CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Depression
When a person is told he has a terminal illness, depression is a very natural reaction. Not only does the individual have to face a disease which shall bring about weakness and failure of one's bodily functions, but also he is obliged to acknowledge that the culmination of his life waits on his very doorstep.
For myself, it was not the fear of death which brought about various intervals of depression, but rather the realization that my dreams for the future and the reality thereof would not coincide. Occasionally, as time passed, I would also become disheartened by the way in which the cancer was transforming my body in a visual sense. I had always taken pride in maintaining my figure for my health and appearance, and now I was helpless against the shape I was quickly becoming as the cancer grew. I was also aware of its effect internally, and exercise gradually tapered off into nonexistence. I found my lungs unable to fully inflate, and my heart beat would hover around 100 beats per minute with only mild exercise; fear would soar when I would, without warning, desperately need a bathroom.
I did not hate my life, yet when I was afflicted with nausea for hours in a day or forced to miss an anticipated outing because of diarrhea and the need of a bathroom in close vicinity, my spirits could plummet and make me wish that death was close at hand. While those things I most valued I still possessed, the magnitude of my physical condition would surface when I would once again be harshly reminded that "normalcy" was no longer credible, as if that state of being was a rug which was being swept out from under my feet.
In addition to feeling inconvenienced by cancer, I also experienced a sense of worthlessness, although of a different sense than that which I felt upon my initial bout at age 13. When I was younger, I placed a great deal of importance upon physical attributes; consequently the post-treatment loss of all my hair, necessitating the purchase of a wig, resulted in the questioning of my parents affection. I could not understand how anyone could possibly care about a bald, rather skeletal, daughter.
My later loss of self-worth centered more on my inability to perform certain household chores, attend school or maintain employment. I was incapable of strenuous tasks and the fluctuations in my health were such that a steady job would be unthinkable. Since I no longer felt that I acted the part of a "good citizen," guilt quickly crept into my mind. I was living under the wing of my parents as I watched friends initiate themselves into the mainstream of societal expectations; theirs were blooming lives, while I seemed stranded in a murky, stagnant pool, simply taking up space. I was eventually able to resolve this self-inadequacy through interaction with my family and friends who, I observed, did not think less of me as a person simply because I did not conform to the standard ideal of accomplishment; those with whom I had close association knew and accepted my weaknesses, and sought my companionship despite any inconveniences they might have had to endure because of my presence. Moreover, and possibly of foremost importance, was the fact that I finally accepted my limitations and no longer attempted to prove to myself that I could still do something for which my body was unfit; I admitted that self-restriction, or at least careful government of my activities, would allow me greater flexibility and opportunity in the long run of affairs.
It would be a lie to say that, having aged six years, I no longer fell subject to self-devaluation through a loss of physical attributes. As my waistline disappeared and my stomach began to protrude (for lack of anywhere else to go), I grew increasingly more self-conscious of my figure. Even at the outset, I considered my midsection enormous, and purchased oversized shirts to conceal what I believed to be a horrible deformity. As the liver continued to expand, for which I had been mentally prepared, I began outgrowing clothes, especially pants (due to the waistline) shortly after they were purchased. Soon I was giving pants to my mother who wore a size 12; winter coats which did not button were also handed to Mom who accepted the gifts as graciously as the occasion permitted. The waist which had measured 24 inches grew to 32; the stomach protruded far beyond my bosom, a ghastly 37 inches in diameter. People began to ask innocently, "when is it due?" I could not deny it, it followed me everywhere. . . glaring at me through each piece of clothing. It bid me "good morning" and packed me to bed at night.
Perhaps one of my most distressing fears was the idea of encountering a school mate who was not aware of my health situation, and either be labeled as "pregnant" or "stout." Pregnancy out of wedlock was completely unacceptable to me; while the lack of control which would accompany mere weight gain was also a speck in my eye; I revolted against both assumptions with similar distaste and simply hoped to avoid familiar faces. If such a meeting did occur, I would generally explain my current state of affairs, although I also disliked blackening one's day with news which was generally categorized as traumatic and distressing. When a person inquired into how I'd been spending my time, I would have to subdue my urge to devalue myself due to the impressive answers I failed to relate. As a whole, reunions were rather a blemish in my day.
As I came to identify myself not with my "deformity" or my accomplishments, but instead with my personal character, I felt more at ease in group situations.
It is essential to realize that no matter what type of adversity one may have to face, the ultimate self is the inner self. Deformities mar the surface, but they need not devastate the interior; one's personality needs to be projected beyond the body or the face, just as it has to be expressed by the "normal" individual. A pretty face does not assure the observer of an equally beautiful personality. There will be those who will be uncomfortable in the presence of a stricken individual, but those people should be given patience and understanding; reactions are frequently simultaneous and the result of shock or immeasurable pity, not incivility or rudeness. Those few individuals who are cruel and insensitive are not worth the anger they provoke, for they are the children of ignorance and have not lived through pain and strife; for some, empathy is not inherent, it must be learned.
I also found it to my benefit if I would candidly mention my health instead of trying to conceal it like an illegal drug; I discovered that although it was difficult to hear of my misfortune, it was easier than if the burden had actually been their own.
The pervasive sadness which can strike when one grasps the reality of illness does not endure forever, unless in self-pity, one allows himself to be drawn into such an utterly oppressive mental state. Sadness is a part of life which makes joyous moments all the more valued; man is an animal, and in so being, it is characteristic of his make-up that he feel pain and pleasure. To deny one's feelings, or so dwell on one aspect, is to deny one's humanness and natural traits.