Roy Exum
I read a marvelous essay not long ago where the author urged, “Stop telling the lie that cancer is a battle … a battle implies a fair fight, and there was nothing fair about my cancer or the cancer that took the life of my friend. Those experiences were about as fair as getting hit by a car – and nobody says people lose their battles with automobiles.”
Mary Elizabeth Williams, a brilliant writer for the website ‘Salon’ and a cancer survivor, makes so much sense. “So why not instead try something like this? I had cancer, my (college roommate) died of it. We were never competitors. And nobody won or lost.”
Mary Elizabeth has written a book that is just out, “A Series of Catastrophes and Miracles: A True Story of Love, Science and Cancer” and there is no doubt it will be a marvelous read because she is so good with words. “To make it to the other side of illness doesn’t automatically make a person an achiever, any more than it makes those who have died failures.”
Another famed writer, Jenny Diski who wrote of her inoperable cancer in a diary that was serialized in the London Review of Books, died earlier this week and felt the same way. “One thing I state as soon as we’re out of the door: ‘Under no circumstances is anyone to say that I lost a battle with cancer. Or that I bore it bravely. I am not fighting, losing, winning or bearing.’ I will not personify the cancer cells inside me in any form.”
Jenni’s the one who, when the doctor told her that she was terminally ill, looked him in the eye and quipped, “Well, we better get to cooking the meth…”
A genuine character, Diski’s entire philosophy could be captured in one easy sentence, “It isn’t important what you do, it is the attitude with which you proceed through the world that matters.”
Jenny’s view of death: “There is of course nothing else to really think about except death. But that’s not a new realization for me. I have always been perfectly aware that one could drop dead at any moment, and I have really tried to think myself into that idea since I was a child. Still, now it has more reality, I can’t see I will be skipping off with a hey and a ho and all that. I can, though, get behind the idea of not having to worry about anything anymore. That is quite an appealing thought.”
“Not worrying about anything anymore” brings me to my third female writer, a longtime friend who I first met in high school and later we worked together. I pray for her every morning and check on her often through a ‘bless-ed’ website, www.caringbridge. It’s really neat and she has countless followers who pray for her as well.
CaringBridge started in 1997, when a friend of founder Sona Mehring had a premature baby. The website, free of charge outside of donations, allows people like me to keep up with another’s “health journey” without the bothersome phone calls, the emotional moments and all of that. Now there have been over a half-million CaringBridge sites started in 236 countries and territories around the world. And get this – one of every nine people in the U.S. has used it.
On Wednesday – symbolic because the last round of chemo ended – my friend wrote an entry that I must share. The thing that jumped out was the line, “I’m not scared anymore.” The second thing you should notice is how her awareness of how invaluable and precious her friends are has heightened. This is a great lesson, too, of how we should treat others in their struggles.
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HER CARINGBRIDGE BLOG
“The thing about cancer is that it doesn't just affect me. It's turned (my husband’s) world upside down too. He's angry and afraid for me and is juggling my doctors' appointments and quirky food requests (that I sometimes can't eat) with his own job.
“It affects friends and family and coworkers. I've been on the other side; I know how miserable it is to watch it all unfold and not know what to say or do. Me? I just want to be normal. I want to be part of your funny stories, your memories, what your grandkids said, what new bird you saw at your feeder, what art exhibit you can't stop thinking about. The conversations, cards, texts and emails are a constant source of humor, fascination and encouragement. Thank you!
“When I was first diagnosed, I was more afraid of extreme life-prolonging treatment than the disease. I wanted to make sure my oncologist knew that my priority is quality of life, not more time if I am suffering. If the balance shifts, I want to make a graceful exit if that's possible. I am not afraid now, mostly because my way of coping is to pretend it's not happening. And the people around me boost my spirits and keep me moving forward.
“A great example: The day I found out about the cancer, emergency room docs sent me to a gynecologist because they thought the primary cancer was ovarian. So (my husband) and I are sitting in the waiting room at Erlanger. I look up on the wall and see a large painting of doctors doing surgery - not at all what I wanted to think about!
“Then I spotted Jesus assisting. I texted my coworkers: "There's a huge painting of Jesus doing surgery in here!" Cindy, a witty fellow designer, immediately replied, "Wonder if Memorial knows he's moonlighting at Erlanger?" It cracked me up at a time I really needed a laugh.
"Juanita, one of the poker chicks (a very exclusive ladies-only game), rushed over one morning last week with a tepid breakfast smoothie when I couldn't find anything I could drink. I sipped on it all day. She also brought me ‘The Cancer-Fighting Kitchen’ that has recipes for specific chemo side effects from sore mouth to fatigue to nausea and dehydration.
“The big surprise was a mystery box full of small things she'd saved for me - and she's a good saver - seashells, unusual bird feathers, a rock shaped like a heart (turned one way or a rear-end turned the other way). Hey, I needed that. A wonderful glass bird skull, a ceramic bug to tell your troubles to, a small soft French stuffed animal. So fun to open and think about.
“Sweet gifts from friends Ellen, aka ‘Chemosabi,’ and Wade Brickhouse - both fabulous book artists. Wade made a tiny porcelain boat with gold hand footings and Ellen made two tiny books with sweetgum pod covers. They close by tiny magnets embedded in the pod (Wade's brilliant idea).
“These people make me happy. Friends continue to amaze me."
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“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” – Emerson.
royexum@aol.com