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Over the course of my career, I’ve written many job descriptions. Actually, I kind of always hated writing job descriptions. How do you capture the essence of a position and how success will be measured? But, every role should have a job description – it’s a best practice.

Right after my diagnosis, Dan went out with his close friend and mentor Kari. She told him over breakfast that he “has a new job – being a caregiver.” That got us both thinking about our roles right now. So, at the time of huge change in our lives – a terminal cancer diagnosis and both of us having different relationships with work – it seemed like we need new job descriptions to guide us.

My “new job” includes some tasks that are exciting and others that are daunting. Some can be easily be addressed in the short term. And, others are more aspirational and have a longer time horizon.  I know I’ll be better at some of my “tasks” than others. But, it’s my hope that this job description will serve to guide me in focusing my energies in this new phase of life.

Here is my new job description . . . .

Be grateful and graceful in all interactions: late-stage cancer is scary for everyone. Be kind and generous with those who put their feet in their mouths. Their words come from a place of concern and love

Look for beauty and purpose in the dying process: create opportunities for reflection

Share love freely: Tell people how you feel about them. Write some letters, send some emails, give some hugs

Comfort, support, guide and prepare my husband, parents, and sisters: be open with feelings and thoughts on end of life, talk and see each other regularly

Share my story and my learnings with others diagnosed with terminal illness: start a blog, write a book

Help educate my community about MBC: no sugar coating or skirting the hard topics

Be my own best caregiver: exercise regularly, rest when tired, take meds, keep doctor appointments, inform care team of new symptoms or side effects

Leave my nieces and nephews with memories of me and fun times together: take pictures, schedule outings, plan a big trip, send postcards and letters

Accept help: let people love and support me by bringing meals, walking the dog, cleaning the  house, etc.

Look at each day as a new adventure: use our “buckets” as a guide, plan each day – even if the plan is to do very little

Stay curious and keep engaged with the world: read, do crossword puzzles, play cards, travel to new places

Put a premium on having fun: do things that make me happy, try new things, express my wants and desires

Plan my funeral, find a cemetery and get my things in order

Overwhelm my husband with love, gratitude, kindness, and good memories

Be gentle on myself: this shit is hard

In her last post, Cassie mentioned our nightly tradition of writing in our gratitude journals. What she didn’t know was that I stopped journaling the day she was diagnosed.

I wasn’t feeling grateful. I was pissed. Angry at the world. Not understanding why something like this would happen to such a good person. Why had the cancer come back? Why didn’t the doctors catch all of it 16 years ago when it first appeared? Why couldn’t they cure it now? Why, why, why? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  That’s how I felt. Not grateful, rageful.

Then, in my first appointment following Cassie’s diagnosis, my therapist Craig said: “The most important thing right now is gratitude.” I told him right away that I didn’t see it. I mean yes, I was grateful we had health insurance and flexibility around work and for our supportive community, but that was it. I was too angry and scared to be deeply grateful.

He looked at me and said. “You’re really hurting. You’re in a ton of pain. And you’re really terrified, right?” Yes to all three, I affirmed. Well he went on to say: “Maybe the reason it hurts so much, and is so painful, is because those things are in direct proportion to how much you love Cassie and that’s what you should be grateful for.”

I looked at him and took it in. Started to speak then stopped and thought some more. He was right. Cassie and I are blessed with a great love and that is why this hurts so much and is so scary — because the love of my life is sick and I hate everything about that. But I am grateful for our love, now more than ever.

I told Craig he had earned his therapist gold star that day. That night I shared all this with Cassie and we both embraced the idea that pain and gratitude might now be intertwined in ways we didn’t previously understand. Then I took out my gratitude journal and started writing again. The thing I was most grateful for that day, and every day since: “Time left with Cassie.”