When you're dying and you know it...

Clapping hands just somehow doesn't seem appropriate. It has been about six weeks since my world started turning in a different direction with the news that I have end stage renal disease. I am still processing what this means - at times numb; resigned; overwhelmed; and horribly sad. Even the moments of happiness are tinged with the stain of a gnawing awareness that there will be an end to this...a struggle to find meaning in any of it, that just won't come. I veer from wanting to hide under the covers to desperately reaching out - to share love, a funny story, a smile. Of course, we know we are mortal and that this ride doesn't last forever...but let me just say it becomes a new shade of real when a doctor sits at his desk and reminds you that you haven't asked him how long you have. (Answer: Months, a year...he can not say...) There is no cure - of course there are options - not a cure mind you, but options. Dialysis, transplants...one could give one's body over to a desperate and expensive bid to hang on...for months... years. Fighting the infections, side effects, drugs...until the moment when they just don't work anymore. While in the hospital, late at night, a nurse who knew I was struggling with an I.V. asked me gently whether I knew I could say "no". The concept was revelatory...I could choose, I had power in a powerless situation. So I told them to take it out and I understood in that moment no matter what comes next...nothing will happen unless I choose it. For now I choose to be here...and that is enough.