The Diaries of the Dying
By: Shauna Zamarripa
Cancer? It fucking sucks. Your entire day is spent doing
nothing but taking pills. You take your Xeloda, you take your anti-depressants,
your steroid, you take your anti-anxiety medications, you take your Xanax, your
blood thinners, and you take your Percocet or your Phenobarbital. You set alarms
on your phone to the different times of the day you have to swallow (yet
another) fucking pill with a heartfelt resentment for this disease.
You set alarms to remind you of your doctor’s appointments
so you can go and get your finger pricked or your blood drawn so they can check
your levels. You set alarms for your appointments for radiation therapy. You
set appointments to get your hair chopped off because you’re losing it.
You set appointments to try to just TRY to cope with life
day to day. You set appointments for everything in a long lost hope of being
able to keep whatever is left of your life together. You grasp at straws that
keep moving from your grip, no matter how hard you try and hold on.
You have moments. Moments where you can’t fucking breathe.
You have to get fluid drained from your lungs. More painkillers, more IV’s….more
doctors. More promises of more procedures. More needles. More poking. More
cancer for your cancer. Less happy.
But you don’t accept that reality.
Even though….
You get sick and tired of seeing the same wallpaper pattern
in waiting rooms.
You get exhausted seeing the same faces in the same waiting
room each time you go, of hearing the same conversations, the same worry, the
same frustration you hear echoed in the vastness of your own head.
“What if I don’t get better?”
“What if this treatment doesn’t work?”
“What if I have to go through this for years?”
I always hated those two words….what if. They are the worst
words, when put together, in the entire lexicon of languages, because all they
fuel is fear and doubt.
You HATE going to your Oncologist because you see the
treatment area full of people who are sad, depressed, lonely and giving up. Or
worse, who have already given up.
You sit in rooms full of people from 20 to Octogenarian and
you look at one another and know you all have one thing in common.
Fucking cancer.
And it sucks.
No one smiles.
No one talks.
No one really even makes eye contact.
Because we are all writing the diaries of the dying.
And those diaries? They fucking suck.
Then again...there is always magic.
Social media has taken me out of the waiting rooms with worn
out wall paper and Chemotherapy pamphlets. It gave me people who suffer my
suffering with me, people who understand what cancer patients go through. So we
talk. We compare notes. We are blunt about what we hide from the world, but
what we can share with one another. We don’t worry about judgement. We give one
another coping strategies. We are strong for the others on our dark days. We
are weak in light of needing strength. We give. We take. We share. We
understand.
Because cancer is scary. Really. Fucking. Scary.
And sometimes, in light of all of that, it’s good to have
people you can share it WITH. Even though it might be the diaries of the dying,
I look at it as being a blessed version of such. Why? Because, the truth is, we
are ALL dying. No one is promised tomorrow, or the next day or the next week,
or month, but we all behave as if we will live forever.
We won’t.
At least, in this realm of the diaries of the dying, we can
be honest about it.
Which makes me want to be honest about a lot more, put off a
lot less and not sugarcoat a god damn thing.
You shouldn’t either.
Time is limited, for us all.
Never waste it.
Make the most of it.
Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Don’t put anything
off. Live life. Travel. Surround yourself with love. Never settle. Dream big.
Dream bigger. Be more. See no obstacle. There isn’t one, other than the person
you see in the mirror. Do it. Do it now. All of it. Be proud of your life.
Everyday. Be even more proud of what you leave behind.
And if you’re not? If you don’t? If you haven’t? Fix that.
Immediately.
Don’t write the diaries of the dying unless you are willing
to live.
Much Love,
Miss Adventures
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