It's Time for the Pall of Death to Move to the Back of the Bus

Background: I saw a therapist after my terminal diagnosis. One thing that she said stuck with me. She told me that I am a wife, a mother, a sister, an aunt, a lover of books, a knitter, a teacher. Picture those and the many other aspects of myself riding on my bus. Right now (at the time of diagnosis and chemo) the cancer was driving the bus. Eventually the cancer will move to the back of the bus. Keep cancer at the back of the bus. I have been trying to do that since.

I just realized that I have been living the past six years awaiting imminent death. I've been living with this pall of death hanging over my head since I received my terminal diagnosis. It really helped, what my Interventional Radiologist told me before he did my lung biopsy when I was being diagnosed, that my stage 4 was grouped with stage 4s who had two weeks or so to live, and that there needs to be [more of a breakdown -- can't remember his exact words] within the stages, and that I had many, many years left. I understood what he said and I cried tears of happiness at what he said ... but it hit me last night with a friend's comment on a facebook post of mine that I've been living with this pall hanging over my head unnecessarily. Sure, I have a terminal illness. That's bad. That's very, very bad. I take an anti-depressent to help me deal with that. I take songs like Tim McGraw's Live Like You Were Dying to heart. It's great advice for anyone. But after six years. Six. Years. I am still on my first line treatment. That's unusual. When my current treatment fails (and it eventually will) there are many more out there for me to try.

Because of this pall of death (and the anti-depressent, let's be honest), I have become a more patient person. I have learned to see the beauty in the small things, the mundane things, the everyday things. I am less likely to show irritation. I speak with a calmer voice. I smile more. I complement more.

I drive the hour to Georgetown hospital every three weeks for treatment, and every three months for scans. Treatment days wipe me out so that I sleep the rest of the day once I get home, and the next day, sometimes two. Exhaustion is so bad (side effect of the other medication) that I am in bed by 7pm every night, sometimes earlier. I need a weekend of staying in bed every once in a while to just rest. I stress about money and how we're going to pay the bills. This is my life now. This is my "new normal". It bites, but it is what it is, and it is way better than the alternative.

I have a full time job, a part time job, and I'm taking a full load of college classes with the goal of obtaining a teaching degree. Once I'm hired as a teacher, my salary will go up, as will the life insurance policy I will leave for my husband (who has Parkinson's). The part time job in the fall is field hockey coach, in the spring is softball coach, and in the summer is summer school teaching. Yes, all this is taxing and exhausting, but it is so enjoyable. Even (most of the) college classes I have taken so far I have enjoyed. I am living life and loving it.

So, it's time for the pall of death to move it's ass to the back of the bus, and for the dark clouds to clear.