Dying is my biggest fear but living with stage 4 cancer means I have to start planning for the inevitable

I'M not one to shy away from a taboo subject.

I'm happy talking about poo, vaginas, sex, you name it! I'll rant on about it if it's for a good cause – namely raising awareness of cancer.

But there is another one – the last one, that affects all of us, yet most of us are terrified to talk about it.

Death is one of life's only certainties, we're all going to end up there, some of us sooner than others.

We need to talk about dying

I'm the first to run away from any talk of palliative care.

In my head it conjures up a world where you've run out of options, where there's no more drugs to try and you end up on a slippery slope into a dark abyss.

It's when people have stopped trying to keep you alive or cure you.

This week, I learned palliative care is all about prolonging your life, helping you have the best quality of life.

It's about helping you cope with symptoms and providing the mental and physical support you need.

And yes, it also includes talking about dying – something I need to get used to given I'm living with stage 4 bowel cancer.

I was terrified of palliative care – but turns out I'm already having it

Now, whether I am ready to accept it or not, I have actually been having palliative care for two years.

Every new consent form I sign before the next round of treatment comes with the disclaimer that it won't cure me but aim to control my symptoms and extend my life.

That's in stark contrast to the first consent form I signed.

Back in January 2017, we thought – for a brief and wonderful month – that my cancer was stage 3 and "curable", so my form said it was aiming to "cure" me.

Now, the sentiment is "yes you will die, but hopefully if we do this, not today".

Is denial really key?

This week I was challenged to rethink my views on palliative care.

How? By actually talking about dying, end of life care, the minefield that is words like "terminal" and facing the idea of actually having to tell my kids that mummy is going to die.

My first thought is it's surely easier just to pop my clogs and save everyone the trauma and heartbreak of last goodbyes.

Maybe denial really is key?

Pretend it's not happening, hope for a death bed miracle and slip into a coma unaware of what's happening.

If I am going to die, do I really want my last days to be filled with the elephant in the room, or movie-worthy hysterical sobbing?

How do you even begin to try and say goodbye to your kids?

My biggest fear is dying

Growing up, my biggest fear was that you might actually know you were dying.

I could never fathom how you actually function in that situation, I thought how awful it must be.

I remember my great aunt popping her clogs at the ripe age of 89, on holiday having just had a glorious meal.

She was dead instantly, a perfect death in my eyes. Not some drawn out experience, slowly forced to watch your own demise, getting more and more depressed about the future you were about to miss out on.

I get we are all going to die, I don’t live in La La Land. But I am only 37 and it wasn’t in my life plan to face my death until at least 2072 – my 90th birthday

My friend Rachael Bland changed how I view death.

She made me go "there", when I really didn't want to go "there".

She made me talk about death, and face the very real fact that my biggest fear is now my very real reality.

Rach had to face it before she died of breast cancer in September.

I didn't want to listen to what might happen as you die, like physically happen.

It conjures up total panic, drama, wailing and pain – the most hideous thing anyone will ever have to experience.

The truth is, I am absolutely petrified of it happening to me, and soon.

I get we are all going to die, I don't live in La La Land. But I am only 37 and it wasn't in my life plan to face my death until at least 2072 – my 90th birthday.

By then, we'll be time travelling and able to rewind and enjoy it all over again.

We have to talk about death and dying to make it normal

I was lucky enough to speak to Kathyrn Mannix, a palliative care physician and author of With The End In Mind, this week for our You, Me And The Big C podcast.

She helped comfort Rach when she died.

But hearing about Rach's last moments broke my heart.

The death rattle, the deep sleeps, the loss of consciousness. I find it hard to listen to, because all I can think about is it happening to me.

Yet, Kathryn's rationale, is that we have to talk about death and dying – it's the only way to help people like me.

The more we normalise and talk about the things that scare us, the less scary they become.

Talk about death like we do birth

Kathryn said we need to compare how we talk about death with how we talk about birth – both are the most natural of processes.

They both come with roughly predictable time frames, with key steps along the way.

When it comes to birth, we talk about it – in great detail sometimes.

We celebrate it, bond over it, we go to classes to prepare for it and we are coached through it.

And yet with death, because we are so scared of it, we shut it down. We don't have a plan.

We often don't get the chance to share our wishes, because we are too far down the pathway to realise.

By not talking about death we fail to prepare the people we love, the ones left behind to pick up the pieces.

And she has a point.

It's not easy, but I'm trying

That's not to say talking about death with the people you love most is easy.

It's heartbreaking. But I am trying. Months ago I wouldn't even entertain the idea.

My first step is learning not to be scared of palliative care and accept it can help you live longer.

No one said dying was easy, and I still have a long way to go before I will feel comfortable talking about my death.

But, while I am working on opening up to it, I refuse to give up on living.

I'm inspired by fellow Sun columnist Kris Hallenga, who this week celebrated her 10-year cancer anniversary.

It's OK to throw your hands up and say, "this is hard, I don't like talking about it".

But the important thing is being prepared to give it a go.

Just for the record though, for all my chat, I don't actually want to have to go "there" one bit.

My new book F*** You Cancer is available to buy now – and gives a brutally honest view of what cancer is really like – buy it here now


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