ticking

I was chatting with some good friends the other day. We were discussing life, the usual way that friends discuss life. How was your spring holiday? The weather was warm in California. Did you hear that blab; blab was playing at the Pavilion. Gosh, I’m hungry…..here, have a bite of my scone. Do you think the skies will ever change from gray to blue again? When a friend turned to me as said that proverbial phrase I hear so often……. How are you doing, Joan…..really.


Normally, I make some flip remark, I’m medium, oh I had a hard night last night but I’m okay today. Or I just turn the edges of my lips up in a soft smile and say…..I’m hanging in there. But, I’d had caffeine and just hanging in there wasn’t working for me on that particular day. I wanted laughs, so I told them about my recent tests……and my new prognosis. (I’m sure you’re all waiting with bated breathes). So I guess I’ll not only update my friends, but the world out there who might read this.

In 2008, I was given 18 months to live. In 2010, I was given 18 months to live. Now nearly three years later and numerous claustrophobic PET/CT Scans, MRI’s with blue barium, sharp, pokey, needle drawn blood tests, tight mask head exams, etc. I now have been given 24 months to live. Now you have to admit, my prognosis is hilarious. If I’m lucky, I’ll live until I’m 90 and then still be given another 12 months to live.

The thing is that I am ticking down. I use a cane now to walk. I find that by the afternoon if I didn’t have my tiny white pills of Percocet with ibuprofen on the side, I would curl up into the fetal position on my bed because my ribcage hurts from the bone cancer. Although I loathe doing housecleaning and used to have the ability to write a check with the best of them for a housekeeper, I now would kill to be able to get down on my knees and scrub my wooden floors as the grim keeps building up on them day after day. I am slow and no longer at the top of my game.

But we’re all just ticking down……some of us just at a little faster pace.