I DIDN’T TELL PARKER I had an appointment today. I didn’t tell him because I already assumed what the verdict would be. I didn’t want to believe it, but this shit is living in my body. How could I not know? When the doctor came in with a grave expression and said, “Greer, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the treatment appears not to be working,” I just said, “I know.”
You could tell she wasn’t used to that. She was used to tears and panicking, but those aren’t things I really do well. I do stiff upper lip well. So that’s what I did. That’s what I’m doing.
She droned on about clinical trials and alternative therapies, but I already knew I wasn’t going to do any of them. I’m not going to put Parker or my father or my sister or myself through that. I am going to just go ahead and go, on my own terms. I watched my mother’s agonizing death, and I’m not going to let that happen to me. There are peaceful ways to die, places and people who help you do it. That’s what I want, so that’s what I’m going to have.
Thinking about telling Parker breaks me apart inside. I’ll wait a little longer, let him have hope as long as he can. I only wish that I could still hope, too.