To Be or Not to Be in Packrat

That is the question. - Hamlet, William Shakespeare

Recently I’ve found myself pondering just that = whether I will continue to be or not. I haven’t a death wish, but circumstances have left me with a choice: take a treatment I don’t want or die in approximately a year.

Initially I chose Option B. It’s not a matter of wanting to die; it’s a matter of my quality of life. I don’t want to prolong my life unless I’m going to live it. I told the doctor so, that I will not take treatment.

My aunt lived and is buried in the same city where the hospital is. I visit her grave to talk things over. She loved me. If I ever doubted that anyone else did, I never doubted that she loved me. I was 22 when she died, now 32 years ago, but knowing that she had so loved me gives me comfort even now. When Baby was born I stopped by to tell her - Baby was named after my aunt’s daughter - that now I’m an aunt, and I wanted to be the kind of aunt to Baby that mine had been to me.

I don’t believe our loved ones are in the cemeteries or other resting places where we buried their bodies, but I think they come there when we’re there, like a meeting place. My aunt was a nurse who faced a similar situation. She was only 43 when diagnosed with cancer and given the option to have treatment or not. She decided against treatment, which meant she had an estimated ten years to live. (She lived for 13 more years.)

She did it for the same reason I made the same choice - she wanted to be here while she was here even if it meant she wouldn’t be here as long as might be possible.

As I cried my heart out among the tombstones and crypts, wondering how soon I’d have one of the same, I realized that we don’t know the future, and if we did, we might make different decisions for out lives.

My aunt was only 43 when she found out about her illness. My cousin was only 16. At the time my aunt made her decision, she didn’t know her daughter would die young and leave behind two precious boys who would end up living with her. Had she known I think she would have opted to try treatment that would have possibly given her a chance to stay longer. I was there at the end. I know she wanted more time. She wouldn’t take her pain medicine so she could be awake and aware when the boys came home from school. I held her hand as she took her last breaths. Even if she didn’t consciously know I was there some part of her knew someone was by her side until God took over.

I can’t give that kind of love to my own niece if I’m not here. If I die in a year or two she would have to watch me deteriorate, and I don’t want her to remember me that way.

Nor could I abandon my furry babies.

As I said, we don’t know the future. My treatment will keep me healthy. I’ve already had to adjust to a limited lifestyle: I’m a night person but my friends my age or older don’t want to come out at night to play anymore. What do I do? I spend hours reading or watching tv; sometimes I watch music videos on the computer (I currently have a crush on Eric Carmen). I did research and found that the worst stuff was just in my head. I talked to my doctor. I’ve decided to go for Option A. After all, in the hospital I decided I must be part roach; I’m not immortal but I’m hard to kill.

Last updated October 13, 2017