I’m already way passed my ‘sell-by’ date – but I won’t ask docs how long I’ve got left

WOULD you want to know when you were going to die?

Death comes with the territory when you get told you have stage 4 cancer.

Prognosis is one of those words, like metastasis, that you quickly learn you don’t want to hear.

It’s a question I get asked a lot, ‘how long have you got left?’.

And nearly three years since being told I have bowel cancer, I have realised – I don’t want to know. In my case, ignorance is (a kind of) bliss.

I know my cancer is incurable, but not once have I ever asked my doctors that question.

What good comes of knowing?

I know it’s something a lot of patients DO ask – and I understand why, when faced with a “terminal” diagnosis.

But, a piece of research out this week, revealed in many cases doctors’ predictions are wrong.

In fact, it’s estimated a patient’s cancer prognosis are only accurate one in three times.

So what benefit is there in knowing?

Let’s put cancer to one side, for a moment.

If you had a choice to know exactly when you will die, would you take it?

Would you be able to live perfectly at peace, until that point? Would you accept it?

I guess there’s two ways of dealing with actually having that terrifying info.

On the one hand, it could turn you into a mess – left constantly worried and depressed at what was about to happen.

But, then on the other hand, it might be the kick up the arse you need to get out and live your life for now – not tomorrow.

Ignorance is bliss… for me

I don’t think I want to know.

I know deep down that I am already pushing my luck. I shouldn’t really still be alive now.

But turns out, at the moment at least, I am what the scientists call an outlier. My only hope is I stay that way.

I often wonder if my pure denial, is my best coping mechanism?

I get reminded all too often of the reality I face, as more and more friends die – despite being diagnosed after me.

One step at a time

But, my oncologist and I have a deal, we have done since day one.

One step at a time, is the motto of my cancer treatment.

If we look at the data when it comes to my specific type of bowel cancer, everyone dies eventually. Most die pretty quickly in fact.

There are exceptions but they are rare.

I’ve passed my ‘sell by’ date, what good really comes of knowing my ‘death-by’ date?

In my earliest cancer days, I remember falling well and truly into the Google rabbit hole.

The more I read, the more I realised that every report just showed I had the sh*ttest of sh*t types of cancer – literally.

One study gave me seven months to live.

Another says I have eight per cent chance of living for five years.

All said I was more likely than not to die in the first year after diagnosis.

There are fleeting examples of ‘miracle’ cures, but not lots.

Uncharted cancer territory

I am a realist, one step at a time. That’s how we work.

My oncologist doesn’t give me time frames, and I don’t want to know.

He tells me he can predict, but no one really knows. There are no similar cases to me, mine is uncharted cancer territory.

If I pushed my doctor, I would get the answer I already know deep down – I’ve passed my ‘sell by’ date, what good really comes of knowing my ‘death-by’ date?

While I never want to know how long I’ve got left, I do want to know when I’ve exhausted all treatment avenues.

When I get to that point, and only when, that’s when I will consider doing my death admin.

At the moment, my medical team are throwing everything and the kitchen sink at my cancer – and that in itself fills me with hope.

Another two tumours blasted

I’m writing this while I recover from yet another operation, this time to blast two more liver tumours.

Each operation, each treatment – though painful as hell – is buying me more time. More time as the outlier.

So, in my case, NOT knowing when my time is up is exactly what is keeping me going.

Not knowing my prognosis is working for me.

I live my life for today, and with death looming at some point, I refuse to put off things I can do now.

It’s a fine balance – I couldn’t leave my kids unprepared

There is a fine balance though, and it is important to remember others in this miserable death equation.

Husbands, wives, kids, parents, siblings and friends – cancer doesn’t just affect the patient.

There are practical concerns.

If you have three months left, you will want to make the most of it.

In my case, when the reality finally hits, I may change my mind about knowing.

I know I would want to prepare my kids, do everything in my power to make sure they were as OK as possible.

I’d want to make sure we had holidays together, rather than spending time on homework or parking fines that need paying.

I’ve watched good friends die from this disease, and sadly been through the death admin banter with them.

It’s coming to all of us, but for now, that’s admin I don’t have to face.

What I hold on to right now is the difference between “terminal” and people like me, “incurable” and living with cancer – doing everything I can for as long as I can.

So, in my case, right now – ignorance is bliss.

Denial has worked for me so far. I’ve got everything crossed I can keep that outlier hat firmly on my head.