" incidence based on history.  

Sometimes the greatest legacy left by those for whom no cure is known now, rests in their commitment to working with the trailblazers and scientists who can build for the future so that others might not face such an early end of life.  

None of us know how many days we have - unless we have been advised as the young man above of a pending demise.  A hospice nurse who helped our family at the time of the loss of a loved one to Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's disease) told us that, "when we are born, there are two dates stamped on our bottoms; one is the date you'll be potty-trained and the other is the date we die."  And that is an area not usually visible...

As some of you know I just said farewell to a dear friend whose doctor had told us Monday evening that he had maybe two hours left.  Well, in his inimitable way, he stretched that painlessly to 23 - and we all had time to tell him of our love - to wish him Godspeed - and then to celebrate his Happy Birthday in Heaven.

Be sure there is someone to tell your story when you leave for another place - live life fully, but be sure to share, so that your companions will always recall your days happily!

rright behind you 'ptune.

Wishing all a joyous sunday and will be checking in Monday.

Thank you, belle...I can't speak.

Olivia:

I really agree with your paragraph 2.

The novelist Kingsley Amis was once asked whether he believed in God. He replied that it wasn't so much a question for him as to belief vs. non-belief, but rather that he hated him.

It would be informative had the author disclosed what he means by leukemia. I suspect it's hairy cell leukemia, in which case his mortality may be derived more from being a patient under the NHS rather than the intrinsic nastiness of the disease. 

Ah!  How nice that our host has given us that Peterman Lite topic we all so desired!

Belleball,

My humblest apologies for my failure to join the others in welcoming you back yesterday.  I have missed you and am very glad to see you have returned.  Terribly sorry to hear of the reason for your absence.

The only valuable thing I have to add is this:  Continue to tell the stories of those we have lost.  They can continue to help us laugh and to help us learn.  The people we have loved gave us a reason for loving them and that continues in their stories.  So long as their stories are told, they will never die.

It's always hard to mentally deal with mortality.  It's both an objective fact which we chat about (often casually) and it's the biggest emotional event in our short lives.   Someone once said that he didn't fear death since he had not existed for billions of years and would again not exist for more billions of years; what he feared was the process of dying.  And then when it comes to love (that exalted emotion) it makes death ever so more painful.  I ask myself, 'Would I rather be dead than to see the people and things I love die while I lived on?  At least then I'd avoid seeing them disappear...' -- Old people describe the horror of being alive when all they love has disappeared and all their friends and family have ceased to exist.  They call it lonliness.  What is certain are two things: (1) we will not know how we will react to our final hours until we arrive at them (if we are still conscious); (2) we are all under an irrevocable death sentence.  So far I have coped with my own mortality by pretending that my works, my family, my civilization and the natural world will all survive -- all the while knowing that that is a lie.  I also try to keep a perspective that I'm simply an object in a stream destined for extinction and that my existence/nonexistence is simply one more datum.   It's a hard battle keeping that in mind.  We are built to struggle for air, water, food, and survival.... Resignation sounds good in theory, but it's hard to organize our instincts around theories.  So we die in random and unpredictible ways, unmourned by 99.9999 percent of humanity (for whom we're about as significant as roadkill on a freeway).  Strange.  Exceedingly strange.

P.S. Age is (objectively) irrelevant.  So why does it tear my heart up to see a small child die.  I don't know....

Sorry....topic too much for today....

heading to view The Impressionists at the Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, TX...

"I'm not afraid of dying.  I just don't want to be there when it happens." -- Woody Allen

Wow.  Back and forth with the emotions.  Yes, Belleball, we do welcome you back and are very much in empathy with you having gone through your loss.  It seems that the demographics of this group is of such an age that we have all most likely gone through the loss of family and friends, be it the older generation or the younger.  I have a close friend that is now declining and her daughter is going through that difficult phase of "reversing roles" and becoming the "parent" to her parents.  The experience brings up such memories of my time in taking over the responsibilities of our parents' care and final moments.  Until one has lived through those times, it is difficult to understand, especially if those parents have been extremely self-sufficient and competent.  Not only does one have to bear the turmoil of losing those we love, but also having to make decissions we never thought we would be called upon to make.  I remember when my sister, who lives out of town, said with a somewhat acusitory tone, that she never saw me cry throughout either funeral for our parents.  I told her that she didn't see me the day I drove into their city and had them moved into the nursing home.  That was the day I "lost" them, the day I took over their lives and started making "their" decissions.  

My wonderful mother-in-law, of whom I have spoken upon occasion, had the best exit stratigy I know.  She wrote her autobiography, a 100 page tomb that was filled with wonderful stories of her adventurous childhood and  opinions of those around her, thus, we could never have it published--.  She then continued to contribute until 96 when her body simply quit.  Even at that time, she was excited because this death thing would be another new adventure.  She will live on for generations because of that book she wrote for the family and her often quoted quips.  This is her "after life", a family member remembered with a laugh and funny stories.  Who could ask for more?  Because of this, my husband and I both have written our stories for the family to archive as well.

The hard time is when a young person dies before his time.  We in this community, are dealing with the death of a high school football player, over-come during practice by the heat.  Olivia, you are absolutely right!  There is an official investigation into the coaches' behavior, etc., but that doesn't help with the parents' having to cope with the senseless loss of a young person with a lifetime of living, loving, and contributing ahead of him.

Another story.  Had a friend that went through all the trials and therapies with cervical cancer.  When it was again back and the dr.'s wanted to put her through the regimin again, she said NO.  She went home,lived the life she could, and when it was evident that her time was short, the family threw a big wake party and all came and thoroughly enjoyed themselves with tall tales and good times.  Nobody enjoyed themselves more than Patty.  She laughed up-roariously, told the wildest of tales and had a chance to say good-by to those family and friends she loved.  About 10 days later, she died.  It was done.

belleball,

I read, listened, and will remember.  I'm honored you shared this with us.

be well

I'm relieved that I didn't request a six pack of "Peterman Lite" yesterday.

I'm going to an annual festival held in Naperville today called "Last Fling" which I now trust is mere coincidence and not prophecy. 

see ya'll later, gators!

What a difficult and potentially depressing topic for this HOLIDAY weekend! You are all contributing beautifully, and I treasure this association so much.

I know I will live, and finish, and pass away into oblivion, I only hope that I can enjoy my time here, make a positive contribution, and that a few might remember me fondly for a while.

Doc, Spinner, Belle-wonderful, wise, moving...

I'm going to a celebration of LIFE today, with friends in a field, by the bayou, potluck and fish fry and music by our friends, but I will hold you all in my heart the while. I'll leave you with a quote by Epicurus that comforts me in my dark hours...

Thus that which is the most awful of evils, death, is nothing to us, since when we exist there is no death, and when there is death we do not exist.

Safe paths this day, my friends.

Doc Nolan,

I appreciate your thoughtful and eloquent post.  It certainly rings of truth for me.

My father, his father (my grandfather) and my father's brother (my uncle) all died of multiple cancers.  The deaths were in their early to mid 70's.  Perhaps a normal life span? There's an obvious genetic predispostion to fatal cancers in the male side of my family.

I am philosophical about it.  I live a full life, pursue my career, enjoy my friends, love to take risks, enjoy a sunset, enjoy the way the afternoon sunlight filters through the mini-blinds, enjoy the slow moving ceiling fans, made sure my children are independant, and enjoy my single life (and wish I'd become single sooner).

And, yes, I enjoy nice suits, Italian ties, counting my profits and being physically fit.

When will it end?  I don't know. I don't care. I will be defiant to the end.  I've made my peace with who I am....the past is history, the future is but a dream, the present is to be lived.

I'm in my office...it's about 2 pm. It's quiet. I'm alone, reading the comments on Peterman's Eye.....thinking about my new friends - La Donna, Spinner, especially - and the the great conversations that have been had with everyone.   These are worthwhile memories to carry into the end game.

I doubt there's a light at the end of the tunnel.  This life is wonderful.  Who needs an afterlife? This is the place to live and be alive.   

A long time ago I was poor and homeless.....especially after my car was repossessed (no place to sleep, then) but every day was a new day.  Every crappy piece of so-called food was a banquet.  The sunsets were magnifiscent, the flowers still bloomed, I lived.

It is truly better (belive me) to have than to have not, but somethings are priceless.  You should take the time to find those priceless things and embrace them. They will be your salvation when bad times come (they always do) and they will be your inspiratin to live and seek the future.

I hope no one got the impression I was on my way to the "Big Sleep"....far from it, I was merely waxing philosophical.

Any of you who are in the path of Gustav....please take care and be well.  Your're property can be replaced...you can not be replaced. 

ExPat, I thoroughly agree with your philosophy.  I teach water therapy classes and therefore am reminded constantly of the perils of aging.  Both I and my husband have been very fortunate to find ourselves approaching our elder years in good shape.  Me because I work very hard at it and my husband because of simple genetics.  Remember, I said that my mother-in-law lived to 96.  But I am reminded by my classes that often, we are attacked by physical forces over which we have no control and thus I am trying to revel in each day and not be concerned by what is down the road.  When that time comes and we find our son must take on that role reversal of which I spoke earlier, I just hope we can be gracious and make that transition easy for him.  In the mean time, the two of us are still working hard to be productive and happy with the acomplishments of each day.  After all, my husband has that new book out that we spoke of several months ago, and didn't begin to write it until he was 70. And it is beginning to take off within the archaeological community as well as locally. No time for hand-wringing in this family!  Too much else on the plate to get done! 

Just remember, though.  Luck rarely comes without a lot of hard work preparing for it.

Spinner,

Luck always seems to equal hard work. People who gamble in Las Vegas usually have no luck. Hard work, focus and passion are still the best ways to achieve success whether it's professional or personally.

Trump said: the harder I work the luckier I get....I would agree. Focus and pasion for what you do makes it look easy (although its not).

Please enjoy your Labor Day....I'll be swimming!

ExPat,

I will be staying dry.  A busman's holiday to get in that pool!  Have a good day one and all.

I did not cry at my dad's funeral.  It was a social occasion, a time to see old friends who had loved him too, people I had not spoken to in years.  Some of them were surprised I remembered them.  Some, I was ashamed to have forgotten.  At the end, as we left the church, all the little toddlers were playing in the vestibule (my little girl was one-and-a-half).  I walked out front and said, "This is where he would have wanted to be, not in there with that stuffy ceremony but out here playing with the kids."  Those who knew him best understood.

I did cry alot leading up to all that.  My father had a heart attack on the operating table while attempting a limb removal from his diabetes.  He placed a "do not resuscitate" order which was disgracefully ignored.  It took him two weeks to die a death that should have been sudden.  The only good thing was that he had always said too many people die in hospitals.  The proper place to die is in your own home, in your own bed, in the arms of your spouse.  That is how it was for him.  My crying happened during the time that he was still breathing but no longer alive by any standard he had ever taught me.

I had always sworn that, if I knew when my dad was going to die, I would go to him and say goodbye one last time.  Then, when I had the chance, I chose not to.  He could not speak and was nearly blind; he had retreated within himself.  I knew he would not want me to see him that way.  His sister, my aunt (who passed away only eight months later), said she thought I might regret that decision later.  Sometimes, I think she may have been right.  But that's my problem.  I still maintain that he would not have wanted me to see him that way and I wanted to respect that.

Spinner's sister and I both shared the luxury of living 'out of town'.  We don't have the long, slow process of dying placed under our noses.  My brother was there to the bitter end with our father.  I cannot imagine faulting him no matter what he might have done at the funeral.  He dealt with the grief up close while I had a much easier road to travel.  And he has always been stronger than I.

The last thing I remember from the funeral was when my father's last secretary made the comment that inspired my earlier comment to belleball:  "So long as I am alive and remember all his stories, he will be alive too."

Only those that have gone through the loss of parents can understand all the different emotions the children can have.  One can read all the novels and philosophy books in the world, but still not know really what or how to cope and anybody that tries to tell us that we are not acting "proper" truly is showing their naivete and shallowness of understanding. 

Those of us in the medical profession are reminded, on a daily basis, of the fragile nature of our bodies, and our mortality. From the two year old child, still living, with only one ventricle, to the young father that didn't look before he dove in the water, and is now a quadriplegic. We care for these patients, and even love them, but if we care too much, if we love them too much, we get too close, and we are pulled into a vortex of despair, sorrow, and helplessness, and then become unable, or barely able, to continue our work. So we learn, early on, to find that boundary, to somehow insulate ourselves from our patients, with rubber gloves, face masks, medical paperwork, or whatever else we can find, to at least maintain a semblance of mental stasis, but still do our utmost to serve as an anodyne to the afflictions and crisis that weigh so cruelly upon them. But still we think about them, and worry about them, and on occasion find ourselves calling the ward from home to see how they are doing, as we fight to maintain that distance.

When I was once a young orderly (that's what we were called back then), I was lamenting to an elderly nurse about an unfortunate patient that was suffering to an extreme degree, and how badly I felt about his situation. She looked up from her paperwork and said,
"Well, young man. Sympathy, without relief, is pretty poor stuff." and returned to her paperwork.
I will never forget her for that lesson.

DPR:  That last post of yours really hit home with me.  I had a similar situation with my dad.  I was in the Caribbean on a boat when I got the call on a Tuesday that my dad had had a stroke and that I should come back to NC.  I arrived in Chapel Hill on Sat night.  My dad was on the bed in the hospital, motionless but with bright blue-bluer than blue eyes.  I told him everything I could think of at the time to say "thanks" for everything he had ever done for me-then I left the room to think.  He passed away as soon as I left the room.  That was about five years ago and I still am not over it, I don't think I ever will be. 

 "So long as I am alive and remember all his stories, he will be alive too."  That quote is pretty much perfect.  I am constantly telling my boys "what my dad would say, think, do..." All the stories, they will go on forever.  DPR, thanks for your thoughts.

Olivia:  Have you seen the new Mini Clubman?  I have way to many cars, but I really want one of these.  We'll see, but I doubt it.....

Cap-Of COURSE I've seen it! I want them ALL! I love my Minnie, but they're all so cute, if I was rich I'd probably have a dozen. As it is, I get a big kick out of my quirky wee car, she's so fun to drive, and just has it all.

PS-Just got home, safe n sound from my party, lovely posts all. Thank you.