Days away from my date with death, I am even surprising myself. I don't feel afraid. I don't really feel much of anything except a distant sense of relief.
I can feel myself becoming progressively weaker. Taking just a few steps with the support of the walker is tiring. I need increasing amounts of oxygen. My at-rest flow rate is up to 11 L/m. A week ago it was 10. I now have two concentrators paired with a Y-tube in order to give me enough oxygen. If I experience a sudden drop in blood-oxygen level, I need both an oxygen tank and the twinned concentrators and go through a desperate gasping for breath to catch up. The drugs I'm taking are causing skin problems, facial swelling, and brutal dry-mouth to say nothing about difficulties with urination (oh look, I said something about it [ha]). I'm nearing 20 pounds weight loss. Some of the drugs are also making me gap in and out of reality (not such a bad thing sometimes). I almost fell asleep on the toilet yesterday.
Why am I hanging on? Mostly, I'm waiting for one more family member to arrive, but in the meantime I am enjoying having all the other family close by and visiting every day.
Death brings us together. Having this one last opportunity to spend time with people I love who live thousands of kilometres away and with whom I don't spend enough time is treasurable (is that a word?). This living wake, as I've come to call this time, has brought a surprising joy and brightness into my final days. People with whom I've had what could only be called a passing acquaintance have written to tell me advice I gave them helped improve their curling game and and in another it helped them win public speaking awards. Yet another was a musician that I helped record a demo tape that led them to performance bookings and other recordings.
What I’ve discovered from these stories that have come back to me is that by taking a few minutes out of my busy day to lend a hand or offer advice or make a phone call to make an introduction was so important. It cost me nothing, but meant so much to someone else.
This living wake is something MAiD offers that I had not previously considered. It has the potential to offer a period of time before death to speak candidly, to make amends, to express honest emotions, and to share things among people that might have been difficult otherwise. It has given back to me in ways that I never could have imagined. For that, I am so grateful.
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