eh...It's storming out. My parents are watching a movie in one room and I'm in another typing and listening to an all 90's music station. Were the music not coming from the TV, I'd swear I was in eighth grade again. ("The Humpy Dance" just followed Whitney's "I'm Your Baby Tonight"---both from '90---and there's a dance party goin' down in my heart right now.)
When I originally decided on hurricaning it in these parts, we weren't sure if my mom was going to be out of the hospital and Dan was going to drive down from NH today to hunker down with me. Turns out she's home, of course, but Dan has a pretty bad chest cold and with my mom's immune system jeopardized by the chemo, we all thought it best that he stay put. (At this point she's considered to be "nadiring" which means her white blood cell count is on its way down. The idea is that it drops to its lowest point about 10 days after treatment and then starts to build back up, hopefully reaching a healthy level before the next chemo treatment.) By the time we got it all settled, it was too late for me to drive back up, so hopefully we both live to see each other after Earl---the hurricane that wasn't---romps through. (I didn't want anyone to get hurt or for anyone to lose their home or even for anyone to lose power, which is just so annoying, but I really wanted to be walloped by this hurricane. I just really wanted it to finally happen.) So, although I had a great "hurricane party" with a couple of sisters, mom and nephew today, I feel a bit like a kid without a license right now hanging alone at my parents' house on a rainy Friday night.
(Oh God, Wilson Phillips "Hold On"---thank you modern-day cable!)
So, I really loved hearing what some of you had to say in regard to my question of whether or not you would tell anyone if a doctor told you that you had three months to live. (If you didn't comment, feel free to chime in.) I hope those of you who responded don’t mind, but I’m going to repost your notes here rather than responding in the comments section.
Matthew said...
I would sing it from the mountain tops!!! And ask everyone to come dance with me. That is exactly what I would want to do. DANCE.
Allison said...
This news sucks but I have faith! PS---I would want people to know as well!
Mart said...
Yes, I think I would tell (I hope). Telling heals.
BFYNM (and just to clarify BFYNM is a friend of my sister Bec's whom I've never met, though between the blog and our Facebook encounters, we've decided we're soul sisters. That's where Best Friend You Never Met comes from. I hope I didn't betray our friendship by telling.) said...
I would tell every person I have ever loved. I am a control freak, so being able to say what I need to say is critical for me. I recently worked for a woman who was diagnosed w/ terminal lung cancer. She told NO ONE. Even while she was going thru chemo (w/hair loss) she paid astronomical amounts of money for wigs so people wouldn't know. She felt the cancer made her weak. I completely disagreed with the way she handled it, but I respected her choice. It was disturbing to have to explain to people after she was gone what happened & how long she battled in silence. She confided in me, her two children, her sister and select few friends but not nearly the amount of people that loved her. No one got to tell her what she meant to them. No one got to say goodbye. She regretted the choice at the very end and I think some of her friends were deeply hurt.
So, each of these responses really had me thinking.
(I did NOT know Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch were behind "Wildside" mania! My beloved Mark Whalberg! I would doot da doot him in a hot minute. I know these asides are totally inappropriate but I can't help it...my brain is picking up two frequencies right now. It's seriously like hearing two radio stations overlapping...)
Mattie would "DANCE!" He would use his last months to enjoy and celebrate life. This is, of course, assuming he was healthy enough in mind and body to do so. Or maybe he would seek out the gift no matter what. (Knowing Mattie, he would find it.) Before all this, I think I would have answered similarly. Maybe after all this, I will. All I know is that prior to experiencing this kind of illness in such an intimate way I would have had a "Live it up!" gut reaction, but right now, as much as I am savoring every minute with my mom, nobody in my family feels like dancing. (Though, today we all watched a movie together after a big lunch so maybe that's a version of dancing.) It got me thinking about how it takes a three-month deadline (oh god, no fucking pun intended) to allow us the perspective/permission to DANCE! in that capital letters, exclamation point kind of way. Even as I sit inside this, learning as I am about the preciousness of life, I find myself sweating the small stuff and feeling like I should be working harder. What the eff is that about?
Allie would want people to know too, but I thought the interesting part of her response was that she still has faith. First of all, Al, thanks. We all still have faith, too. But the layer of it that I found interesting was the doubt implied by this faith; the questioning of whether or not you would even believe a doctor who said such a thing or would have "faith" in your maker or yourself or science to disprove such a prediction. When I posed this question to my sister Cherie today she said she probably wouldn't tell because she wouldn't buy it. She's a firm believer in the power of the mind and thus believes that focusing on life versus death would bring more life. And while it may be easy to raise an eyebrow at this kind of thinking, I've read plenty of stories of people who were given months and took years for themselves, in part because they never accept their prognoses. Faith or the Law of Attraction, I get their point. (And, Allie, Boys II Men are on right not and I CANNOT listen to these guys without thinking of you. Do I remember their poster on your wall?)
Mart wrote that "telling heals" and, God, do I believe that (and am grateful to her for saying so because that's why I'm still showing up here during this whole thing). Telling heals. Truth heals. These are words by which I try to live and write. This is the idea of accepting what is. I felt a strong sense of shame after posting the update the other day; like it was something I should have kept private, barely admitting it to myself, much less anyone else. But it is THE TRUTH. I could have buffered it (and have on this blog before, I must admit) and said simply that things had taken a hard turn but GiG is still smiling (which she still, somehow, is). I could have left out the part about the prognosis (and I really battled with myself about whether I should have) but it was a fact that seemed integral to the story. And, much more important than "the story," it is something that I know my mom's loved ones would want to know and which she wants them to know. And why? Why should such a sad reality (and, believe me, I am not convinced the prognosis is reality though the conversation with the doctor was) be passed on? Well, I can't totally know that yet. I don't know how this telling will heal. I don't know what experiences or conversations my mom will or will not have or even why she was okay with people knowing, other than it is the truth of what went down this week. But I do know that I've witnessed my mom brave fronting her way through conversations to protect her friends and family and that it's been a great relief when she has finally been able to express her true feelings, fear and all. She and I have had some very honest conversations during these past six months and when I am not hating this all so entirely, I am aware that I have enjoyed some of the richest moments of our relationship in this time. Telling heals.
(Um, Free Fallin' is on which I so appreciate, but it's from 1989 so I'm not really sure I'm okay with the theme straying.)
This also speaks to what BFINM meant was getting at with her story, which absolutely floored me. That must have been an incredibly thought-provoking thing to witness. Whenever I've seen it depicted on television (anyone into the Big C, yet?), people not telling, I've always thought it wasn't accurate. Nobody could really do that, I thought. And then to hear that this woman really didn't tell anyone other than immediate family (and what was it like for them?)...I can't imagine it. I understand the inclination towards privacy and even the intense discomfort some feel about receiving sympathy from others (best case scenario...worse case scenario is the stupid shit people say) but I guess I just feel like all hangups would get hung up when placed against the backdrop of limited time on earth. I would just want to connect as honestly as I could with those I love at that point, and that would involve telling. (And, of course, blogging about the entire thing which is actually the first thought I had on how I'd handle it. It would be three months of writing, reading, seeing movies and coffee dates with everyone I love. I think I may have just discovered my life's ambition.)
(Oh, jeez, "Janie's Got A Gun"---a song I friggin' love and had a joke about in my standup act all those years ago; something about Delilah playing it for one of her heartsick callers---but which is also from '89. WTF?)
I was really blown away by that story and then was further rocked when I got a call from Dan the other day, which started with him saying simply, "I wouldn't."
“Wouldn’t what?”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone if I knew I had only three months to live.”
“You wouldn’t?”
He went on to explain that his inclination would be to go off somewhere alone to whither (I think he even said whither) as he wouldn’t want to hurt anyone.
“You don’t think it would hurt more for people to lose you so suddenly and to learn that you didn’t tell them that you knew it was coming? For them to not get the chance to tell you what you mean to them?”
He saw my point but was still unsure. He told me he had thought before about how if anything like this ever happened, he would do something that would make me so angry at him that it would end our relationship and I'd be a safe distance from the heartache of losing him.
“Oh, you’re one of those...” I said, adding that, while I understand the push-people-away-for-their-own-good mentality, if he ever did that to me I would hate him forever...or at least be eternally broken.
It’s a discussion he and I will have to go back to but I’m still pretty shaken about this being his first instinct. (And am also sort of wondering if he’s going to have an affair someday and then say he’s dying in an effort to get away with it...Answering like he did to that question, nothing could surprise me now; there is a part of that man that is still a stranger.)
(Okay "Ice Ice Baby" just warranted a volume increase. 1990. I was 9 and learned every word of this song because all the kids were talking about it. By the time I learned 'em, everyone hated Vanilla Ice. I have no regrets and can give a concert-quality performance whenever the song comes on. Word to your mother.) (It took 'til about eighth grade to finally realize that I would always be behind the curve when it came to music and just binged on Broadway forevermore.) (This was after my "Smells Like Teen Spirit"---now playing; 1991 though I was a post-Kurt fan like all the other 14-year-olds---headbanging phase.)
We returned to the conversation for a bit today and he said, "I actually feel differently after reading all those [your] responses...It could be a happy thing."
"I know you don't want to hurt anyone, but people would want to celebrate you."
Blowing his nose and mustering his best I-have-a-cold wimper, he said, "You should be celebrating me now because I'm not sure I'm gonna make it."
He kids but, of course, we should be celebrating each other more. (He should definitely celebrate me more.) It's an interesting idea to think about anyway. (A great conversation starter during dinner parties with the Mr. and Mrs. Lame-ass from next door.)
While I obviously know my mom's answer to the question of if she'd tell, I haven't yet asked her what she'd do with those three months. Hypotheticals are fun...not so when there's a risk of reality.
I hope that I don't seem like I'm being callous. I am utterly aware of the seriousness and emotional hell of all of it, I just think this is how I cope. I intellectualize the hell out of stuff, or so I was recently told.
There's just too much to feel, I guess. And now I realize that this is another question entirely. While we can all imagine what it is that we'd do if told we only had three months to live, it's another thing entirely to think about what it is we would feel.
Maybe that's the real question I should be asking my mom.
10 comments:
"I would just want to connect as honestly as I could with those I love at that point, and that would involve telling." ...this says it all from my stand point. I am a "wear your heart on your sleeve" kinda gal and I'm social (probably overly social), but I get great comfort from my family and friends. I actually feel so incredibly fortunate to have the wonderful friends and family members that I do, that I would want them to know how I feel about THEM before going...and it would be less about me knowing what they feel about me or even giving them the chance to say goodbye. I would want to hug and thank them for their support throughout my life and would just want the general comfort of those I love to be around me. That's mom...she gets energy from being around those that love her. This is why it's good for people to know. It fuels her soul. It's hard, many times, for her to be around lots of people right now because of her immunity and she is sometimes too exhausted for all of it, but she is touched by ever card, call, text, or visit she gets. Seriously touched. She is one of those uber-selfless people so when someone takes the time to write the kindest of words to her (the cards are flooding in with those kinds of sentiments), it really touches her. Anyway, Lo, enough with my pontificating...you did the right thing in sharing this. I, of course, know as her daughter....but mom is a special person who has touched the lives of so many more people than us. They would want to know. xoxo
At first with Kyle's melanoma, I told very few people. It was like I couldn't make myself say, "My son has cancer." And I could hear his voice over the phone repeating in my mind from the first time he told me. But once I told the first few people, starting with family, it got a little easier to say out loud and having others know was helpful, at least to me. The hardest was telling my mom and dad that their Kylie-kid had cancer (even now writing this, I'm welling up). But telling truths heals. And that is very different from curing. We can't make it do that but we can let our voices begin the healing. I know I would tell other people, although it might take awhile to get my voice to work. But I would need to tell b/c I couldn't go it alone and I would want the chance to tell people what they meant to me. I used to have a recurring nightmare when my kids were little that some apocalyptic event was on its way, we were facing the end as a species, and all I wanted was to be surrounded by my family, to hold them close, at the end.
Hey Laura,
First of all, I hope you don't think I'm a creepy stalker for reading your blog, but I really love your writing, it makes me laugh and wish I had gotten to know you in high school. Lately I've been feeling like I should reach out. I know it's not the same, but an aunt that I was really close to was diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer in my sophomore year of college. Seriously, one day she was fine, the next she had 6 months to live. I had the opportunity to spend the summer with her, driving her to the doctor, cooking for her and generally helping whenever I could. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. Without a doubt though, it was an honor and a privilege to be able to spend that time with her, and that is what I carry with me. I am keeping your family in my thoughts and prayers (for whatever that means to you)
I would tell people close to me, they deserve to know. (Now insert everything in Becky's comment here because it is exactly how I feel) I do watch The Big C and I scream inside every show for her to tell her husband and son, it drives me crazy.
I love the thought of completing some bucket list if I had three months but I know I would really want to spend every single moment with my husband and my kids and just try to make it somehow be okay for them. Rather than have my kids think, oh what a great vacation we went on before Mom died, I would rather them remember that I helped them with their homework, laughed with them, hugged them, etc. and that they felt loved and cared for every minute of every day.
Benny---I feel ya on wanting to let people know what you feel about them, but it would be bumper-to-bumper down North Lowell with people who would want to tell you what you mean to them, if this was ever the scenario (god for-fucking-bid). Don't wait 'til you have three months left (like mom) to realize that!
VH---First off, I'm glad you brought up the difference between telling healing and curing...I was thinking of that too. And my god, I can't imagine ever having to say those words about your child. Man, I could see 'em getting stuck or not wanting to admit it was true. I could see getting trapped in denial with that and am glad to hear that telling others was helpful. I'm also glad you still talk about it because I imagine it still haunts you. Plus, that's how we help each other through, right?
Marianne---The above goes for you, too! I am so glad you reached out. First off, I am sorry for the loss of your aunt but am so glad you were able to spend that time with her. So often life just moves along so quickly and I'm wondering if you are forever glad that you pushed the pause button in order to spend the summer with her? I was actually really comforted to hear you refer to it as an "honor and a privilege" because when it's not terribly frightening or painful, that is what it feels like---even now while in it---and I didn't totally realize it until you wrote that. (See, I really am glad you reached out...) It feels shitty to say that because it feels somehow callous at times (none of this, I don't think, feels particularly honorable to my mom) but I'm hoping it just speaks to the way I feel about her (and how you felt about your aunt). Thank you so much for writing. It really does help to feel someone else's understanding like that. (It does not at all feel creepy stalker-ish, but actually was quite touching to hear from you all these years after our lockers were so close together. And thank you for the thoughts for my mom and family.)
Margaret---Your response just made me get a little teary-eyed. I just thought of you on the couch with your sons doing homework with them and it made me weak. (PMS perhaps?) Okay, first of all, I love that you watch The Big C because this is yet another show we can discuss. I, too, scream about her not telling. I just don't get it (and am hoping they have her come around on that rather than basing the entire show around it). I do think it is so tender though that she wants to parent the hell out of her son. It's kind of like what you were saying about wanting your kids to remember the everyday time spent with you. (Have you ever seen Billy Elliot the musical? If you haven't and you're into musicals, you gotta get there. Bring tons of tissues! I thought I was going to die crying and all I could think about it was what it's like for mothers of sons to see it.)
My mom does have a sort of bucket list going (and writing that made me weak again). She wanted to get to the beach this summer and did. She wanted to bring all of us for lunch at Cliff Walk and did. Little things, you know?
I missed the first go-round on 'Would I tell.' so, yes, I would, just to get it done so I wouldn't have to tell later. It might take a day or two to do it, but no longer.
I think I'd gather my boys around me and do it dramatically, with something like, "Tonight we settle all the unfinished Corleone family business," but whatever business there is already settled or will be.
I intend to be cremated (Connecticut doesn't allow composting), but still I'd wonder about what I'd like my epitaph to be. I like Ulysses S. Grant's last words, "My life has been a verb," but wonder if that includes gerunds. Maybe, just "Enough!"
But I think I'm much more scared of growing old than dying. I think dying would just end the otherwise bad joke.
I can't really think about any of this without getting terribly emotional. I guess that is the part our leg of the family plays. First off, Gigi as her nieces affectionately refer to her (she has so many aliases!) has been my go to girl in the face of everything big in my life. I even told her she is the mom I modeled myself after! So, the compliments I receive about my kids can be directly linked back to your own mother! She is the epitome of mother earth and the sunshine! I will believe what Cherie does and flow positive vibes and pray that I have more time to go to my girl for advice. That being said, telling others about this situation does allow both parties to say what they have always wanted to say to each other. I also remember Gigi's psychic ability and her belief that if she told the people ahead of time what she "saw" that maybe it wouldn't happen. Maybe that is my insane hope that is by verbalizing this, maybe it will keep it at bay. A girl can hope, right?! Lala, you have always been such a wonderful scribe. We are lucky to have your skillful "spew" to reflect on. I love you.
I haven't seen Billy Elliott, next time I want a good cry I will rent it. Thanks! I guess that would be Nick's equal to the disney movie Brother Bear, its about three brothers and poor Nick can't even start telling what the movie is about before he starts crying. I am glad your Mom is accomplishing her bucket list of sorts. I know my Mom is happiest when the rare moment happens when all of us are in the same house, just like yours. My heart is breaking for your family, I think of you all the time. I hope your Mom's pain has subsided.
Kristen's note just made me cry...those are sweet words, cous!
She is the mother I emulate when raising my own daughter, too, so I feel you on that....and, arguably, that is a big compliment to pay someone! I can say, first hand, she was the BEST mother a girl could have ever hoped for. It makes me emotional just to type these words...but you can only imagine the memories I have from her...and continue to have with her... the kind of memories that will warm your soul for a life time! Anyway, we are lucky to have such a wonderful family...and friends, for that matter! Love to all of you!
Rob---I like the Grant quote; a final tribute to grammar, as well.
Kristin---Love you, too, and glad you're on here. Those were such beautiful words about my mom...I'll be sure she sees 'em.
Margaret--- Billy Elliot, the movie, is fab but the musical is what I was talking about...so, so good.
Benny---There's so much of mom that I see in how you parent; it's really neat to watch.
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