Today was the first time in a
long, long time that I’ve called Bruce an asshole—and the first time since his
cancer diagnosis.
How can you call some one
with cancer an asshole?
After all, cancer patients
don’t feel good--they’re dealing with a deadly disease, there are all sorts of
worries, frustrations, and side effects and changes to their bodies, quality of
life issues... and all the other little quirky symptoms that I only find out about about when Bruce
tells his nurse.
I’m pretty patient and
understanding by nature, and all the more so now when he vents the inevitable
“cancer anger” a little (or a lot).
Today he got impatient and
snippy, frustrated that we couldn’t merge our iCalendars—he hates when
technology goes awry. Who doesn't? For him, it's one more thing out of his control.
He started to tell me what
I’d done incorrectly in the attempt to merge, and kept cutting me off when I
tried to show him what I did...which, by the way, was correct!
“You’re being an asshole,” I hissed.
Not to his face, but I’m sure he heard me. I meant him to hear.
He didn’t react. He knew he’d
overreacted. Later he apologized.
But still, it’s such a
balancing act. In “normal times” a little healthy anger has always been part of
our relationship. Isn’t that the way with many? It’s a spark that’s over as
soon as it flares.
But cancer moves in, and when
the shock and horror of the diagnosis wears off and you get back to daily
living--enough to express anger, no matter how petty--it’s kind of feels weird.
Really, how can you call
someone with cancer an asshole?
Because sometimes he just IS.
And sometimes I am, too.
And so goes the battle--with
“cancer anger” tossed into the mix.
Anybody can become angry--that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way--that is not within everybody's power and is not easy. ~Aristotle.
Comments
I was stunned and I left a bit angry at him for treating his wife that way. It was a watershed moment for me because the harsh reality forced me to reflect on my self-centered perceptions. I went to that visit thinking what a thoughtful friend I was - delivering a gift that would delight him and evoke gratitude and thanks. In my mind it was all about me. But it meant nothing to him. He was looking into an abyss that none of his loved ones could see. He was in pain, on a forced march to an unknown place where no one could follow. In retrospect I imagined him resentful that our world would continue without him, and his - to the extent supported by his spiritual beliefs - without us. I imagine his experience was desperately lonely. Not all cancer experiences are as dire as his was of course. I know many cancer survivors.
I'm grateful for the way that event shifted my sense of self-importance. I feel blessed to have my own spiritual beliefs that bring a measure of meaning and comfort and preparation for whenever that day comes.
Admiring your honesty and courage and sending thoughts and prayers yours and Bruce's way...
How to deal with it? I don't know. Sometimes it's to give up, give away, turn your back and control and accept chaos. I can do that. Sometimes.
My wife uses anger, and stress being what it is, she bottles up the issue until it's beyond being contained. It doesn't help that she's forced to operate in a professional environment and must be in "control" all the time.
For me, it's taken me a long, long time to give up, to learn to not care, to understand ultimately we have no control. But my situation in chronic, and it generally makes no difference at all if I'm in control.
I don't know how my hard-earned, pretend-it doesn't-matter attitude would work facing cancer.
Keeping you both in my thoughts ...
A good friend of the cancer patient may be facing back surgery, or having to go in the hospital for a broken hip or ankle, but suddenly his/her ailments (which otherwise would be deemed quite important) became secondary afterthoughts, almost as if "Well, at least she/he doesn't have 'cancer.'" Caregivers and/or spouses face a whole different kind of stress than a regular person just worried about work. Caregivers and spouses are almost expected to be strong and loving and supportive and understanding, all while experiencing incredible stress and demands and seeing those in their own support system shift priorities over to the one with cancer. Even one's successes can be downplayed. (i.e. How can so-and-so be so happy about selling his first major painting when his wife has cancer!?) Everyone else's struggles and triumphs seem to fade away into the background ... they're secondary given the enormity of concern lavished on a family member or friend with cancer.
Cancer turns people's lives upside down in so many ways, and I don't know how any spouse could go through the process with his or her loved one *without* getting downright angry at times. And, it's not because they feel they're treated as "seconds," but because it can be a lot like living two lives at the same time. One still has his/her own life to live, but now they've taken on the additional role of handling things the other used to do. It can be exhausting, and despite all the articles out there about caregiver stress, so much is left unaddressed at so many levels. Loving family members and friends who do sympathize give the caregiver regular reminders to "take some time out just for yourself," but don't quite realize it's not at all like taking a short vacation from work, because "life as one once knew it" has been forever altered and one is forced to give up control and play by cancer's ever-changing and unpredictable rules. Like a card shark, cancer never plays fair.
Many hugs and much love to you and Bruce!