The website Daily Kos has a great piece by Kay Dub, published on October 13. Here’s the link:
It’s quite profound, describing the realities of being diagnosed with prostate cancer, of suffering from prostate cancer. He knows his doctors are good. “Now, I like my current doctors. Hearts seem to be in the right place. They’ve offered up what they think to be the best treatment, given the extent and intensity of the disease. And that brings us to the fourth thing. Doctors will do all they can. All you can stand, and then some. They will keep trying and trying, long past time when what they’re doing has any meaningful effect on how much what you might call it when you’re going through living. It’s just who they are.”
He has an extremely wise attitude about dying: “As a sailor in wartime said, you’ll get yours one day, but you’re never going to know that it’s the day when you wake up in the morning. But you know, if it is the day, then you face what comes like a hero, and if it isn’t the day, then it’s a waste of your life worrying about it.”
But most importantly, he’s profound about how it should be at the end. He describes the dignified death of his beloved dog Buster, “who lived right up to where he really couldn’t anymore, with conditions that could not be mitigated, but did not yet make him excruciatingly miserable,” and asks: “Why shouldn’t I have the same dignity? Why is human life not to be relinquished until you have suffered enough? And why isn’t that decision mine? Sure, I might, either out of depression, or pain that I might think would never pass but did after all, make the wrong call, and die too early. But medicine, as it currently regards me, will for damn sure make the wrong call and wring every ounce of juice out of me, not letting me peg out until far after it was too late. I’d like to be lucky enough to die a good death. To be aware that the day was in fact a good day to die. Not to be hoping somebody will pull these goddamn wires out of my arm, but to say what my friend Lewie’s grandmother said with her last breath: ‘Ain’t this the berries?'”
Thank you, Kay, for these profound and comforting words.