More Reading

A few weeks ago I posted about a book I was reading called "Dying to be Me" by Anita Moorjani.  The main point of her story about a Near Death Experience (some would say she crossed over and came back) while she was battling cancer was that, in her opinion, FEAR was the cause of her cancer.

Hmmm, that is certainly food for thought considering that I've said several times on this blog that cancer is the thing I fear most in the world.

The author's viewpoint is that she grew up "fearing failing, being disliked, letting people down, and not being good enough" (p. 132) and all that fear caused her cancer.  OK, so I'm ahead of the game a little bit.  I don't doubt myself.  I learned early on how to be completely happy with who I am.  A birth defect will do that for you.  A cleft palate at birth left my lip deformed by a scar.  Children frequently made fun of me growing up so I adopted the attitude that if they didn't want to get to know me just because I had a scar on my lip then they weren't someone I wanted to know anyway.

So I know I'm not too hard on myself, but I do pledge to be less afraid of death by cancer.  I will try to refocus my thoughts about July 12, 2017 as a day of opportunity and new beginning.

Prognosis

I heard an interesting discussion on the radio - a medical talk channel I've recently tuned in on XM radio.  A caller said that when her father was diagnosed with Alzheimers she was able to find a special type of therapist who told them about the seven levels of the disease and what to expect in each one and they provided an assessment of what stage her father was currently in.  She found it very helpful and wanted to let others know it was a possibility.

The two doctors felt that most people would not want to know.  One indicated that it was also available for Dementia patients too.  I wish I had known!  When my mom was suffering from Dementia it seemed like it all happened so fast, especially the end.  I think I would have appreciated knowing how close we were.  I might have been more prepared or had a different focus and made different choices.

The doctors also said that years ago it was common practice to give a prognosis of the likely amount of time left for a terminal patient but now there has been a shift and doctors are told not to take hope away from the patient.  I've heard this philosophy along the lines of the power of positive thinking.  I definitely believe in positive thinking but I think it is unwise to stick our heads in the sand.  

I'd rather be told I have six months and make a personal resolution to beat it and prove them wrong and look at every day past that as a gift.  On the other hand I do like the commercial for The Cancer Treatment Center of America that says, "none of us comes with an expiration date."

Maybe It's Better I Don't Get Old

Here's something about me I don't admit very often - I don't really like old people.

Give me a room full of high school students any day over a single older person.

I know I'm not alone in feeling creeped out going into a nursing home - a lot of people feel that way.

Not my daughter - when she was younger and the Girl Scouts or Youth Group would go to a nursing home, she thought they were all so cute.  She never seemed to notice that I was staying on the perimeter and counting the minutes until it was over.

Even when my own mother was in the last stages of her life - I had NO patience with her.

I could not stand to have the same conversation time after time on the rare times I visited.

Not my son - he had a standing Wednesday night visit with her and enjoyed her stories.

And when she was in the hospital and completely non-sensical, he'd redirect her to her socks.

In my head I was screaming, "Just take your pills old woman and we wouldn't be in this hospital."

She was wanting to go look for her own mother (dead already more than a decade) and my son would say, "I like your socks" and she'd pause and look at them and say, "They're yellow" - for the fifth time in half an hour yet it was as if she had just discovered them.

While I am proud of my children and their endless patience with their Grandma, I am certainly not proud of my own impatience.  I often think maybe it is a good think if 7/12/17 is my end date and I don't have to grow old because if there is any credence to the concept of Karma, I'm due for a miserable old age.  

I know we all have our strengths.  To be the Body of Christ on Earth not everyone can be a hand, some have to be a foot.  I'm a very logical person, that's how God made me for His purpose.  But Logical and Senile just don't pair well together.  I'm okay with that.  I'm not beating my self up about my weakness, just continuing to keep my screaming thoughts inside me head whenever the need arises and knowing that I am NOT meant to serve God in the old folks home.

Recommended Reading

My friend whose words I borrowed last week recommended a book called "Dying To Be Me" by Anita Moorjani.  The second time she recommended it to me, months apart, I thought I'd better just go ahead and read the book because it obviously left a strong impression on her.

The author was dying of cancer and had a Near Death Experience but then came back and now tells everyone how she beat cancer by changing her attitude and outlook.  At least, that's the gist I've got so far, but I'm not quite half way through.

I did find a passage on page 43 to be speaking straight to me though and because of that connection I am more into the book.

Mrs. Moorjani had a friend and a brother-in-law die of cancer within a few months of each other.  She says, "This news instilled a deep fear in me because both of them were close to my age.  I began researching everything I could about cancer and its causes.  Initially, I started doing this in the hope of helping, because I wanted to be there for Soni, to help her fight.  But I found that the more I read about the disease, the more I was afraid of everything that could potentially cause it.  I started to believe that everything created cancer - pesticides, microwaves, preservatives, genetically modified foods, sunshine, air pollution, plastic food containers, mobile phones, and so on.  This progressed until eventually, I started to fear life itself."

Over the past year or so I have done internet "research" regarding a liver condition I have (Gilbert's syndrome) and, unrelated, autism - among other things.  I have found reason to blame pesticides, preservatives, GMOs, antibiotics in meat, the combination of plastic food containers and microwaves, and other random toxins.  So I could really relate to the author - which always makes a book more enjoyable (not that the subject is enjoyable, but relatable is good nonetheless).

Thankfully I am not yet scared of life and don't think I'll get to that point.  But I have changed a lot of the ways I do life.  I've changed the meat I eat, the way I use the microwave, the way I store food, the way I look at soaps and food and beverages.  Yes, I'll still eat at McDonald's and enjoy a Dr. Pepper, but not with the frequency that I used to.

Back to the reading...

I Share the Sentiment

A friend of mine is Fighting Like a Girl against cancer.  She has a facebook page Fight Like A Girl and she blogs on it a bit.  A few days ago I read one of her posts and she very eloquently put to words some of the feelings and thoughts I have had since the dream one and a half years ago that told me 7/12/17 might be the day I die.  I've had these thoughts and all I've had is a dream.  She's got a diagnosis so I can only imagine how much more intense they are for her.  For me it is an inward struggle to think I've grown up a Christian, knowing I'll go to Heaven, but yet feeling like I'm not ready yet.  I don't enjoy that conflict within.  

With her permission, I share some of her words here:

 But when things get a little serious (and it only takes a little), I can immediately feel the weight of what's happening.
Our friend was here for a short meeting to talk about me switching my insurance to John's and a couple other things. And I'm not sure what was said, maybe it was the urgency of taking care of things before my insurance period ended, maybe it was getting a bone density scan or talk of wills and powers of attorney, maybe it was talk of not going back to teaching this Fall?
It's all important. And we need to talk about those things.
But I couldn't fight back the tears. And I still can't even as I write this.
It's taken me a long time to realize my worth, and how much I truly want to live.
And, darn it, I want to live!
I'm strong, and so blessed, and the Lord's grace is all over me. So, honestly, I'm at peace with it all most of the time.
But sometimes, like now, I remember that I've been officially deemed "terminal." Yes, we're all terminal. But for all my efforts, this thing could still grow, and I may not be here next month.
I'm simply too young to miss all there is.
I'm sad.
You know, I think it's ok to be in this place sometimes. And just let myself feel. I spent a lot of years suppressing my feelings, not thinking I was worthy to have them. So now there's something almost joyful about being sad, because I'm just being me with no apologies. And that feels kind of good. 

What's the Big Secret?

The other thing I often wonder as I read the obits is - what's the big secret?  I find myself often wondering what took the life of these people.  Some die so young.  Others leave children behind and certainly it must have been something really strong and powerful to rip them away from their children.  Every now and then you'll see the cause of death listed.  Usually in a nicely worded fashion like lost their battle with cancer or something along those lines.   Or you can make a guess based on the charity they request donations for.

Is there some social stigma I'm missing that contra-indicates mentioning the cause of death?  NOTE TO WHOEVER WRITES MY OBIT:  Just tell people how I died - there's really no shame in it.  Not that this would happen to me but with the right words anything could sound good:  Heroin, the king of evil took over your life and brought it to an end, but now you rest in the arms of the King of Heaven.

I can speak from personal experience.  My first husband committed suicide.  I definitely did NOT write that into his obituary.  Partly because it seemed so horrendous and also, at the time, I wasn't sure I wanted the children to know.  Truth be told we didn't make it through the viewing before one of them overheard it in the bathroom.  Looking back on it now with perspective it would have been just fine to write it in.  Surely there was more whispering about whether it was or wasn't than if I'd just come out and said it.

And when my mom passed away a little over a year ago from complications of Dementia, I didn't write the cause then either.  But now that I've given it some thought, I would definitely write both of them differently.

Opining on Obituaries

Two or three times a month I flip through the obituary section of the Sunday paper.  Especially now that they have moved it into the "Faith" section.

Why do I look?  Many reasons:
- I'm writing a book inspired by a man who is in his late 70s or early 80s.  I hope to finish the book before he dies but I'm not in regular contact with him so mainly I check to see if he's still alive
- I'm vaguely curious about people I used to know in other versions of my life
- It seems like good practice not to assume nobody I know would be in there
- Occasionally I see a relative of someone I know and can offer the appropriate condolences
- My grandmother used to joke that she read them to make sure she wasn't in there
- I have been called on to write several obituaries so maybe I'm keeping up with trends

So one Sunday as I was flipping through I thought to myself - maybe I should start writing my own obituary and leave it where my family can find it.  When I wrote my mom's obituary it was much harder than I thought it would be and I got some things wrong.  Things I never thought to ask her or confirm.  I'd heard bits and pieces of her early life but trying to string it all together in a chronological coherent fashion was a challenge.  If I could take that frustration from the family I leave behind - why not.

Then I turned the page and saw a man who had done just that.  It was a large spread.  I had not heard of the man but apparently he achieved some success in his field (something related to oil).  He did not write it to be pompous but because he wanted to encourage others in how to live well.

Sadly though, what I took from it was that as successful as this man supposedly was - he wrote a crap obituary.  It alternated between an "I went to this school" first person to speaking about himself in the third person.  It was probably 20 or 30 paragraphs and every couple of paragraphs switched back to the other voice.

So that's definitely one thing to keep in mind if I write my own - edit well.  If I don't, I imagine my daughter would write it.  She has a knack for writing too so I'm sure it will be in good hands.