CHAPTER 10: The Long Dying
Friday, 7 October 2022, I bid farewell to my precious Wild Sanctuary. Two insurmountable issues forced me to move: property taxes quadrupling, and my health rapidly deteriorating. Had I seen this coming, I'd have built a much smaller house with no steps. But hindsight is, well, you know. And being as this came to a head just when the housing market lost control, all I could afford was a retirement park mobile home... oddly just what I'd envisioned myself living in before the stars (temporarily) aligned for my dream home.
Not long after moving, my health took a serious nosedive. Convinced I could die any moment, I signed on for an at-home hospice service. It took almost two years, but they helped stabilize my condition, enough that I could "enjoy" a relatively comfortable life. Granted, my activities were severely curtailed, but I kept busy, thanks principally to an investment I made in an industrial-strength personal computer (to be more accurate, a workstation, the kind of computer used to design cars and do genetic engineering). Twelve years old, it yet remains one of the best-rated machines in its class. Cost me a fortune, and its been worth every penny.
Especially now, when there was little else I was capable of doing. You see, I cannot simply sit and watch television all day, as so many people do. I'd go insane. I need to keep the brain engaged and active, even in its foggy state. So I became an animator, churning out adult swim cartoons and other works by the bushel. It not only kept my mind busy, but it allowed me to make occasional personal statements through the characters I'd developed. I also made music.
My work was not going to light the world on fire, that much I knew (besides, it's already on fire). It was simply a means to pass the time, which seemed to be stretching on ad infinitum. At my last visit with my cardiologist in 2022, I was given 8 months to live. And the hospice folks were not very encouraging when I joined them. But over time we've fine-tuned my drug regimen, and now it would seem that, assuming I'm a very good little boy, I might live another decade or more. Holy shit.
I don't know how to react to that. Locked in this ugly little tin shack, dealing with a constantly changing profile of pain and discomfort, I am not sure if I am living, or simply surviving. Again, I try to place my situation in perspective by acknowledging that many, many people have it far, far worse. But what does that awareness get me? Gratefulness? Complacency? Empathy?
I am not a complainer. I save the griping for my nurse. (And my online persona of a "grumpy old man" is just for show.) To my friends I probably seem better off than I really am, which is a good thing: it makes my visits with them much more enjoyable. I cherish them more each day. My days of being a completely self-sufficient loner are gone. Increasingly I need them.
Welcome to the "long dying." I could go tomorrow. Or ten years from tomorrow. Words cannot express just how horribly frustrating that ambiguity is—significantly more frustrating than the myriad of aches, pains and other impediments that greet me each day. The road may be less winding, but the grade increases steadily.
If it all
becomes too much to bear, New Jersey has legalized "death with dignity." I will
need to save many pennies to make that happen, or rely on the kindness of a friend, for it is a costly
process, doubtless deliberately so to make it undesirable or unachievable.
Meanwhile, I continue my silly little projects. They may seem silly on the surface, but read between the lines, and oftentimes you'll find me speaking from the heart about something I'd never imagined I'd become well-versed in: living on the endless cusp of dying.
To wit, I quote Felini (right), a female alien character of mine:
I am not afraid of dying. Only fools and cowards fear death. But a senseless death, an accidental death, and especially dying alone, would be most unfortunate. But I know it's not my choice to make; the Universe may have other plans. At the very least, my life has been rich with experience, and blessed by the beauty of love. I cannot ask for anything more than that.