A paradox is a term that is seemingly absurd or contradictory, but is really founded on truth. For example, time is a great teacher, but it has a way of killing all of its students.

An oxymoron is a combination of contradictory or incongruous words like small crowd, jumbo shrimp, civil war, and serious fun.

While some might argue that I am dying with cancer, the truth of the matter is that I am living with it. Even though I am a realist and understand the grim statistics for advanced metastatic cancer, I still have hope. I believe in miracles. Yet, it is not God’s will for everyone to live forever in these mortal and imperfect bodies.

A few days ago I agreed to be enrolled in a hospice program. Hospice is reserved for people who are believed to be in their last six months of life as determined by a physician. When Dr. Rob first suggested hospice, I told him I had rather wait until I was closer to the end of that hypothetical six-month period. My idea of a hospice patient was one who was totally bed-ridden, foggy-minded and in need of hourly monitoring.

Hospice seems to be a good choice. In a recent survey, nine out of ten people said they would prefer to die at home and not in sterile, impersonal surroundings hooked up by tubes to machines. The founder of the modern hospice movement summed up its philosophy succinctly, "You matter to the last moment of your life, and we will do all we can, not only to help you die peacefully, but to live until you die." So I have decided to re-name this column "Journal of a Living Lady."

Oncologists now are recommending that a patient enter a hospice program earlier in a life-limiting illness rather than later. One reason is that there is so much preliminary paperwork. Much of it involves insurance, Medicare, and legal matters.

Then there are endless questions which I would prefer to answer now while I am nearly sane. Buddy should not have to make weighty decisions while under emotional duress… like who he should marry next. I am afraid that if he were hungry enough, he would probably choose the first widow who brought him a big bowl of banana pudding.

A few months ago a good friend called to tell me she wanted to give me a "farewell" party. She excitedly rattled on and on about her plans which included inviting innumerable friends and relatives.

While she had the best of intentions, I tactfully declined.

What could possibly be said after "Good-bye, nice knowing you."

Maybe the butler would contribute something memorable like, "Here, have another piece of chopped liver to remember Nancy by."

And what would everybody sing? The Hallelujah Chorus?

I know what I’d be saying. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Get off my oxygen line or I’m going to bust."

This party thing was a nice gesture on my friend’s part, but for now I have a more pressing priority: Breathe in, breathe out!