Death

This will not be an easy blog entry for me to write, and I understand if some find this too hard to read.  For that reason, TW:

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When I was first told the lump in my right breast was malignant by Dr. Grandpa, one of the first things I asked him was: “Am I going to die?”  I was sitting there, stunned, and my brain was going fast than it had ever done.  This surgeon had just told me I was diagnosed with the same disease that took my mother’s life.  Fear shook me to the core, and I was afraid that this doctor was going to confirm my worst fear – dying of breast cancer, just like my mother.

After I asked Dr. Grandpa if I was going to die, he responded, “We don’t know,” which was chilling.  He explained that they had to do a lymph biopsy to see if the cancer had spread, and then he would be able to answer that question.  I went home from that life-changing appointment, not knowing if my prognosis was dire or good.  It was another three, maybe four, weeks before Dr. Grandpa told me that the cancer had not spread, and I had a good prognosis.

The next time death came back to the forefront of my thoughts, I had gone into anaphylaxis after 10 CCs of Taxotere.  I know I have gone into detail before about what that experience was like – extremely lightheaded, chest pain like God himself decided to step on my chest, and then choking to death.   I remember way too vividly the thoughts going through my mind as I choked: “Don’t go to sleep, Lara.  Don’t go to sleep.  Stay awake.” 

I really thought if I went to sleep, I wouldn’t wake up again.  I felt like I was dying because you know what, I was.   Those 10 minutes out of the whole 10-plus months of treatment is the period that haunts me the most.  Whenever I feel even slightly lightheaded, I panic.  Top to bottom, sheer terror pulses throughout my body.  Sometimes I even find my heart racing and short of breath when I feel this way.  I have to sit down and tell myself, “You’re not dying.  You’re not going to die.”  I don’t know if this is PTSD or something, but even 2-plus years later, I’m scared, just like how I was in that chemo room.

I have thought about my death way more than the typical, non-cancer having, early 30-something does.   Before I started treatment, I went to a family planning lawyer to draw up a will and fill out my medical power of attorney.   Since boyfriend and I are not married, I wanted to make sure he was the 100 percent beneficiary of my estate.  I was paranoid that estranged family members who I have stopped talking to or family members who I hadn’t seen in over a decade would come out the woodwork, trying to lay claim to my possessions.  It was either a will or me finding out a way to haunt people from the grave.

Although I have rarely written about this on Get Up Swinging, given the topic at hand, it seems appropriate to finally bring this up.  I believe in God and I believe there is a Heaven.   (I’m not religious or a fan of any organized religion.)  Ever since I was little after my mother died, I have believed in a Heaven because I really, extremely, desperately want to see my mom again.  All my life, I have felt her presence with me during those traumatic times, like in the hospital room when I had a miscarriage or when I was sitting in a chemo chair, staring off into space in a Benadryl and Ativan haze.    I want there to be a Heaven so when I get there, Mom’s waiting with a beer and a grin, saying, “Breast cancer… what a bitch.”

With breast cancer, there is no guarantee that I’m never going to get this disease again, either a new cancer (i.e. a new primary) or the same cancer coming back (a recurrence, either local or distant).  Nothing is 100 percent, not a mastectomy or chemo or anti-hormone therapy.  All doctors can do is decrease your odds of getting cancer again.  I’m hoping and praying that my worse fear doesn’t come true, but I won’t be surprised if it does.  I have accepted that this might happen, though, of course, I really hope it doesn’t. 

My wish for what happens after I die – I’d want a montage of the best pictures I have taken, stories shared of stupid things I have done, and no flowers (obviously donation to a foundation that researches cancer).   Most importantly, Paddles is going in the ground with me.  That’s a must.

What's up, bitches?

When I die, I hope I’m an old lady, surrounded by all my loved ones.   But if that doesn’t happen to be the case when it comes to my disease, and I have more brunette hairs on my head than grey, I pray that I’m surrounded by loving faces and quiet peace.  I pray that nobody ever says that I lost my long battle with cancer or I was courageous or any other battle metaphors.  I don’t want any implications or outright sayings that cancer ever beat me or triumphed because I sure as hell plan on living a life as a winner.