By Jan from Woodgate
And the news cometh. The doctor news, that is. In the hallway of the Emergency Room. On a Sunday night.
Take my advice folks, stay away from those places on weekends ‘cuz you will be in Bed H3, which is definitely the hallway because all of the private rooms are occupied and the staff is very, very busy.
So that was when my sinus infection was diagnosed as something much, much more serious.
After being shuffled off for a chest x-ray, then a cat scan, a doctor (complete stranger, of course) had the unpleasant task of informing me that The Big C was running rampant throughout my body. Yes indeedy, that’s why you feel so crappy.
Again, no curtain, no walls…just those flippin’ bright lights under the H3.
Of course PR (who has now been promoted to PPR for definitely earning the extra P for sure) was right there, holding my hand. And yup, we cried.
Not gonna lie; I wasn’t totally shocked. But the finality just kind of hits ya.
Hours and hours later I made him go home. They were admitting me and surprise surprise, there were “no available beds,” so I remained under H3 ‘til way after midnight.
Don’t get me wrong, there were hourly visits from various nurses and docs, finally offering something for pain and/or discomfort.
There was not one single moment of hesitation on my part— bring on the bright colored DNR form. No big fanfare, no surgeries, NO CHEMO. Comfort Measures Only from here on in.
Didn’t even allow the big needle biopsy cuz really, it doesn’t really matter to me what kind it is. It’s here now; and here to stay.
This has never been a secret with my family and friends: I’ve never been a fan of longevity and I never, EVER wanted to outstay my welcome on this earth. When it ain’t fun anymore I want out. And that is how it shall be—my way or the highway, right ‘til the end.
I’m always amazed by folks who fear the light and will endure any and all horrible procedures in order to extend their stay here on earth. Are you way braver soldiers than me?
Maybe so, but boy oh boy I don’t want to put my loved ones through any more heartache than is necessary. And selfishly, if a couple of months is what I’ve got left, dammit they will NOT be spent in a constant scurry back and forth to dreaded hospitals, “specialists” and “save me save me, somebody save me” mantras.
We all have our own wishes and need to respect each other when personal choices are made.
Needless to say this has been one whirlwind of a week. We’ve tried to keep things pretty quiet, but people being people feel the need to share. And though mostly out of love, let’s face it, some just like to be first to tell whether the news be good or bad.
So I’m putting it out there now with some heartfelt requests. We have always lived our lives with the open door policy. Everyone welcome, drop-in visitors non-stop, surrounded by uninvited as well as invited friends and family. Always company-ready.
That, of course, has changed. Phone calls, cards, letters are always appreciated, but please, privacy is at the top of my wish list right now.
Nobody likes visitors when they’re not feeling up to it; sometimes just the chatting can be taxing.
Don’t wanna force a smile if I’m not feeling it, and uninterrupted reading and naps are where it’s at.
No door knocking without a courtesy call first, please. And don’t be insulted if there’s no answer. Gonna be lots of family and besties around to carry out these rules and regs, and trust me, they’re very protective and not afraid of weapons. Just sayin.
Meanwhile, now that we’ve had some time to digest, yours truly is finding the humor in what many would only view as tragedy. Hey, everybody dies… three outta three last I checked.
With Hospice coming on board in the future I will never have to participate in the dreaded nursing home community dining room lunches and bingo games, or have to relearn how to tie my shoes or dress myself.
My hair will not being falling out in clumps, and it never even turned gray yet!! I actually plan on an immediate visit back to the ‘70’s, where I will be tossing my one-size-fits-all bras into the fireplace (barely a sizzle, but still liberating) and hitting up the ol’ marijuana for medicinal purposes.
Yup, I smoked my ciggies forever and enjoyed each and every one. So go ahead and wallow in your “I told ya so’s”—I know who you are but my mind is unchanged.
I did it my way, just like Frank S., and have few regrets. Don’t cry for me Argentina—let’s just see how many chuckles we can still share as we progress through the final chapters of my Dear Die-aries…
Special thanks to Jay and Marianne who have agreed to let me continue ranting…love you guys!