All I want you to do is listen, not feel sorry for me.  The prognosis was not good.  My kidney function had declined and I might have to undergo dialysis within a year.

My depression further increased when I learned only a third of the people undergoing dialysis survive five years and there was, also, a greater chance of stroke and heart disease.

Suddenly I realized I might not make it even to sixty-five.  My mortality became real.  Everyone knows that they are going to die eventually but act as if death will never come and when it does others act surprised and think it is a terrible thing.

I wanted to talk openly about this latest development but I felt odd bringing it up with certain loved ones and friends.  Death has become a taboo.  It is not discussed openly in our society.

I did not want sympathy.  I did not want others to feel sorry for me.  Instinctively I knew who I could not discuss my situation with.  I felt odd with them.

With those people when they ask me how I am doing, I just say “fine.”  I really wanted someone to listen, to be able to share my fears–my fears of hopelessness, of being in pain and discomfiture, dependent on others, afraid of losing my mental facilities.

I just wanted to go out in grace and peace.  Death was knocking.  There are no certainties.  It just did not look good.  I will grab every bit of control I can in my situation.  I just did not want to do it alone.