I am astonished as I read this book on cancer (the one referenced in the last post) that I am already forgetting a lot of the details of my cancerous experiences. For instance, the author speaks of feeling a separation from the land of the living as soon as he found out he had a brain tumor. As a result, he was religious about not letting others know. Once reminded, I also recalled this sense of separation. A long barrier the length of the Mexican-American border, also topped with barbed wire, was suddenly erected between other healthy people and me—they could flat out do things I could not. Additionally, others began to treat me differently—I was obviously (and suddenly) much more fragile than they. Even if this fact was essentially true, it still felt strange to be on the cancer side of the chasm looking across at a green and fertile land I recently knew.
One of the other things the author speaks on is the idea that non-medical practices such as meditation and prayer, done primarily by the cancer patients themselves, can really help the person’s health. Of course this is true. I am certain that the author missed the point here though. There actually is a purpose in prayer. And he was certainly wrong in not telling others and allowing them to support him in his trouble. I know and you know that miracles happen. My eldest brother tells me that he thinks the reason I’m doing so well is because of these things.
Paradoxically, I recognize that I am currently practicing my own methods of self-destruction. Every day I pretend that all is well and cancer is no longer a threat. I do have some wonderful assurances that things will be fine in the end. Allowances aside, this is still a primary threat, yes? It is naïve to think it suddenly gone and naiveté can only get me so far if an MRI scan comes up negative. In the afore-mentioned text I will soon read how changing my diet to exclude processed foods can really help my body beat this illness. I came to myself around 4 pm this afternoon stuffing a large snickers bar into my mouth. In despair, I realized my self-destruct mode must stop. Unfortunately, I may also have to lose my counterfeit sense of euphoria.