I apologize for the lack of posts recently. The last few weeks were difficult as expected (with my Dad's birthday and Father's Day), so I just tried to avoid thinking about it, and certainly didn't want to write about it. It got me thinking about denial, and how we naturally use it as a defense mechanism, even when we aren't aware of it. This is especially try during the process of dealing with cancer.
When my Dad was battling his Pancreatic Cancer, I don't really know if he was in denial or had found acceptance - he never shared this with me. For all I know, he may have come to terms with his own mortality at some point. But in our relationship, there was a lot of denial. Whenever I'd ask how he was feeling or how an appointment went, he told me he was feeling well, getting better, or showing progress. He was always optimistic. The reality was that he was in constant pain, was often getting sicker, and/or was constantly encountering medical setbacks and challenges.
I remember only one time where he allowed himself to be vulnerable with me. He was visiting me for the weekend, and just didn't feel well enough to make it to our dinner reservations. We canceled and decided to order pizza instead, even though he really had no appetite. He always loved going to dinner with us (he was such a foodie) and particularly loved this restaurant we had planned to visit, so cancelling our plans was very disappointing to him; I know he felt like he was letting us down, as if it was possible for him to hate his cancer any more intensely.
He was sitting on our guest bed with me, and he began to cry. He said "I don't want to die" And what did I say? "Don't talk like that. You're not going to die. Don't cry Dad. Everything's going to be OK." Why did I say this? At the time, I'm sure I was thinking that I wanted to make him feel better; that I hated seeing him cry. But looking back now, I see that this was the perfect opportunity for us to have a real honest and open conversation about his illness, and I brushed it aside. Only now, in the clarity of hindsight, do I wish that I had embraced this chance to tell each other how much we meant to each other, and everything we wanted the other person to know. I imagine it would go something like this:
"I don't want to die"
"I don't want you to die either Dad. But I'm so afraid you will. I'm afraid that this horrible cancer is going to take you away from me. I really can't imagine my life without you"
"Why is God doing this to me? Why did he have to give me cancer right when my relationship with my two girls has begun to get so good?"
"I don't know why, and it's not fair. But I'm so grateful for how much our relationship has improved lately. You're such a great Dad. And you do so much to make sure I know how much you care about me and love me. Even when we weren't as close you still always made an effort; like coming to my graduations beaming with pride. And always making trips to visit me. I'm so lucky to have you"
"Of course, I've always loved you and just wanted to be close to you. Everything you've done has made me so proud of you. My baby girl all grown up, married to a wonderful man, living in this beautiful house you renovated, and with a successful business you built on your own. You never cease to amaze me. Everything you do makes me happy. I want you to know that if I'm ever gone, I'll always be watching over you and smiling with pride at everything you accomplish."
"I love you so much Dad. I'm not ready to live without you - we have too much time to make up for"
"I'm not ready to leave you. I'm going to do everything I can to fight this and stay here with you girls. But the truth is this cancer is the ugliest cancer, and the chances are very slim. I'm holding on to hope and will not give up the fight."
"What do you mean? How slim?"
"The doctors say the survival rate is only about 4%, and the treatment time is usually only 8 months or so."
"But you've already been receiving treatment for a year."
"I know, and I'm so excited about that. I'm living on borrowed time right now it seems. But I'm trying to be the 4%:
"If that's true then I don't want to waste any more time. I can't believe I've been living my life as if it's just another day. I want us to never take each other for granted. I promise I'll do a better job of rationing my time. I want to spend as much time with you as possible, Dad.
"I want that, too, sweetheart."
You always think there will be another chance, but the fact is there are no guarantees. And for some reason, we all think it is taboo to tell someone all the emotional, touchy, sappy things we have in our hearts. We believe these things are only to be revealed during those final moments with someone before we say goodbye. And so we wait until we're kissing and hugging at the airport when someone moves away, or we write a love letter after our failed relationship, or we profess our innermost feelings while holding their hand at their bedside. Don't people deserve to hear these things while we still have time to spend together? Why are we so afraid to let them know how we really feel, and how much they really mean to us? How much would you love to hear these beautiful words spoken by someone you love? How liberating would it be to tell someone these special words? Imagine how your time together would change; how much more meaningful your time together would be.
Unfortunately there is a lot of denial in the cancer world, particularly in the Pancreatic Cancer community. It's a very fine line between Denial and Hope. It seems many people experiencing this disease (patients as well as family and caregivers) are encouraged to cling to Hope. Hope for the best response to treatment, Hope that the sickness will go away, Hope that something will happen and they will be the exception to the rule. Then before you know it, the fight it over, the Hope is gone, and you can't help but think that that Hope you were clinging to was actually Denial in Hope's clothing.
This is the part that really aggravates me. Instead of constantly preaching Hope, why can't someone come in with a shot of reality which will ultimately encourage people to consider their own mortality and maybe even embrace their limited time in an effort to make the most of every moment? Even when patients accept this process inwardly, but keep a brave face around their family and caregivers, it only creates pain for those around them who never have the opportunity to share this honest experience with them.
I think a lot of people feel like if they come to terms with the reality of their disease (particularly with Pancreatic Cancer) that they are essentially giving up, but that is simply not true! You can still fight the fight, pray with intense faith, and explore every treatment option. But why hide the pain and carry on with life as if you don't really have cancer? You have cancer. This is the truth. You may not always have cancer, but right now you have cancer, and you should live like you have cancer. Allow yourself to be angry, to be sad, to be scared. Allow yourself to be vulnerable with people you love and share with them your words of fear, hope, and most importantly love - revealing your innermost feelings about a relationship so cherished. This will allow others to also show their fear, grief, support and love. Both of you will be liberated. Your time together will be more meaningful. You will both have fewer regrets.
This far outweighs the alternative, as is evident by my struggle with so many regrets following my Dad's passing. I really believe that this one conversation could have completely changed our last few months together.
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