Earnest conversation between a patient and those with whom he interacts, whether doctors or family members, is a necessity. Although the truth is often painful and frightening, I am a faithful advocate of knowledge over ignorance, and feel it is to one's benefit if he can receive the news of his illness in a manner which is, at once, tactful and concise.
Rather frequently I have heard accounts of close relatives of a terminally ill patient begging the doctor not to divulge the full implications of the patient's health. The plea, usually something to the effect, "Oh no, Doctor, you can't tell him. . . the truth would kill him!" is somewhat curious in the context it is used, for doubtlessly the patient will die whether he knows all of the facts or not. For those who doubt the beneficiality of telling the truth, let me further illustrate my assertion. After receiving a clean bill of health, a person who has, unknowingly, contracted leukemia continues with increasing difficulty to do the activities which he formerly accomplished with ease. This individual is not ignorant; despite any clever lies that initially might have given comfort, it will be evident that something is wrong as symptoms gain momentum. Withholding information depletes the individual's right to spend his time as he wished and, I might add, to work through the possible stress that is associated with such devastating blows.
The most terrifying part of a horror story is when the killer is yet at large, faceless and unknown. This general prefix applies to any fear, I feel, because once the unknown is brought into the light and understood, it can no longer evoke the terror it had when it rampaged through the mind as a veiled monster. A person is not afraid of the dark, but rather, what lies concealed within it. Similarly, illness can evoke feelings of terror as the body degenerates before an unseen attacker. If a person is educated about his illness, I believe a great deal of trauma could be avoided. Instead of presuppositions, one had facts, and as in the horror story, once the killer is recognized, the audience is given the hope that the victim will see and overcome the horrid pursuer. With regard to the patient, this could mean hope instead of futility; when described symptoms do not appear, the patient assures himself of more time to enjoy his redefined life.
If a patient is led to believe his life is far from ended, he may put off preparations for those who shall survive him. When, through misguidance, he discovers that he no longer has the time which he was "allotted," he may feel frustrated and foster deep regrets. Preparations cannot be made without a previous knowledge of one's illness and should one fall rapidly into his demise, there shall be no time for the assumption of his rightful choices.
Many people have confessed their more precious moments were spent after the knowledge of their forthcoming death. Life was lived to its fullest, since unimportant worries fell venomless before meaningful concerns. There can be rediscovery of those aspects of life which are so easily taken for granted; one can relearn to see the world other than through the tunnel vision of self-preoccupation. Look up and drink in the sight of a star-filled night; peruse the ground for the tiniest flowers, and catch and return a stranger's smile. Savor the smell of an orange and feel the cool rain pelt upon bare arms. Often the most elemental of things bring the utmost pleasure.
I had only two objectives to accomplish while in the hospital; education and recuperation. With regard to the latter objective, I pressured the doctor, to a certain degree, to note my rapid rate of recovery so that I might be able to sample hospital food. I wanted to make certain that I ate solid food in days, not weeks, as had been the case on my initial stay at St. Mary's. My body cooperated with my scheme, and I was soon eating voraciously. I didn't care what everyone else said… I thought the food was delicious…. even though my first meals were made up of liquids or soft food. It was a joy to be able to eat again, and my body was in dire need of replenishment; I was never nauseous following a meal… perhaps my stomach was too starved to concern itself with the extra energy it would have consumed in making me sick.
The ward in which I was recuperating was rather small for the four of us who slept there, and I was more than exuberant upon receiving the information that I would soon be moved to a semi-private room. The ward was buzzing constantly with activity, as the elderly women were given various medications, mental awareness quizzes, and frequent visits by the physicians. Visits by nurses would occur throughout the night and therefore afforded little true relaxation. Privacy was also a difficult matter, since curtains were the only form of separation from the crowd; I often wished to speak with my father, but felt undeniably hindered to do so, as I did not wish to evoke an atmosphere of secrecy nor did I want to impart to the general public one of my personal concerns of fear. Another observation of my surroundings, which I might add, I found more humorous than disturbing, was the fact that my roommates doubtlessly felt quite at ease due to their obvious lack of consideration for the more lady-like behavior customary in other social situations; they freely gave full reign to any of numerous gastro-intestinal noises which plagued their comfort, creating a laughable facet of hospital living that perhaps few would appreciate. True to character, I tried my best to squelch any roars of hilarity and enjoyed the entire affair silently in the confines of my corner. My move to a semi-private room was a remarkable improvement, and I found my roommate to be amiable and very sensible. A middle-aged woman, she was hooked up to at least two machines to drain impurities from her system. Her unpleasant state was further increased by her husband's bland concern; she was alone at the hospital, which was made even more apparent when her call to home spurred less attention than did the football game her husband was viewing on the T.V. Although she chuckled about the brief episode, I am sure the apathy on the other end of the line must have hurt.
Shortly after my placement in the room I was allowed to eat "regular" food. To be quite candid, I was elated upon hearing the news and asked when I would be receiving the first sampling of solid fare. Surprisingly, I was able to procure a snack that very evening and feasted royally. My nurse cautioned me, not wanting me to have difficulties later with indigestion, yet no such ill consequences occurred and I contentedly slept the entire night.
Having been placed on solid food, I rapidly gained strength and proceeded to exercise my body to further aid in its full recovery. I still tired easily, however, and found myself obliged to nap on a regular basis; in this I have always been fortunate. . . I have an ability to sleep despite adversity. Sleep is the only drugless manner in which to temporarily release oneself from a troubled mind, providing of course, that the subconscious does not wreak its own havoc through the presence of nightmares.
The day came that I had been working toward with such intensity and fortitude of spirit. . . that being the day of my release from the hospital. When the doctor made his morning visit he informed me that I would be able to depart early the next morning. I asked whether I would again see Dr. E. before leaving, and learned that a visit was in his plans. As it happened, he arrived shortly, and before my father had eaten breakfast; this allowed a one to one confrontation which I truly preferred.