I want to live

Zach: I want to live. I love life, and I’m gonna do everything possible to stay alive on this crazy messed up rock as long as I can. 

I want to hang out with my beautiful wife, and the friends I love. I want to visit my mom and dad, my daughter, and our wild, bad-ass, extended family. I want to play games (and kick ass doing it) and listen to music so loud somebody calls the cops. I want to ride my bike with no hands, grow vegetables (farm out!), build shit, and, damnit, leave the world a better place for having been here.

At the same time, I’m not afraid to die. It’s part of life. And it looks like that part might be coming for me too damn soon.

I don’t know what’s gonna happen when I die. I grew up with people preaching about eternity. They said when you passed, you’d reunite with your family in the promised land, as long as you lived a righteous life here on earth. I say horseshit. They made that up to try to keep me in line, and you know what? It didn’t work. I came up with my own ideas about how to live a righteous life.

If you ask me, I’d say this one life—this is it. This is all we get. When it’s over, everything just fades to fucking black. Consciousness out. Period. So I don’t care what y’all do to my body when the time comes. I’d just as soon be composted. But I get it. Cremation is easier. You can’t just plant dead bodies in the backyard. It’s frowned upon.

My family, god bless ‘em, is into embalming, and ceremonies, and acres of manicured memorial gardens with lush green lawns, well-behaved shrubs, mourners, and headstones. Lots of headstones. I remember picking out a casket for an uncle, and helping my aunt dress him in his best suit before they laid him to rest. That was years ago. Wonder if he’s still lookin’ sharp today?

I told Zelda cremation is fine, but it’s her call. She’ll have to duke it out with the fam. Wish I was gonna be around to watch that.

And let’s talk about Zelda, my great love. What’s she gonna do when I kick it? Since I stopped cooking, she’s been eating nothing but bagged salads, yogurt, and animal crackers. On the plus side, she finally lost that 10 lbs. she’s been bitching about for 30 years. She looks great, by the way. She always has. I just wish she could see that for herself.

I always wanted Zelda to play in the kitchen with me, experiment with food. We could have learned together. She could have grown some goddamn taste buds. But no. She wasn’t into it. Said cooking stressed her out. I ended up planning and making all the meals myself, ‘cause somebody had to. She’d wait until the meal was done before coming in to ask if she could “help.” I let her pour the wine and called it even.

She’s an intelligent, powerful woman. I know she’ll figure it out. Eventually.

After I got diagnosed, I made a point of telling Zelda how much I love her. Every day, every chance I got, stockpiling my love for her like some kind of emergency reserve she could draw from later. Hope it works. And I hope she knows…I love her as much as one human being can love another.

Cancer’s taken so damn much from me: Sex, confidence, appetite. It’s changed how I live, and what I do. But it hasn’t taken away my love of life itself. 

The funny thing: I’m not even pissed off at cancer, honestly. It is what it is: The E ticket ride (look it up) of a lifetime! You get to learn all kinds of fascinating things about your body, you get all these super expensive scans, and you get to try experimental drugs and procedures. It’s literally the bleeding edge of life!

And just imagine: Some people live their whole lives without ever finding out what it’s like to have cancer. Poor things. Are they missing out, or what?

Back to me. I want to live ‘cause there’s so much I still want to do:

• Restore the Austin-Healy and take it on a scenic drive with Zelda (tops optional, of course).

• Perfect my recipes for cowboy caviar, bouillabaisse, and banana bourbon sorghum bread. Why not?

• Get out and mow the lawn. I nearly fell last time I tried. I've been scared of yardwork ever since.

• Toss a ball with the kids, or huck a Frisbee on a golf course.

• Finish the countertops in the kitchen. Plywood won’t last much longer, especially with all those salads Zelda's making.

• Watch a meteor shower with Zelda (tops also optional, of course).

 

But things are weirding me out. 

I’m finding it harder and harder to keep the lid screwed on 36 hours a day. I sleep all the damn time. And when I wake up I feel like I need to do something important. I just can’t remember what it is. 

And lately, I feel like there’s always something in my fingers. Just now it was a twist tie. A while ago it was dental floss. But I look down, and there’s nothing there. Nothing.

Other times, I’ll be sitting on the couch alone. I could swear somebody reached over and tapped me on the shoulder. It’s the damnedest thing. Sometimes it feels like a punch. But no one’s there. 

And for christsakes, I’m tired of being a human science project. Doctors and nurse practitioners are always giving me new pills or “therapies” to try. "Hey, let’s see if this one works for you! It’s worth a shot." A shot? Fuck that. his is my life we're talking about here. I feel like I’m being hoodwinked.

Yet even with all that shit going on, I still want to fucking live.

Pain and balance are the wild cards. I want the pain to stop, and I want my balance back. But this is a wackadoodle hand I’ve been dealt. 

Not to be too dramatic, but what I want might not be in the cards.