No, it doesn't make it easier

Not knowing how my death is going to happen or when do not make it easier. However, since I have no discernible symptoms, the hardest part seems to be the part when I'm telling people. And it's only hard on me because no one else was prepared for it. (Was I? Yes and No. At 68 I know I've lived longer than 99% of everyone who ever lived, but in the modern world it seemed I should have expected another 20 or so years. "Send not to know the day or the hour.")

But the hard part of this is that so many people react so badly to the word 'Cancer.' What people say to me and how they say it says more about them than it does about me. Everybody is so damned afraid of dying and particularly dying with cancer. Early 21st Century Americans have forgotten that they are all going to die.

So the minute other read my facebook posting about my recent diagnosis, these fine people (and they are) begin projecting on me their own fears. It becomes "how would I react to this?" and "I would fight this" and eventually "Here's a cure I've heard of."

I'm not fighting this situation. I'm accepting it. I'm waiting for options to unfold, then I'll make my best choice among the options I have. All I need from my circle of friends and acquaintances is support. I don't need advice. I don't really need prayers; however I know many fine people who will feel the need to pray for me. It's okay. I have yet to be hurt by a prayer and I have seen many prayers helped by their praying. So have at it if you need to. If you see at some religious or spiritual gathering, and I'm acting reverential, know it for what it is: respect. I know many fine people who I respect, and I would not disrespect their beliefs by rudeness.

Things to think about as I begin the process of dying

These questions keep recurring as I begin this process of dying, especially as I still feel fine and eat normally.
Should I have a procedure to reduce the size of my bladder? I have BPH, which is a benign enlargement of my prostate. With the current medication I am on, it is not a painful condition at this time. While I am told that the procedure itself is nothing more than uncomfortable, I would point out that I would have a catheter in my penis for about 3 days after the procedure. I am not looking to add pain to my life at this time. What to do?
In this situation, are all of the medications I currently take what I should be taking now? Will have to consult with doctors on this one. You know they're gonna add meds as this goes along. Despite all of the medical professions statements, mostly they don't check the med lists to see if there are problems. In fact, the pharmacists do a better job than the doctors do, in my experience.
Subscriptions: Should I renew any of them? If so, which ones?
Don't think I want to start any new book series.

The big worry though is how to see that my wife gets the care and support she needs. I've been her at home caregiver since her foot surgery last October. She can walk now (finally) but not much. She hasn't driven in a couple of years because I didn't think she was safe anymore, but she's gonna need some way to get around. She wants to go into assisted living in the town where her daughter lives, and I think she's right. How can we make that happen before I'm too sick to go there? If I've learned nothing in the past couple of years it's that you can't even get help when you ask for it, when you seek it out.

Enough nonsense for the moment.

Probably should change the titie

Given that I'll be 69 in about 8 weeks, I don't think I'm middle aged anymore. I would change the title of this blog if it mattered. But since I'm not aware of anyone else reading this little speck of the Internet and since I have less time than I had expected even earlier this week, I don't think I'll bother.

Yes, I have gotten a terminal diagnosis, at least in a preliminary form. Results of an abdominal MRI show "innumerable lesions scattered throughout the liver....The findings are consistent with widespread metastatic disease." That's metastatic cancer of the liver for those unsure of what those words mean.

It helps me to say it and keep saying it. It also helps me to remember what I've said to others for the past five or more years: that I've had nearly 50 bonus years. I should have died in Vietnam, but not only did I not die, the only scratches I got were from busting my knuckles on generator maintenance. I may also have barked my shins a time or six; after all these years it's hard to remember.

In about three weeks, after they've done a biopsy and a PET scan, the oncologist will give me a definitive diagnosis of what kind of metastatic cancer it is and where in my body it came from (since, apparently, all metastatic cancers come from some other part of the body. Who knew?)

But none of that does more than refine the plain fact that I have liver cancer and that liver cancer is incurable.

I do not feel sick. Nothing special hurts. There are no new lumps or bumps or bruises. My input goes out the back end pretty much as it always has. I know I have BPH; I was gonna take a procedure to shrink the bladder. (Now I don't know if I need to. More on this in a sec.)

Given that I'm coming up on my 69th birthday, I thought I was doing okay: needed to lose weight, needed more exercise, was getting close to needing a knee replacement. None of this seems to matter now.

Now I'm going to focus on having fun and being as comfortable as I can be for whatever time remains. I don't even know what that means. I'm waiting for the meeting with the oncologist so that I know what to expect of my body going forward, what I can do to help myself, what medicine is willing to do to help me. I'm not interested in any treatments or procedures to cure the incurable. I am decidedly NOT interested in making my last days/weeks/months/??? miserable chasing some ephemeral 'cure'.

All life dies and makes way for new life. No one is indispensable. Mine is not some great life than multitudes will mourn. It is an ordinary life, and I will be cremated as much because I don't know six people willing to carry my coffin, at least not locally who are physically able. So I'll give any organs they want to medicine for recycling (though liver cancer may preclude their use. And I'll shuffle off this mortal coil.

That's enough for today.