Living

I have tumors throughout my body—bones, breast, brain, liver, ovaries. They’ve been there for years, and I can feel them growing.

I spent years trying to get help. Obviously, I failed.

My paternal grandmother had the same unusual tumors. She spent years trying to get help too. The help never came.

She died when she was two years older than I am now.

Doctors have biopsied my tumors. They always tell me the same thing.

It’s not cancerous.

That’s what they told my grandma right before she died. So no, that doesn’t make me feel better.

To be honest, I’m not going to try anymore. My trust in the medical community is gone. And at this point, there’s no reason to.

The tumors are everywhere.

If you’ve ever read about metastasized cancer—cancer that spreads throughout the body—you know survival rates drop fast.

I could fight it like my grandma did. Spend whatever time I have left bitter, angry, resentful.

Some days, I want to.

But no matter what I do, I’m still going to die. That part never leaves my mind.

And I don’t want to die bitter. I want to die feeling full.

So I’ve decided to reach as many of my goals as I can before I go.

One of them was Great Wolf Lodge.

I know that sounds silly. But I passed that waterpark hundreds of times driving between Tacoma and Portland. I always wanted to go. I just never did.

Three years ago, when I realized those lumps were actually tumors, I just went for it.

It was fun.

Now I go every year. Our reservation is already set for this June.

You won’t see me bald. That comes from chemo—and I won’t be doing that.

I’ll be here one day, and then gone the next. Just like that.

It’s scary to think about dying.

But when I really think about it… everyone already is.

None of us knows if we’ll die in a car accident, or be murdered, or have a meteor hit the earth.

No one knows their expiration date.

The only thing I actually know is that mine is probably shorter than most.

I could dwell in sorrow.

Or I can live before I die.

What would you do?