My Decision to Die

For most of my life I have been so ashamed of my breasts.  They developed at a young age and never stopped growing.  In school, I got teased about them.  At home I was tormented about them.  It wasn’t until I was well into my 30s (and with the love of my husband who told me I was crazy not to love them) that I really started accepting them, loving them and then even flaunting them. 

After turning 40 I became diligent about getting my mammograms every year.  But 3 years ago I erroneously understood that the protocol had changed and that instead of every year, I would only need to get them every 2 years.  Since I knew my insurance wouldn’t cover a mammogram that wasn’t necessary, I waited and forgot about going for my mammogram.  I wasn’t too worried since everything always came back clean. 

About 8 months ago or so, I noticed some cellulite on my left breast.  It wasn’t much but just a long streak that seemed to continue under my arm.  I just figured that at 48 years old, it was part of the changes my body would be undergoing. 

Quite by accident 3 weeks ago, I felt a lump in the “cellulite.”  Immediately I called my doctor (whose office was at lunch) and called the imaging center.  The imaging center got me in for a mammogram the next day.  And then I was called back for more imaging and an ultrasound.  Then I went back for a biopsy and last Tuesday it was confirmed that I have breast cancer.   I know nothing other than that at this point, which is why I’ve had plenty of time to worry and plan.  Also, this limbo time gives me the opportunity to write this blog from a very unique perspective. 

Of course the worst diagnosis that I could receive is that I have stage 4 cancer (stage 4 means that it has metastasized to different places in the body and spreads more rapidly than it can be stopped).  And of course, that is the first place my mind goes.  In the past 10 years I’ve had 2 people I was very close to diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.  My husband’s best friend received his diagnosis a year before he died.  He did the whole thing of radiation, chemo, etc.  all the while in tremendous pain and died anyway.   My other friend had been a world class athlete in his youth, was tremendously active and healthy when he was diagnosed with stage 4 rectal cancer at the age of 49.  He fought it for 4 years—and I know he hung on as long as he could for his young family.  But he too, died after years of suffering.    

I have decided that should that be my diagnosis, I will go a different route.  I will refuse to fight.  My doctors will be instructed to just keep me comfortable and let me die.   Now, I don’t blame my friends for trying to fight and it’s not the suffering that really bothers me the most.  What bothers me the most is leaving my family with all the bills after my few years of my survival are over.  They will be devastated when I die, whether or not it’s sooner or later.  Yes, would it be better for my young son to have a few extra years with me?  Most certainly, the answer is yes.  However, those years with me will be nice for him, but they won’t enhance his overall life experience as much as college tuition will. 

Even though I have insurance, this is the dilemma I am faced with today in America.  This is the modern day Sophie’s Choice we must make in this situation.  And yet people like my own mother, are still hell bent on denying a public option.  When I told her about my decision, she went hysterical, crying “please don’t tell me that.  It’s so hard for a mother to hear that about her child.” 

And yet, just a few weeks ago I sent her link to me singing a version of Cee-lo Green’s “F U” that I had rewritten about healthcare.  Her response was to tell me that I sang it beautifully, but she didn’t agree with what I said on it.  If we had a public option right now, I wouldn’t know what choice I’d make if it came to that.   It would be a decision that I would come to with my doctor and my family about the best course of action.  If a public option had existed, I would have had the mammogram after a year, regardless of what I thought the protocol was and probably not have been in this situation in the first place.  If we had a public option, I never would have had to fathom making the decision  between my life and my family’s future.

Now, at this point my demise is speculation and I fully hope that my prognosis will be less than stage 4 and I will live to be an old lady.   But when you are in the situation of limbo, these are the thoughts that must be entertained.