October 29, 2004
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Someone asked for particulars about the ‘personal issues’ I mentioned in my last entry. Someone also forced me to publicize them because she said it was an important object lesson. I’m not sure about that, but I’ll go with it this time:
The other morning I was going through the melancholy process of trying to make a decision about getting an abdominal hernia repaired. The hernia resulted from the biopsy for my lymphoma. A while after the biopsy I lifted something heavy and felt the tear. I’ve lived with it for about two years, but every once in a while it causes me trouble. I can get by with it, but sometimes it’s pretty painful. I have an appointment with a surgeon to discuss getting it fixed. The problem is that my oncologist predicted there would be a period of almost 6 months when I wouldn’t be able to do much. That notion is almost impossible for me. I have way too many things going on at home that require me to be able to work and lift.
Then I started thinking about losing that much time. Statistically, I’ll be doing well to be around 5 years from now. Now, I’m fully aware of all the caveats that go along with talking about survival statistics. But I got stuck on a hypothetical scenario: “If, somehow, I knew definitively that I only had two or maybe three years, would I want to waste 6 months of it being unable to do anything active? Maybe it would be better to just put up with the annoyance and make the most of the time left.”
Independent of that thought process, I came by the “live like today…” quote. I began thinking about where this hits the mark and where it misses. It’s logically reasonable to assume that you should live your life the same whether you believe you have a “normal” life span ahead of you or a definitively short time. I stuck to that point of view myself when, after the first diagnosis, several family members and friends suggested that I should take off on a “life’s dream” type of extended vacation. My feeling was that if a dream trip made sense under those conditions, it would have made equal sense prior to diagnosis. If I wasn’t living the kind of life that I would dream of, shame on me.
But in thinking about this more, I don’t think the subject is suitable for pure, cold logic. It’s too human. Through the process of living, over time we gain a concept of risk and probability. We know, consciously, that we could be hit by a truck tomorrow, but we also have an innate perception of the low probability of that event actually happening. We live our lives accordingly. If I was told, without question, that I was going to die on Sunday, would I come to work on Friday? Absolutely not. I would quickly derive a Life Plan B and pursue it. But even though I know that I could die on or before Sunday, I’ve reconciled the probability of this early death and decided, subconsciously, to continue with Life Plan A, which will probably include a guiltless 2 hour nap on Saturday (what a waste
).
I’m still up in the air about this whole topic, but I plan to see the surgeon next week and hear what he has to say.
Comments (14)
I like the concept of Life Plan A, and so on. In watching my kids’ limitless concept of where they can go and what they can be, I realize that everyone marches through a helluva lot of life plans in the course of their existence (regardless of its length).
As you know, I’m not in favor of thinking of a six-month hiatus-in-lifting as a negative, regardless of what it might mean as a percentage of time-remaining. As long as life still remains, Life Plan C, regardless of its distasteful initial appearance, might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. But as you also know, I’ve no ground to stand on in making any recommendation whatsoever. If it were just a hiatus, perhaps serious consideration is needed. But if it might exacerbate the condition, perhaps none need be expended in passing it on by.
But what’s important — so very, very important — about your words is that they come from a place all of us inhabit, but few of us acknowledge: the place where life is very, very precious because the immediacy of its end is always very, very close.
Thank you for giving us that insight.
It’s funny how little we think of the end. And yet, like you said, it’s with us all.
I have a lot of admiration for you. You’ll come to a decision that is right for you. I’m sure of that.
You have touched on a topic that has been much on my mind recently – beginnings and endings. I’m involved with a dying friend and as I’ve told a few others about it, I’ve noticed how often they seem concerned whether I’m prepared to face the end – I’m thinking that every relationship, every endeavor that we begin has an ending. If we allow that truth to prevent us stepping into those lights, we’ll spend our whole existence in shadow, and that’s no life.
I got a smile from your Life Plan B et al. I know that we all have that idea to an extent, that if we knew for certain that we’d die tomorrow (or Sunday) we’d do things differently, but I’m not sure that’s a good plan. Most of LIFE happens in our ordinary routines, not the big momentous trips or the extraordinary efforts. The amount of energy required to “live each day as if it were your last” is exhausting. I’m thinking that learning to appreciate the pleasures already around myself is a better plan than feeling like I have to make each day something dramatically wonderful.
What I am learning from my friend, is that life in the shadow of death is still life. We are still in need of companionship, of intellectual stimulation, of creative endeavor, and of the freedom to have moments of boredom and irritation. Thank you for such a thoughtful exploration and for being vulnerable here with your own truths.
I think the sign of a particularly good blog is its ability to be both interesting in and of itself and also provoke interesting responses and discussion. So this one must be good.
Quiltn is right, that living each day as if it was our last would be simply exhausting. Maybe it’s more realistic to live each year as if it is our last, but even that is not terribly pragmatic in a lot of senses.
I confess I think about these kind of scenarios too much for a healthy woman. I support your decisions whole-heartedly, for whatever that’s worth.
I’d take the dream trip first. Then, if there was time, I’d take another one.
Surprisingly to me, my view on life has changed quite a bit in the past year and a half. I’ve come to value my time and energy spent following my heart instead of following what society deems worthy. I recently told my son that you need to look for the little awesome things in life every day because if you don’t they will fly past and be missed. It’s too easy to get caught up in the rush. No matter whether you are healthy or not…take a step back, take a deep breath, and absorb life around you. By all means, follow your heart!
My dad, now 83, told me not too long ago that he’s “got all the time in the world” – his world, which is his life. No one else’s. His. And so he makes himself happy just being himself, doing, thinking, playing, working…being. For as long as it takes. I thought that was pretty cool for dad to say. It’s had an affect on me, the way I look at my life too. May you walk in beauty ~Paloma
I have no words. Thank you for making my brain and my heart spin.
okay, let me just say, i’m an advocate for clones.
no, no, not little clone children.
just a back-up supply of clone-selves. i mean, this body of mine is a frigging train wreck from twenty years of disease. so, i’m more than ready to pull a new one out of the closet and really get some living done.
*thinks* not only that, but i could maybe have a santa claus like existence; i could be everywhere at once. no more living vicariously through others.
yeah. bring on the clones.
(be well.)
i have a zen book that tells me there is no sense in worrying about a past that has already passed and a future that we know nothing about. what is important is always the now and enjoying the moment for what it is (whether you are taking a bath, drinking coffee, making love, or yes, taking a nap).
of course i take this to the extreme sometimes, like when i refuse to save money for some emergency i might not even be around for in the future–but i digress.
what i just want to say is: naps are a luxury i would gladly pay for, and hope you’re enjoying today.
That’s a tough, if not impossible, choice that you must make. My only advice (having been there myself in the sense that in 1991, my wife Marvis died of cancer less than two years into our marriage) is that WHATEVER decision you make, stick with the notion that it was the right decision and don’t regret making it.
with the arrival of my first grandchildren, difficulties with my sons that i can’t figure out how to solve, and intimations of my own end, i too am thinking of beginnings and endings, not easy thoughts, but ones which own me at the moment. i would choose surgery, because i’ve severe allergies that make inside almost always a more benign a place for me than outdoors. of course, a problem with the hernia could force a given solution on you, otherwise, if you don’t want to be confined, and the occasional pain is tolerable, then there is some logic in forgoing it.
whatever you chose, may you find peace in your heart and love all round you.