Big Boo Hoo

08/10/07

“Until man learns to accept his fellow man with all his faults, as well as his virtues, there can be no peace, no joy, no real understanding.”

Henry Miller -- Ecco Homo, 1967

Today I want to talk about some issues surrounding having cancer: “the unknown,” “the future,” and “goodbyes.” I’ll also address the editorial published in the August 8, Ann Arbor News, “U-M doctor pioneering radical new, short cancer treatment,” and some of the comments it generated. First, the editorial feedback: one of my colleagues at U-M thought I should have mentioned my affiliation with the U and my positions in the English Department and Comprehensive Studies Program. I’m not sure why I failed to include this information, but consider it done. Another friend, Ms. Picard, was sweetly pissed off (mildly outraged is, perhaps, a more apt description) that she could have seen me working out at the gym (CCRB) so recently, only to find out that I now have cancer. I know, Allysia, it really sucks. Joannie K., thank you so much for your concern, I know you’ve had health issues for many years, and are familiar with living with illness.

I’m beginning to gain some insight on just exactly what people mean what they say, “You’re lucky you’ve got your health,” or, “At least if you’re not happy, you’ve got your health,” (that always brings a wince, since it implies that happiness is an impossibility) or, “Health is our greatest wealth,” (Oh! That’s nice, if you’re sick or you’re poor.). Last Friday at midnight, after having been up for twenty hours straight, I looked out over a crowd of happy dancers reveling to the music of George Bedard. I was tired and angry. A feeling came over me that I had yet to experience: “I’m exhausted and sick,” I thought. “Why don’t you all go home and let me do the same?” But then I realized something: Why shouldn’t they all be having fun? They don’t know how I feel, and I can’t blame or resent them for my misery, or for being happy, or for wanting GB&theKPins to play all night. We jog, eat granola, do yoga, etc., all with the idea of staying healthy, but when it comes right down to it, we take our health for granted. And why shouldn’t we? We’re hard wired that way, we’re programmed to survive, and by golly that’s what we’re going to do. And that’s a good thing, because when the shit hits the fan, and the cancer, gout, hemorrhoids, mange, mouth sores, and aching gums come a courting, it’s best that we didn’t spend a lot of time anticipating them. There lies the way of psychotic anxiety at best, and madness at worst. But while it may be good that we never truly contemplate our own mortality, we are ill prepared when the axe comes down. When the specialist walks in bearing grim news, no one wants to hear it.

Which brings me to the first of today’s topics, “the unknown.” A friend came over yesterday, and after having hinted around about my health -- I suppose he was waiting for me to tell my story—asked me what was up. Once I gave him the details, he responded with what I consider to be a very boring rejoinder, “Well, Randy, we all fear the unknown.” I thought to myself, “Listen Jack, your ‘unknown’ and my ‘unknown’ are two very different kettles of fish.” In terms of one’s health, the unknown is an abstract, intangible concept. In health, the unknown simply becomes a metaphor for the future, a future that is, well, safely out of sight and out of mind. It’s not like that when you are suddenly confronted with impending doom. There is a huge difference between idly contemplating the possibility that you might die of heart failure or a stroke, or a shark attack or lightning strike, and the reality that you are riddled with malignant cells bent on consuming the organism that is you. Certainly “the will to survive,” and “no one gets out alive,” and “life is terminal,” and all of the trite (I mean tried) and true aphorisms rush to our aid; but for the seriously ill, the “unknown” of the immediate future is a much more pressing concern than for the healthy.

Closely related to the “unknown” is the “future.” For most of us the future is something always just beyond our grasp, hence the homey admonishments that we “stay in the present” or “take one day at a time,” etc. This all sounds good, but as I’ve said before, what about when the moment sucks? And what about when the “one day at a time” is contemplated within the realization that one’s days are truly numbered? For the sick, the future offers that curious combination of relief and dread, but never the benign sort of uncertainty of the healthy experience. In sickness, the future holds the possibility of getting better or dying. The sick are denied the luxury of contemplating issues unrelated to their illness. Oh sure, we try to live as if everything were normal, but you know, I’m finding it doesn’t work that well. With regard to the longstanding philosophical debate about the mind/body split, I would have to say the two are inseparable. What I have found is that activities like playing music, exercising, and painting seem to be a better distraction than listening to music, reading, or watching TV. The difference being, the combination of the cognitive with the physical is more immediate and seems to require a different kind of focus. I need to think more about exactly what that difference is.

“Goodbyes” Whew! This is tough. Let me address this by example. Every goodbye is tough. Your friends or relatives come to visit, they stay the weekend, it’s time to say goodbye. Normally, this means you’ll see them next year. When you’re living with illness, the “goodbye” becomes freighted with emotion. I haven’t said much about the emotional component of being sick. Why? Probably because emotions defy description. They are, in many ways, ineffable. I find myself getting emotional at the weirdest times. It might be in the middle of a gig while I’m playing in front of a crowd. It often comes when I’m alone. Why? I don’t know. It comes when I see someone I haven’t seen in a while. The point I want to make here is that goodbyes, even the small ones, seem to make me cry. Goodbye All.

PS: Boo hoo