Cancer, Death, and Diet Coke
Death is an interesting thing. Humanity has feared it, loathed it, worshipped it, and even embraced it. It is interesting to see the rituals that society has constructed around it.
Recently in my life I have had an interesting experience that has caused me to reflect on our mortality. I recently went in for my bi-monthly post cancer check up. In June of 2003 I was diagnosed with Stage 3 Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. I spent the next 4 months in a pretty good simulation of Hell. My free time was defined as the few hours in between Chemo sessions, and my entertainment consisted of laying in bed watching the food network and counting the holes in the ceiling tiles. When the doctors finally let me hobble from the oncology wing and I saw the looks of amazement from the doctors and nurses I finally understood how sick I really was.
My doctor had the wisdom to never give me "the odds." Coincidentally I did not have the time between diagnosis and treatment to really research my disease and, as a result I did not consciously address the fact that I was expected to die. Without that expectation I was able to act nonchalant as if I had something less serious, like a really bad case of the flu or something.
I think that subconsciously I must have spent a good portion of those hours in bed thinking of mortality because I have found myself with a completely different outlook on both life and especially death. I have found that what once was tragic, is now only a reason to get together with family members I rarely see. I fail to see the tragedy of a person dying. Of course, I feel sad for the people they leave behind, and of course, if they are dear to me, I know they will miss them, but I refuse to buy in to all of the pomp and circumstance that has surrounded death and especially funerals.
When my time comes I want it recognized that I don't think elaborate flower arrangements, expensive coffins, and disgustingly sweet eulogies for me. Burn me up, put me in a cardboard box, and take the money that would have been spent and go out to a nice dinner. Hey, if you feel the urge you can even sit around and talk about how great a guy I was. Don't do this in a church, dressed in a suit and tie. Sit on the couch, and drink a diet coke.
Recently in my life I have had an interesting experience that has caused me to reflect on our mortality. I recently went in for my bi-monthly post cancer check up. In June of 2003 I was diagnosed with Stage 3 Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. I spent the next 4 months in a pretty good simulation of Hell. My free time was defined as the few hours in between Chemo sessions, and my entertainment consisted of laying in bed watching the food network and counting the holes in the ceiling tiles. When the doctors finally let me hobble from the oncology wing and I saw the looks of amazement from the doctors and nurses I finally understood how sick I really was.
My doctor had the wisdom to never give me "the odds." Coincidentally I did not have the time between diagnosis and treatment to really research my disease and, as a result I did not consciously address the fact that I was expected to die. Without that expectation I was able to act nonchalant as if I had something less serious, like a really bad case of the flu or something.
I think that subconsciously I must have spent a good portion of those hours in bed thinking of mortality because I have found myself with a completely different outlook on both life and especially death. I have found that what once was tragic, is now only a reason to get together with family members I rarely see. I fail to see the tragedy of a person dying. Of course, I feel sad for the people they leave behind, and of course, if they are dear to me, I know they will miss them, but I refuse to buy in to all of the pomp and circumstance that has surrounded death and especially funerals.
When my time comes I want it recognized that I don't think elaborate flower arrangements, expensive coffins, and disgustingly sweet eulogies for me. Burn me up, put me in a cardboard box, and take the money that would have been spent and go out to a nice dinner. Hey, if you feel the urge you can even sit around and talk about how great a guy I was. Don't do this in a church, dressed in a suit and tie. Sit on the couch, and drink a diet coke.
posted by Joe at 10:51 AM
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