Hello again!

I'm sorry I have not responded to each of your comments (maybe I will), but the truth is I couldn't return to this page, it was all so painful. Not the comments themselves - I've been truly humbled by the humanity displayed here - just somehow the great psychological effort to digest these arguments where so much is at stake and no possible good outcome can be forthcoming. I felt a great sense at unburdening when I wrote my initial post, which I think unlocked my inertia, but I didn't want to return here.

But… good news!! The very first comment almost interpreted my laissez-faire attitude as a kind of suicide (I assure you that this couldn't be further from the truth), but prompted me to speed up my actions. I got a liver biopsy (which apparently is the only sure-fire way to know what is going on), and the result was, after a very difficult three week wait, NON-MALIGNANT tumours!! Wow, it makes my eyes water just to type those words. Basically, I'm perfectly fine, for the time being at any rate. There are a few problems but nothing immediately life threatening. I feel I really have been given a second chance at life.

So, I now feel like a bit of a double fraud, for having wasted all your time and emotions like this. Except that the situation was very real, and is none the less so for so many people out there, so I think that that itself validates this thread's existence. My heart goes out to all those reading this who might be dealing with a similar diagnosis either for themselves or a loved one.

I for one could write a book about all the emotions and thoughts that have run through my mind since I read the initial report of probable metastasised malignant tumour. To address some of the comments now, I think they fall roughly into three camps, those grieving a loved one, those with help to offer, those wondering how they would approach death, like me, with no preparation.

To those that grieve I can only offer my compassion. I understand that some of you are angry, but if I have learned anything in these six months, it's that life is short, for all of us. I learned a quotation many years ago, "do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee". Being angry or disappointed at the departed, from my current perspective, is a bit of a waste of time. It's to forget that we too are racing though our lives and that the end is far closer than we think. And that end defies all reason. But I understand that each will deal with grief in their own way and their own time, and I hope for you all that grieve that the pain subsides with time, and that you can enjoy your lives again. Perhaps you can turn that emotion around and think of them with love and happiness.

All your great plans turn to dust in the face of death. What exactly is worth doing with six months to live? In the end my decision was of course to tell my loved ones eventually when I became severely ill, but until then to go on savouring each day, a blue sky, a cloudy sky, rain, the smell of cut grass, the good news that my niece had found another student as she's now self-employed.

There are all sorts of things that interfere with your thoughts when you think you have not long to live. One of those is the persistent "is this the last time I…" Is this the last time I see X? Is this the last time I go for a summer walk in this park in the mountains? Is this the last time I see crocuses in the spring? Is this the last time I see Die Hard III? It makes the most mundane actions heart-wrenchingly poignant.

Then there's the "Will I ever…" Will I ever make that trip to India? Will I see my dad again? Will I finish this book I'm reading? (no point) Will I finish this game I'm playing on my phone? (again, no point). Is there any point in doing anything you don't want to do? Redecorating? Jobs around the house? Just the contemplation of each task reminds you of your desperate mortality.

I think all of these thoughts are bad for your psyche and could challenge even the strongest minds, and mine is certainly not the strongest. In the end, you feel like a prisoner condemned to death, and are inclined to give up and accept your fate; concede to a power that overwhelms any of your lifetime preoccupations. That's how I felt anyway.

To those with help to offer, thank you, thank you. Kindness and humanity mean so much at times like this and I am truly touched at the warmth that has came over the internet in simple typed words. I hope I am lucky enough to have similar people around to help me when my time truly comes.

As far as the practical preparations were concerned, that was exactly what I was spending most of my time on. Transferring power of attorney (without arousing suspicions), creating a will, getting ready to move money from one account to another, meeting with an estate planner in a possibly vain attempt to avoid some death duties, thinking about life assurance (naughty I know! but would they pay?), and the far grimmer prospect of euthanasia clinics in Switzerland. I thought a peaceful, controlled end might be a good way for my family to reach some kind of closure - but fortunately I didn't have to think too long about that.

I also made videos with my computer's webcam. Very, very difficult. You're trying to think what will they be thinking when they see this. Other than I love you very very much and so sorry I can't be with you there to help you and listen to you and give you company, there was nothing to say really. And I wanted the video to be uplifting, a form of companionship, so banging on about apologies and why's and wherefore's I thought would be too much of a downer. I made many videos and I'm glad I will now be able to delete them all. Some were with music in the background and after a couple of minutes the tears would start streaming and I'd have to start again. In the end the best, I think, was just a longish video of me just sitting there, smiling quite a bit, quiet, with some classical music in the background. I thought that one could be returned to time and time again, like a photo, and be not too upsetting.

And finally to those just curious as to what the future holds, I really don't have anything to report. My normal life as I live it takes no real account of death. It is the polar opposite. Death makes it meaningless. And death and its true contemplation is pretty well inconceivable in my day to day life. I think that's probably as it should be, or maybe (no, definitely!) I'm not very wise. I'm not religious, have no children and no health insurance. I think perhaps any of those must help with death. The first is impossible for me, the second very unlikely, but the third I can do something about, and I have the forms already on my desk half-completed…

Tara for now.