Journal of a Living Lady #208
Nancy White Kelly
I have had fun traveling to
far away places. Still there is no place like home. For Buddy and me, that is
the sleepy little college town of
Today it is back to the real
world which includes monthly chemotherapy and a humongous injection that would
scare Frankenstein. I am sitting in a
lounge chair amongst other cancer patients. An IV drips into my chest port for
seemingly endless hours. My thoughts are on where I have been, where I am, and
where I am going.
It has been a long journey
from the initial diagnosis of breast cancer in the late 80’s to the recurrence
in the late 90’s. NOBODY thought I’d be here today, not even me. I was given a
medical prognosis of 18 months at best.
My sense of humor
manufactures hypothetical dialogue at the oddest times.
“But doctor, I can’t pay all
my medical bills in 18 months.”
“In that case, I’ll give you
6 more months.”
Seriously, I planned my
funeral arrangements figuring that Buddy wouldn’t be altogether at such a time.
I gave one copy of the plans to my pastor. I need to make revisions now. Some close friends have passed away and new
ones have entered our lives.
Our house is cluttered with
reminders of where I have been: walkers, a wheel chair, oxygen, and a hospital
bed. The cabinet is full of newer
medications and a plastic tub holds thousands of long-expired pills, syrups,
testing equipment and inhalers. Buddy will discard them some day. Not me. I
hesitate to throw away anything potentially useful. Maybe some psychiatrist
could explain it, but I have this deep-seated need to be prepared. Remembrance
of the
I have always been a hoarder.
The Boy Scouts have nothing on me. I am prepared. The truth is, when it comes
to terminal cancer, I fear the inexorable pain it might bring and want to know
relief is on hand. Who knows? Because of my passion for saving medications,
which is not recommended, I might have the last remaining bottle of Paregoric
known to man.
Cancer is a mean disease.
Thankfully great strides are being made in research and more thankfully, God is
still in the miracle-working business. There is a king in the Old Testament
who, when facing imminent death, asked the Almighty for an extension of his
days and it was granted. I believe that
is my case as well.
Today I am okay. Tomorrow,
whether here or there, I will be okay too.
Cancer has encouraged me to lean on my faith, to daily embrace every
opportunity with enthusiasm and to live the remainder of my life to the fullest
extent possible. Until my last breath I plan to be “The Living Lady.”
