So, of course, I'm trying to stay calm and collected. I'm a Buddhist; life and death are just illusions for me. But the 'life' illusion seems very real.
The first time I read about colorectal cancer, when I was in my twenties or thirties, I thought, "That's how I'm going to die." It seemed, and still seems, like the most undignified form of cancer imaginable. Perfect for me.
I am not entertaining any notions of seeing a shaman, mystic, kundalini healer, supreme galactic Melchizedek or whatever. Nor am I letting anyone shine colored lights up my ass. Don't even go there. You know who you are.
I've always known I was going to die. We all are. I've visualized myself dying - many times - in some sort of home hospice surroundings. I've tried to anticipate what it will be like.
I've entertained the notion that if I found out I was incurably ill, I would say my goodbyes here, then go to the Zen hospice center in Santa Fe to wait for the end. I may still do that.
I always had the goal of outliving my mother, just out of spite, because I suspected she wished me dead. Well, more than suspected. She died in 1999, and everything since then has just been cake.
If it turns out I am ill, I am not telling my stepmother, because she will kick into high gear trying to grab everything I own. I won't mention this on Facebook, because she's on Facebook, and I don't want her to find out. Dying will be annoying enough without her or her attorney on the phone every day, trying to find out if I'm dead yet.
I think it's going to be the 45 days of not knowing that will be the worst.
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