Maybe I need help after all...

More and more I have been finding it hard to concentrate on the trivial matters of life, such as my job, driving and even sleeping.

Moments of silent reflection tend to lead to moments of abject crying and an overwhelming sense of panic, sadness, and hopelessness.

Perhaps I am in need of a professional's help.

Perhaps, nothing. I AM in need of help.

Grief counseling may do me some good. I need to snap out of this funk if I am to make the most of what is left of my time on the mortal plane.

It's time to forgo my pride, and just go with it and admit to another human being that for the first time in my life I'm scared to the point of paralysis. That's not an easy thing to do.

Dying is supposed to be easy. Leave it to me to make it complicated.

Coulda, shoulda, woulda...

It's been a couple of days since I first received the news that I was hoping I'd never get, yet knew was to come. I cannot say I've come to accept the reality totally, but I am in no way in any form of denial.

The shock of the moment is merely wearing off, and I'm awakening to the somber truth of the matter: I'm dying.

I knew intellectually this was to happen at some point, as I knew this next phase was to come as well... The blame phase.

I find myself today almost totally obsessed with finding the fork in the road in my life where I took the wrong turn which lead to the path.

What did I do wrong?

Could this fate have been avoided? Should I have done or possibly NOT done something in particular? Would have anything made a difference?

Maybe if I had not waited so long before seeking medical attention for a seemingly unrelated event, this outcome could have been different.

Perhaps if I had been stronger in my convictions regarding my actions in my youth, I would not be here today.

Or was it really just genetics?

It's game I cannot hope to win, this so called blame game. Yet, I can't help but invest myself in it when given a moment's silence.

I really don't want to die blaming myself, and harboring ill will towards myself.

Spreading the news...

As bad as receiving the news that your life is coming to an abrupt end, I have found that sharing said news is much worse.

Having to actually articulate the phrase, "I've been given 5 years, top" is awful no matter how you try sugar coating it.

Plus, there's always that awkward start of the conversation:

Hi, so and so, how's it going?

Not bad, Anna. How are things with you?

Things could be better.

Really? What's wrong?

Well, see, I have incurable disease, it's pretty advanced, and I'll be dead in 5 years, give or take. How are the kids?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, imagine having to have the same conversation multiple times.

You'd think it would get easier.

It doesn't.

Sure the words seem to come out with less and less emotion each time, but that's only because you're slowly running out of tears and patience. Patience, because there's only so much pity one person can handle, unless you also suffer from Munchausen. Sadly, I do not. If I did, I would be living the dream instead of this nightmare.

I swear, if I hear one more person say, "I'm so sorry." I think I'll scream, then punch them in the throat.

So why not wait and tell people until later, until you've had time to live with your mortality and acclimate to the new status quo? Honestly? Because misery loves company.

Sharing the pain immediately is akin to ripping the bandaid off quickly. Having to live with this knowledge alone is a burden, and quite frankly that's just too much for me right now. Better to let folks know right away, and suffer through the pain of saying the words, than to live with the pain alone.

It's my hope that as time goes on, the pain of saying the words lessens to a numbing sensation. We'll see.

The art of dealing...

It's not often one is faced with their own mortality.

It's rather an interesting thing.

You think to yourself, "Well, if I knew for certain I was going to die in X amount of days, weeks, months or years, I would react like so." But when the time comes you find your reaction to be, well, different for lack of a better term.

The Kübler-Ross model if you will, is rather accurate in my experience:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression 
5. Acceptance

Although, I find that it is not an easy step by step linear process.

It's more of a cycle. 

A rinse and repeat type of cycle.

Denial never showed up to the party. There was no need. He was never invited, he never showed.

Anger shows up in small spurts, gets tired and goes home only to return with a fervor the next night.

Bargaining make an occasional appearance but is usually pushed out of the buffet line by Depression. 

Depression likes to hang around quite a bit, and usually shares his woes with Anger.

Acceptance hangs out on the porch and sticks his head into the party every so often as though to tease those in attendance that he may indeed commit to the party. But as much as he wants to, he never seems to make it past the front porch.

And then the next night, it begins again.

And again.

And again.

I often thought when faced with my own mortality I would do something spectacular, something awe inspiring, something, I don't know... loud.

And yet, as I sit here facing it with open eyes, all I want to do is sleep.

I do need my rest after all, I have guests coming over later tonight. 

There's going to be a party.

Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance and I will be celebrating my short life, and laughing at Denial.

So the doctor said..

Yesterday I received the news that I have a terminal illness.

It's not an illness without hope I'm told.

There is thing that can be done. However the one thing that can be done might as well be a million in one shot.

A transplant.

However to qualify for a transplant I must be symptomatic.

I'm not.

I actually feel great. Better than great, actually. I feel better than I have in years.

However, medical results say otherwise. They say my body is sick. They say I'm dying. They say I'm looking at 3 to 5 years, maybe... unless I receive a transplant.

So I sit here pondering my life.

I'm 35 years old, and I have been told in no uncertain terms, I will not make to to Social Security age.

What do I do now?

I guess I have to live until I can't anymore.

What else can I do?