Now Is Better Than Later

"They could find a cure in the next couple years, so you shouldn't give up."

Nobody's talking about 'giving up', whatever that would mean... I mean, I'm not laying down in the middle of the street and refusing to get up, and I'm not wailing and gnashing my teeth or anything (not too often, anyway). But there has been very little advancement towards a cure of metastatic cancers - including breast cancers, which are prone to being aggressive and nasty - in 60 years. So what is the likelihood that the Blue Fairy is going to come down and wave her wand and magically cure me now? About nil.

I don't want to hang my happiness or hopes or plans on a cure, because that is a fairy tale... at least, it's a fairy tale for those of us who have cancer now. Ten, thirty years down the line, maybe, but I'm not going to be here then. I've got now, so let's talk about what is important now. I've got maybe a few months of functional time, maybe more than that if I'm lucky, and then it gets ugly for a while, and then I'll be gone. So let's take advantage of what we can realistically hope I've got. I don't have time to waste on pretense.

"They could find a cure in the next couple years, so you shouldn't give up."

I don't know what to say when people say that sort of thing... because really, although their intentions might be good, they are saying that sort of thing for themselves more than for me. Maybe they need to comfort themselves, and certainly I don't want to deny them whatever comfort they can get. I don't want to make people feel worse if it's not necessary. But in the end, I think that sort of comfort ends up putting off all the things you should do when you know death is really standing near: telling each other the truth, building bridges, saying goodbye in the ways that matter most.

I can't help thinking about what it would have meant to my husband and his family if they had all faced his father's deteriorating health more directly. He could have mended ties with Scott, fully expressed his love for his other kids, built relationships with his grandchildren and left them with wonderful and sustaining memories. He could have been happy for his last few months, his last years... not more comfortable physically, perhaps, but he could have felt more loved and less lonely. They all could have felt more loved and comforted, if not less bereft, when the end came.

Stage IV cancer is called 'terminal' by the government agencies for a reason. I have a limited period of time in which to act... so if you love me, tell me now. If you're mad at me or hurt by something I've said or done, tell me now. If there's something you've always wanted to do with me, do it with me now. Tomorrow I may have to be dealing with the physical exigencies of dying, and I won't have the energy or time to deal with those other things. Don't wait in hopes that a magical cure will save you from the necessity, because it won't. Now is what we have.

And while you're at it, do the same with the other people you care about. Because you never know. Now might be better than later - and now is definitely the time to make later better, if you can.