One Year

This is what I posted on Facebook announcing my stage 4 sarcoma and prognosis. The comments and direct messages were overwhelming so I figured I should share what I wrote here. 

Two weeks ago I found out that I have stage 4 sarcoma of the uterus, lungs, liver, pancreas, and bone. That's pretty much the perfect storm of a death warrant.

As you can imagine, such a mindfuck as this has a way of completely changing the way you see the world. The things I found difficult about myself before--being bipolar, being a former alcoholic, living through a black mold contamination that required throwing half my personal belongings (including my massive book collection) away, being overweight and unattractive, still being single and childless at forty, forsaking my hard-earned architecture career to pursue my dream as a writer--I don't give a rat's ass about anymore.

Listen to me. None of that stuff matters when the oncologist is telling you "with chemo I give you one year to live." Sure this all sounds cliche and you've no doubt seen it a dozen times in movies, but let me tell you, that makes it no less of a smack in the face when you're the one it's being told to.

Live a great life despite all the bad shit that inevitably happens. Love the people you love, ignore the people you don't, visit the Louvre, hug your kids extra hard, take that beautiful hike, because you never know when one phone call will suddenly mean you can't walk to the mailbox without an oxygen tank.

Yes, I'm going to fight like hell. Friends have told me miracle stories of friends being given six months to live and then living for twelve years. I fully intend to be one those stubborn assholes who refuses to die. I refuse to until I've been published, after all! Preferably a few times. But there's a good chance I won't be that lucky.

After chemo in Portland I'm moving back to Dallas to live with my parents and be close to extended family. We're going to cook and watch tv together, play silly games and assemble puzzles, putter around the lake and shoot the shit. I'll write my book, blog, and make bad art. And if it's true that I only have a year--it's all those little moments that make for a life worth living when it comes to the end of things.

So please, learn from my shitty cancer epiphany and don't let all that other stupid stuff get in the way of the life you really want and deserve. Go live a life you can look back on and be happy with, even if you have only a year left to live it.