The night before last I wakened in the wee, wee hours and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I lay there thinking about all the things I wanted to do and how long it might take to accomplish them all. I thought to myself “I need another thirty years”. As I was thinking this I turned my head to look out the tall windows adjacent to my bed and at that moment a shooting star streaked across the night sky.
Boom—as my kids might say. There and then I decided it was an affirmation. In the past decade I have sometimes measured my life span in months. At my most optimistic I plan perhaps two years out; in the absence of an effective therapy and at the rate my cancer seems to grow, that might be a reasonable projection.
Denial has never been my style. And yet…I am also a bit of a dreamer and I believe in the power of a positive attitude. To wit—when first diagnosed with lung cancer I understood only too well the odds that I faced with an overall five year survival statistic of 16%. When you are stage IV, as I am, that statistic drops to a dismal 4%. I have helped myself deal with this reality by picturing a bell curve—in my mind’s eye I am waaaaay out on the end.
In reality I have achieved outlier status; living well beyond my ‘expiration date’. However, due to the pernicious nature of my disease I am unable to relax. As I once said to a friend whose cancer had taken a turn for the worse, sometimes the thing that’s trying to kill you just keeps on trying.
Two nights ago a shooting star gave me the courage (abandon?) to allow myself to believe that I could live another thirty years. I mean, what’s the harm? Suddenly my future stretched before me like a Texas highway—almost endless.
It’s a view that I could look at, well…forever.