When we learn that a loved one has advanced cancer, we are transformed. Everything we thought was important or painful, simply shrinks in the face of this, and sulks into the background. Believe me, 2009 has presented us with a smorgasbord of challenging life situations to obsess over. My husband’s cancer diagnosis has deftly tucked them all in a small box, and set them aside. I would say, “and put in the attic”, but that would not be entirely accurate — they are still too pressing to ignore. But they are no longer my focus.Cancer has moved in, an unwelcome house guest. First, I wailed, with my forehead on Tim’s chest. After our 29+ years of marriage, I could not (still can’t) visualize life without him.
“I’m so sorry to put you through this,” Tim said, as if it was his fault. It is not his fault. Here he was, with advanced cancer, and he was trying to comfort me.
After that, when I cried, the tears were soundless, but could spill any time at all. I might be driving, in the shower, walking, waking up, working…and my nose would suddenly burn, my throat close up, and then tears would be rolling down my neck or into my ears. I noticed I was getting dehydrated, and had to drink lots of liquids in order to be this water factory. When I answered the phone at my office, I would apologize for my “bad cold.” I woke up in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I asked my doctor for Ambien to help me sleep through most of the night.
Ironically, I started a Contemplative Care Chaplaincy training program in September, to better equip me in hospice volunteer work. I visit the Coatesville, Pennsylvania VA Hospital hospice unit. In some ways, it may seem like bad timing; that perhaps I should walk away from that right now. The reality is that it helps me cope. I have learned the difference between pity and compassion, and what it means to really enter the suffering of another person. I am reading amazing books, discussing them with my email “buddies” from the chaplaincy class. My supervisor in the program, Chodo, asked me to journal every day for my final project. I do that, and might share some of it in this blog sometimes, but that journal has a different focus. My classmates have joined my friends and family in loving support. Some friends send prayers from their particular faith walks, others send positive thoughts. I believe in that awesome power.
A friend of mine, Judy, lived prostate cancer some years ago with her husband, Charlie. He had been given about 18 months to live, and he lived for 8 years. They visited the Kushi Institute, and began a macrobiotic diet. They kept a positive attitude. When Charlie came downstairs in the morning, crying from the emotional side-effects of hormone therapy, Judy would tease, “Do I look that bad this morning?!?!” She tried to keep things light. I told Tim about this, and immediately he said that he wanted to eat macrobiotic. I was vegan for about six years (on and off twice, years ago), and so I have some experience cooking in a similar way. With my hectic work schedule, I have not been spending a lot of time in the kitchen, and we have been grabbing meals on the go. My first thought was the expense of shopping at the health food store (and of organic produce) at a time when we are crippled financially — and also how I will find the time to prepare these foods. Never fear — I sat down and worked out meal plans, made a shopping list, and we are a week into this now. It is fine. There will be less food waste, and we will not be eating any meals out, and there will be no meat to buy, so I don’t think it will be any more expensive than our former trimmed lifestyle. And, most important, we are rolling up our sleeves and trying to manage Tim’s illness.
Tim is not feeling bad. He is not looking sick. He is a tall, muscular marathon runner, an athlete. The hormone therapy is expected to have side effects of losing muscle mass, and gaining weight. The macrobiotic diet will help mitigate the effects of that. He will keep running. We still don’t know the course of treatment, as of today, 11/19/09. The urolgist consultation was only 2 days ago, and we are planning to go to Johns Hopkins for another opinion, and to check into clinical trials. His cancer is in the lymph, and might be in the bones. His PSA was 167, which we have been told indicates that it is already in places that have not yet manifested. All that being said, there is no reason to think he will not respond to treatments, and we may have years together as a family. We just don’t know.
I have rounded the corner. I am no longer dwelling on my own selfish fear of loss, or my fear of what Tim will have to endure, or what our daughters and I will have to witness. We are going to eat macrobiotic. I have been researching supplements. We meditate. We pray. I am giving him regular Reiki treatments and massage. We will watch funny movies, and maybe go to laughing club. We will not scorn the medical route, and we will learn all we can about gene therapy, immunotherapy, Chinese medicine, and any other possible courses of treatment. Cancer is our new vocation.
It is most important to give up the “victim mentality,” and to empower ourselves. We can choose how to respond to this. Instead of mentally screaming, “NO NO NO!”, we can say “Yes.” When we say “yes”, we can work with this cancer, hold it in compassion, and use it for good. We are choosing life, but we are accepting the reality of death, which will come to us all. Nothing is changed that way — it is we who are changed. I understand the difference between the words “healing” and “cure.” Of course, we want a cure. But we also want healing. Healing takes place between people, and reaches out beyond our own small lives to a wider circle of caring. I hope you will join us in that ever-expanding circle of compassion and community. None of us have to do this alone. Healing can be the gift we give to each other.
Originally, I thought of blogging the recipes we are making, sharing how we are managing our daily practical lives, and hoping for an exchange of ideas. I will stay with that focus, and am not interested in starting a pity party. I may also share some thoughts and experiences. I hope to give the gift of our journey to old friends who will read this, and to new friends who might be going through a similar experience. It is offered with love.
Namaste,
Julie
