Ever since I became an official cancer patient seven years ago, I’ve had a question I’ve wanted to ask other cancer patients, but I’ve been too scared.

Here goes:

Am I the only one who can’t stand the song “Live Like You Were Dying”?

If you’ve never heard this song, it’s a country song about a man in his 40s who is diagnosed with a terrible disease. The song is not specific about what the disease is, telling us only that he got some “news.”

I spent most of the next days
Lookin’ at the x-rays
Talkin’ ‘bout the options
And talkin ‘bout sweet time

So, really, we don’t officially know what he has. Maybe he has some kind of alien spore in his lung that’s going to mature into a lizard-like creature and burst out of his torso and kill him and then take over the earth.

Perhaps he is a former pirate who developed scurvy after years at sea.

Perhaps. But I think we can all safely assume he has the Big C.

When he gets this diagnosis of cancer/alien spore/scurvy, does he panic? Does he cry? Does he need to go lie down for a minute? Heck, no!

In the chorus he tells us how he responded to the news of his fatal disease:

I went skydiving
I went Rocky Mountain climbing
I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying

Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dying.

Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with being optimistic, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to live life to the fullest. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with cancer patients doing whatever the heck they enjoy.

But there’s also nothing wrong with feeling sad or wanting to go lie on the couch for a while.

I think this song puts a lot of unfair pressure on cancer patients.

I remember days when my weekly dexamethasone ^[1] (Decadron) dose had worn off, and I was experiencing the infamous “dex crash.” I’d be lying on the couch watching Dr. Phil, only because I was too exhausted to pick up the remote control and change it to something else, all the while praying that my then-two-year-old’s naptime would be extra long, because I wasn’t sure how I’d summon the strength to walk up the stairs, lift her out of her crib, and then take care of her by myself until my husband came home.

But I did it. I did it for an entire year, and it was during this time that I really started to hate this song. Dang it, the last thing I needed was some country singer telling me, “Hey, shouldn’t you be climbing mountains right now? Shouldn’t you be bull riding? Why aren’t you living your life to the fullest? Why?”

I was doing the very best I could, but it wouldn’t make a very good song:

I went couch-lying
Then I heard the baby crying
I spent two point seven seconds changing a diaper filled with poo

See? Nobody wants to hear that.

I’ve been afraid to admit that I hate this song because cancer patients are admired for going out and doing “brave” things. We’re admired if we “have a great attitude.” It’s almost expected of us. If we admit that, hey, we’re scared to death of our disease and we just want to stay home today and eat some ice cream, what’s so admirable about that?

I’m here to tell you: it is just as brave to live your day-to-day life as best you can. If you want to go skydiving, that’s great. If you want to drive your eight-year-old to swimming lessons and go to the grocery store, that’s pretty great, too. And if you’re feeling too sick or exhausted to do anything, just take care of yourself. That’s the kind of thing that really deserves a song.

Whatever you do, don’t live like you’re dying.  Live like you’re living. That’s probably the bravest thing of all.