Our Biggest Delusion

“Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone.” - Krishnamurti

There is one delusion, one giant denial, that all humans share. Death. Our own mortality. Of course we learn at a young age that we are all going to die. But we delude ourselves into thinking that we will all live to be 80 and die of natural causes in our sleep having lived a full life. We tell ourselves that parents die before their children. We have to buy into this delusion in order to function. It’s necessary denial. If we constantly believed and thought about the truth that we could each go at any moment we would be paralyzed with fear or we would never take responsibility for anything. We’d simply see life as being pointless since everyone dies in the end and there is no set time, place or means for any of us.

I’ve been avoiding writing this post for a week. Avoiding it has caused writer’s block as it always does. If I have something on my mind and I don’t write about it I can’t write about anything else. I have found that it always works that way for me.

In the past week I found out that my friend Gina, who has been battling breast cancer is not doing well. Her health has taken a significant nose-dive.

After finding out that the cancer had spread to her liver she started a clinical trial. Just like all the other treatments it worked at first. Then just like all the other treatments her body became immune and it stopped working. She had to stop the trial a week early because her platelets had dropped too low.

After two telephone conversations in which she did not sound at all like herself, the second of which was particularly alarming because she sounded completely out of it, unreturned texts, e-mails and voice mails, I contacted her family.  I won’t go into all the gory details of her current symptoms because I know for sure that she would never want anyone to pity her. In fact, even in her current condition this desire to not be pitied is strong. I know it’s one of the reasons she doesn’t want to see me. She doesn’t want me to see her. She doesn’t want to see the pity in my eyes or hear it in my voice.

We’ve talked about her cancer hundreds of times since her diagnosis. We’ve never talked about her dying. A few times she’s mentioned what would become of her daughters if she dies but that has always been quickly followed up by a conversation about how that just can’t happen. I’m sure I didn’t pursue the topic because I don’t want to have to think about losing her and because I don’t want to force her to consider the possibility. Denial. In this case, it’s healthy denial. What good can come from her focusing on dying when she’s fighting so hard to stay alive?

Since I’ve learned of her current condition I’ve been forced to consider the possibility that she may die. I’ve been forced to consider the possibility that she may actually be dying right now. I hope it’s just a bad drug interaction that has to work itself out of her system that’s causing her current symptoms. It’s possible that it’s spread to her bones and even her brain. We have to wait and see.

All this time she’s been such a warrior. All the disappointments over the treatments that haven’t worked, all the bad news….through it all she has remained positive that the next thing she tries will work. Until now she’s always been upbeat and surprisingly healthy. She really hasn’t felt sick until recently. And now she’s extremely sick. And I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to her again. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. I don’t know if this is a temporary setback or the beginning of the end. I just don’t know.

Women our age, moms, are not supposed to die. It’s as simple as that. We’re supposed to watch our kids grow up and then travel, gossip and have fun together just like we always have. I’m not supposed to have to live the rest of my life, no matter how short or long it may be, without her. Denial.

I can’t even find the words to express how profoundly sad I am. How absolutely terrified I am. How much I hope she is not thinking about all this or in too much pain, physically or emotionally. How intolerable it is to know that she is. How much I want to see her, no matter what condition she is in. How much I don’t want her to die.

I hope this is a medication-induced temporary setback and that when she feels better she will read this and be pissed off that I wrote about her possible death. I hope she really lets me have it. But I just don’t know. Either way, a part of me is, and always will be, with her.

Thanks for stopping by.

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Update 11/20/2009:  She’s been admitted to the hospital. She’s not responding to transfusions. I’m going to see her tomorrow but I don’t know if she’ll be awake or alert.

Related Reading:

Breast Cancer: Real Questions, Real Answers

How to Lose All Your Friends (Picture Puffins)

After Breast Cancer: A Common-Sense Guide to Life After Treatment

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