While I'm not religious, there are some odd coincidences in life that make me wonder about things. Sat here in my home office at around 2am, sipping vodka, and listening to music on my phone, the playlist reached this one just as I was reading this thread.
Released just recently - it's one of the most powerful songs I've ever heard and it has me in floods of tears by the time it reaches the last verse. Every time.
I've seen my nan (mother's side) die of cancer. I was there for the agonising decline and there to see the final breath. She was such a generous, selfless person.
I watched my father die of cancer. Decline was rapid. Diagnosis to death was but a few months. Mercifully. Again, I was there for the final breath. I saw the extremities turning blue and then the heart palpitate briefly. Although he'd been dosed with morphine, and interaction had been non-existent for a couple of days, his eyes opened briefly then closed again. Then he was gone.
I'm physically, psychologically and facially very similar to my father. For a brief moment I felt like I had just watched my own ending. And that continues to haunt me; to prey upon my mind. Like a kind of rehearsal before the event.
I'll never forget that CT scan which I caught sight of when we were talking to the specialist at the hospital. My father was sat at an angle such that he couldn't see it, but I could. No longer was there one single bright marker. It was everywhere.
While I don't think about him every day now, I think there's an element of suppression still there which I recognise in the video posted in the OP - he's trying to almost abstract himself from the situation he's having to describe. He has to. In order to push through and to speak. To separate the consciousness from the body. The brain is thinking and working but the vessel which contains and supports it is dying.
Earlier today I went to see a professional dietician to discuss the ongoing problems I have with a bunch of symptoms that have plagued me for years and actually, came away rather positive. I think we may have nailed that now. The cause and what I need to do in order to mitigate them and potentially resolve them. Albeit, there is no test for this. We can't really look around the intestinal system fully and ascertain what's happening. It's all by observation.
Driving home, I mused that while we can do some extraordinary things, such as sending probes out into deep space, medical science continues to frustrate - especially with cancer. That we can analyse these problems, we can understand how they manifest but we cannot completely understand the causes and we certainly can't consider ourselves anywhere near curing it seems rather extraordinary. Can't we just solve these things? Are we really saying that we're such intelligent animals that we can do remarkable things, but the grand sum of our knowledge and capability cannot manage it?
Immunotherapy may well be the answer but it's still in the early phases. But, even so, my father was 76 when he died, and that's the average life expectancy for a man in this country. Even had the cancer not taken him, the body only lives for so long. You do hear stories of people living to over 100 - now and again in Italy, perhaps the diet, but everything dies in the end.
And having "watched myself die" and had this on my mind I do take comfort that this thread describes this as something of a "midlife" condition. It is only relatively recently, with these events, that the reality that there is an end has really begun to enter my thoughts, and I do hope that I will become more stoical as time goes on.
It's rare for someone to speak so frankly about their diagnosis and prognosis as in the video in the OP. I don't know him. But, there, just for a moment, the sense of a bond or connection is intense; the sense of anger that none of us can do anything about it, that morality within us that angers us at the injustice that's going on.
My mother did tell me something I found fascinating - my father once said that he did not believe that he would live past 50. And he did, for another 26 years.
On the one hand I can see why people - particularly in later years - "find" religion. Probably since it confers the idea that there is more than this. That maybe the end is not the end. And I occasionally wonder whether I should submit to this thinking. That word, submit, is intentional. But then I am what I am. While I'm here.