Calif. Woman, 72, Reveals How She’s Spending Her Final Hours Before Ending Her Life to Escape Pancreatic Cancer

Roseana Spangler-Sims sits on a couch next to her son, wrapped in a purple blanket. She’s cold, her stomach pain is constant, and she’s tired. Still, she looks calm.

Eighteen months ago, the 72-year-old was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. She went through chemotherapy and radiation for more than a year, hoping her body would respond. But in June, an MRI showed the cancer was still spreading. At that point, Roseana decided to stop treatment and choose her own ending.

On the evening of Sunday, Aug. 31, Roseana will use California’s Medical Aid in Dying (MAID) law to take medication that will end her life. California is one of 11 states where MAID is legal.

“I’m ready to go,” Roseana, who lives in Vista, California, tells PEOPLE. “I’m more at peace than I’ve ever been.”

Roseana says she is sharing her story so others can better understand what it means to choose MAID and why it matters to her.

On Aug. 18, she left her small apartment and traveled to a rental home near Palomar Mountain, north of San Diego. The next day, her son Shawn Cisneros, his wife Cindy, and Cindy’s twin sister, Sandi, joined her there from Florida to spend Roseana’s final two weeks together.

They drove through the forests where Roseana once hiked when she was healthy, looked through family photos, and even held a living wake with more than a dozen loved ones. Now, the family is preparing for their last goodbye.

On her final morning, Roseana ate a light breakfast of papaya and mango. Her stomach needs to be empty before she drinks the medication later. By 11 a.m., her death doula, Melissa McClave, will arrive to guide the process. A psilocybin facilitator will also perform a ritual using a microdose of psychedelic mushrooms to help bring Roseana a sense of peace.

The ritual, which includes a sage smudging ceremony, reminds Roseana of Catholic last rites. “It’s about feeling one with nature,” she explains.

She has chosen her last outfit carefully: Chicago Cubs pajama pants, a Star Trek t-shirt with the franchise’s “delta” insignia, and a pendant she always wears. On the back of her shirt are the letters “IDIC,” which stands for “Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.” For Roseana, that motto sums up her belief in celebrating differences.

Around 5 p.m., Roseana will take anti-nausea medicine to prepare her body. Then, on a hospital bed set up outdoors on the deck overlooking the mountain forest, she will drink the MAID solution mixed with white grape juice.

She has also created a playlist for her send-off. It includes a jazz version of “Fly Me to the Moon” sung by Nichelle Nichols, Jethro Tull’s “Serenade to a Cuckoo,” music by Dave Brubeck, Bob Marley, and Earth, Wind & Fire, as well as themes from Star Trek: The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine. The playlist ends with “Amazing Grace” performed by flutist Hubert Laws.

After she drinks the medication, Roseana may have a grape popsicle to soothe her throat. Within minutes, she expects to feel a sense of euphoria before slipping into a coma.

“I can’t wait to make my body just melt away,” she says. “For months it’s been constant pain. It will be a relief.”

Her family has been told that the last two senses to remain will be hearing and touch. They plan to hold her hands, talk to her, and reassure her that they’ll be okay.

Roseana has been preparing for this day for months. She has given away her belongings and arranged to donate her body to scientific research at the University of California, San Diego.

“I feel ready to fade,” she says. “I believe I’m going off to a peaceful plane of existence — like another dimension. Hopefully I’ve served the greater good enough to reach that place, what some think of as heaven. I don’t know if I’ll be able to communicate back, but I’m looking forward to the adventure. And I want to leave my family knowing this is the next step for me.”