Chapter TWENTY-FIVE: Return of Cancer (2)

The two discourses which ensued were emotional, yet controlled. I knew I had a weighty task to perform if I was to gently but thoroughly bespeak my desires to my worried father, and later my mother and sister, and further persuade them to accept those decisions. I candidly explained my repugnance toward chemotherapy, punctuated by the facts that it had not worked previously and the doctor had related that although there were new drugs, none could cure my type of cancer. With all sincerity, I said I did not know how long my life would prove to be, yet I wanted to maintain a life of quality, for that best equated my idea of what life should hold for each individual; I desired to own a sense of peace which could never be attained if I continually chased the spectrum of miracle cures so prevalent in a world whose main objective, for many, is the procuring of wealth. Time itself meant little if it did not also have the amenity of joy, and in my 19 years I had experienced more quality than some individuals realize in a lifetime of 80 years; I stressed that my family was an important part, indeed, and inherent part of that quality.

I hoped that my family would be satisfied with my judgment, although their disapproval would not have altered my stance; I feared they would attempt to force treatment upon me through relentless conversation and in so doing, make life at home unbearable. This, happily, was not the case.

After receiving my dissertation, my father needed time to think and sort out the information he had just heard, and decided to take a lengthy walk into town for the duel purpose of eating lunch and trying to digest the disturbing truth which cancer brought to the surface; mortality does not concern itself only with the aged. While he was gone, I replenished myself with both food and rest. My mother was to arrive in the afternoon, and I fully realized I would have to repeat my performance for her and Sharon, my older sister. I wished to appear as normal as possible. I had curled my hair and applied my usual dose of eye make-up to improve any pallor which might have been visible due to the operation; I did not want my appearance to evoke unnecessary amounts of gloom or despair. Satisfied that I had done my best to improve upon myself, I settled back in the bed, clad in the glorious hospital garb which resembled pillow ticking and decided that I coordinated rather nicely with the rest of the decor.

When the entire group arrived it was already late in the afternoon. My father accompanied Sharon's family on a tour of the area, leaving only my mother and Sharon to visit with me directly. I noticed that my mother had lost weight, underlining the worry that was inscribed on her face; Sharon's face echoed that emotion, and I knew I must speak with care. It can be difficult to avoid mechanical speech when one is trying to maintain control of his emotions, yet to do so can prove to be less injurious to the listeners if they share one's feelings on the topic being discussed. Cold facts divulged without the benefit of a warm heart will only multiply the pain; there is no sense in hurting loved ones through callous explanations.

It was with painful resignation that my family members then present at the hospital accepted the future which I so desperately needed to control. More than my resistance to treatment, (for they too had witnessed the drastic effects which are inherent characteristics of chemotherapy) the family was besieged by the inevitability of my death. There was now the real possibility that I would die long before my parents, and in this they felt little capacity for contentment. At the close of our discussions, I believe everyone derived a handful of solace through the hope that "miracles DO happen"; there were reports of complete remission and cases in which the cancer inexplicably vanished, leaving no trace of its former habitation in the individual's body. Continuing research in the realm of cancer treatment was also a source of emotional sunshine to my family, and allowed everyone to look toward the homeward journey with anticipation.

I felt exhausted. Though I truly enjoyed seeing my mother and was grateful that my sister's family had made the time-consuming trip, I was happy to grant their leave to partake of supper. As they departed, I sunk back into the bed with a sigh of relief. It had been quite a day... and it was not over yet. I attacked my dinner tray as if it was the only food I had seen in days; it is amazing how an emotional strain can deplete one's energy as thoroughly as participating in a rigorous activity.

While I was alone with my roommate, we opened the curtain which separated the two halves of the room so we could talk and feel more in tune with the world. I felt extremely lucky to have been placed with such a personable lady, as television is a poor excuse for companionship (unless one is sharing a room with an unpleasant and irrational whiner!) After my family had departed, she expressed that she had been rather awed by my duo performances. She said she "admired" my strength and ability to verbalize my feelings, and although I graciously accepted her compliments, I told her it had been a topic about which I felt quite strongly. When one's decision is incontestable, and is fueled by past experience and anguish, the future can quite easily be foreseen.

I believe that one has made the correct choice if, after his decision has been voiced, he feels an overall contentment and freedom from excessive amounts of mental duress. Everyone must live with a patient's choices, but only he dies with them; this is why it is crucial for a patient to voice, and the family to heed, his personal opinions regarding his future.

Later that evening the troop returned from their meal and converged on the room. Since it was rather small to comfortably house six visitors on one side, we made our way into the hospital corridors to see those sights which happenstance would reveal. We eventually found ourselves in a quiet waiting room which boasted several comfortable and very accommodating couches, as well as a few tables upon which the numerous fragments of jigsaw puzzles were scattered. At this point, any form of diversion was welcome, especially for Sharon's kids who doubtlessly felt a trifle suffocated in an atmosphere where everything squeaked with cleanliness and relentless order; I'm sure they were not the only ones who felt intimidated as they passed through the marble hallways.

We entertained ourselves as best we could, electing to remain in the vicinity of the carpet and couches until it was time for them to leave. Engaging in small talk and battling with the jigsaw puzzles until totally infuriated at our lack of progress, the night fell away. When the visiting hours had reached their end, my parents and company bid me good-night and left memories of the day which had just elapsed, as well as renewed excitement for my release from the hospital. I reviewed the day's events as I lay tucked between crisp sheets and a mound of pillows; it had been an exhilarating experience, yet one that brought little actual joy except the knowledge that one has been understood and has found peace with himself.

I greeted the morning with exuberance, and the physician in a likewise manner; it was as if I radiated undiluted joy. I watched as he methodically checked my lengthy incision, and then assured him that I felt fine when he quizzed me about various details concerning my general recovery. Well aware of my excitement, he cleared my passage for dismissal and had me sign any necessary papers bearing witness that I had indeed left the ward on that day. As I rattled off my happiness for going home, he smiled, knowing the elation was no personal reflection on him, and said, "Home's always the best place to be."

When breakfast arrived, I attacked it with customary glee and then turned my attention to packing. I also took great pleasure in making myself presentable through the application of some eye make-up and donning civilian clothes; it seemed that my release from the hospital was not final until I had my shoes, instead of bedroom slippers, on my feet. I am sure that it is quite psychological, but I think that white smocks make an individual feel worse than his physical health should dictate!

I did not wait long before the family arrived and the time had come to be escorted from the building. Amid the rousing excitement, I wished my roommate a speedy recovery and presented her with one of my floral arrangements; it filled the space where her husband's bouquet should have stood. Looking back, I hope it brought more happiness than sorrowful longing for those unforgettable considerations which were never hers to enjoy.

My dismissal was something akin to a landmark affair for me. Although I was in the hospital for only a week, the freedom to walk in the cold November wind embellished my spirit with a feeling of vitality. Standing amid the elements of nature, it was not difficult for me to accept the cycle which bonded my existence to all living things. To be consciously aware of life's complexities was living in its truest sense; in life is both urgency and tranquility, yet when viewing life as a whole, there is little difference between the two. Thus the cycle is congruent; though it changes, it remains the same.

It was in this state of mind that I left Rochester, Minnesota. Later that day I was welcomed by my brother, Norm, who then received the "news" with the added support of my parents. We were generally in good spirits, which evoked a rather frustrated, "I don't see what you're all so happy about!" assertion from him; that we should be pleased when no remedy was available was disconcerting. . . with time, however, he was able to understand the importance of quality in life. He also was one who did not do those things which would bring turmoil to his life. If one continually succumbs to the notions and desires of others, his own thoughts are rendered meaningless, and likewise, is his existence.

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Essay: Suffering

SUFFERING

Cancer, or any debilitating injury or illness cannot be viewed as an act of God which is bestowed upon an unsuspecting public as randomly as winning tickets in a perverted lottery. I reject the thought that any supreme diety would choose certain individuals to suffer and allow others to live peaceful and fulfilled lives, or through their own choice, aimless, meaningless lives; I do not feel that a God would thus inflict an individual either to punish him for wrong-doing or through suffering, make him into a stronger human. Though it may be a consolation to believe that suffering has a purpose, I believe that an individual's pain has no more divine purpose than if he'd stubbed his toe. While the mastery and acceptance of ill fortune will make a person stronger, it would then seem that everyone could benefit from grief, and God would therefore assure each person of his parcel... but it doesn't happen that way. Grief is part of existence, and while certain people may have more than "their share" as far as statistical averages follow, nature does not operate through calculated averages. I believe cancer befalls individuals just as blight will infest a perfectly healthy tree and cut short its life expectancy. It is interesting to me that many individuals will always attempt to justify their illness in such manners in order to keep their faith intact; as far as they are concerned, a loving God must have a reason for doing such a thing to them. People have forgotten that illness is a part of life, and perhaps more prominent is the fact that many refuse to acknowledge their own mortality. Just as illness is an inherent factor in nature's infinitely complex cycle, death also belongs to the natural order of things.

"God will not give us any more than we can bear" is also a disagreeable reason (to my way of thinking) for explaining why suffering is God's gift to us. Far too often, the burden is too hard to bear and the person is unable to cope, leaving him bitter, enraged or even insane. This cannot be pigeonholed neatly as suffering which was to the benefit of the individual... or that which was "no more than he could bear." Moreover, why would a diety wish to dole out pain to some simply because they could "handle it" while allowing others to go their merry way through life because they would have "cracked" under the grief? The latter group may empathize with the former lot, yet they cannot "enlarge their spiritual horizons" through observation alone. Thus, while the former group grows in insight and reflection, the latter enjoys life's surface values and are bereft of the "enjoyment" which true suffering would bring. Who, then, is the better off?

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Essay: Quality in Life

QUALITY IN LIFE

Another aspect concerning religion and death which never ceases to amaze me is the devout Christian who believes that one should strive for every possible breath 'til the end, as if life for life's sake is of foremost importance. To me, this is saying that heaven is not as great as proclaimed; if their faith, indeed, is so steadfast and secure, would not the proposition of the imminence of heaven produce more smiles than that of another painful breath of life?

I feel that life must contain an element of quality to be worth the actual existence. To me this would mean wrapping myself in thought, and perhaps, subsequently unleashing my hoard of mind-words onto paper, where they would then remain for later perusal. My thoughts and sense of self are more precious than any physical activity I might pursue, or monetary affluence I might acquire. This fact may be the reason why I am content despite physical limitations and inconveniences and my deformity in stature. Though if it were my choice, I would most definitely elect to be of stout health, I feel that I am yet rich in the far greater facets of character; for it is one's mind which makes the person, not the body.

When I see one who is healthy, I don't envy that person, nor do I feel I "deserve" health more than "so and so" who lives a wild life but remains healthy. In fact I would never trade my life for that of someone else. I would still want my mind, body and soul. While I may detest my body's waning functions, I would not care to live in another's body a life which had no meaning. Moreover, it is not possible to know the sorrow which he might have borne, or the gripping habits which have tortured his mind. If I've ever envied a person, it was only my former, healthier self.

Moreover, quality of life reigns over the quantity of one's days. If one has attained a level of consciousness with which he is content despite ill tidings, he has reached a sense of quality in existence, no amount of time will better that which only the mind can attain; after all, what is ordinary existence but the pursuit of aspirations which shall place shelter over our heads and feed our hungry bodies? For one fostering a higher ideal of life, every day matters are not a bore or resentment; they are inherent facets of life which easily yield to accomplishment when it has been acknowledged by that individual that there are unseen elements far greater than a comfortable lifestyle which renders life meaningful.

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Essay: Bargaining and Prayer

BARGAINING AND PRAYER

The idea of "bargaining" for more time never really occurred to me, although I was quite aware that this type of reaction was often enacted by an individual whose life was to be lessened through physical incapacitation. I shall always smile to remember the movie "The End," wherein a terminally ill man determines that suicide is his only hope to retain dignity in death; he tries countless measures to kill himself, all of which fail due to their haphazard nature. Finally he swims out to sea in the hope that he will tire and drown, but at the last moment, decides he actually wants to live and calls upon God to give him the strength to swim ashore, tempting God with a 50% pledge and regular attendance in church. The movie was a humorous comparison to the way in which some people truly bargain for more time; I feel that this type of reasoning can only injure the individual, especially if God should "reject" his proposal through a worsening of his condition.

A healthier alternative, which also allows for the patient to maintain his religious stance.... if indeed religion is important in his life... is to instead "hope" for a longer life. Hope does not as easily fall into the realm of religion and therefore remains a separate source of emotional comfort; there is no dependency upon God, doctors or other people to cure him.

Given the fact that man was blessed with a mind of his own, which is essentially too complex for him to understand, it amazes me that he continues to speak of the mind of God as if bestowed with acknowledgeable characteristics, abilities, and functions. Often people will say, "God gives one the strength to bear loss... pain... hardship... etc." as if one bereft of inner fortitude can expect to be given that gift through prayer.

I have always believed it to be more fruitful to pray for strength rather than a cure when faced with terminal ailments. I do not believe that one can "lean on" God and await replenishment, since I cannot view the essence of God as a crutch or in any other way which would place Him outside of one's self. If God resides within an individual, He cannot be a crutch.

Perhaps it is better to say that one's belief in God gives him strength; for if God sent strength as an answer to prayer desiring strength, why do not all people receive the feeling of renewal? Why are some left to insanity, psychosomatic disorders or neurotic behavior? To credit God for one's strength would only serve to discredit His "unanswered" prayers, as is the case with physical disorders. I do not believe God would endow one with the fortitude to deliver himself from anguish and neglect the emotional appeals of others. Housing such thoughts can be devastating.

It is one's unrealistic expectations of God that can sometimes create turmoil for an individual, which again may result from the attempt to personify God. This attempt on the part of an individual to personify his deity often results from his need to feel guarded and loved; without family or friends he can still have a heavenly father and thus is not alone. My strength comes from within, and is augmented by loving family members. I tend to think, rather than to pray, for I feel the unity of all creation is within me and encompasses all things; thus even my most quiet thoughts are not spoken in emptiness.

When people said they prayed for me, I looked at their statement as one of thoughtful kindness because it demonstrated that they cared for me and my family. Yet within, a voice would scream that praying for health misused the idea behind prayer. Although prayer means vastly different things to each individual, I like to think of prayer as a way of communing with God; while there are many who ask God for favors in prayer, to me this cheapens it. I feel it should be used for the attempt of attaining oneness with the eternal spirit and nothing more, unless it is to unify one with himself and allow him to dismiss his selfishness to think of and unite with others. This well-known quote echoes my sentiments: "God, grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change, courage to change those I can, and wisdom to know the difference."

To further elaborate on the subject, I would assume that an individual who divulged in prayer such a "bargain" would eventually feel the shame brought about by the realization that he would never have sought this plea or offered his humble services had he not first been stricken by physical illness. Most likely the thought would have never crossed his mind. One would think that the person would have waved God's flag in times of health and prosperity. But, as with the vast majority of people, thoughts of one's own death rarely occur to those caught up in the robust living of life. Thus guilt can both evoke, and be the product of, promises too great to keep.

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