We start a polite conversation, me inquiring regarding their well-being and current needs. Everything is portrayed as being fantastic. Great. “We’re optimistic!”. At some point the loved one’s phone rings and they excuse themselves. Immediately, upon the door closing, leaving us two alone, the patient becomes tearful, revealing that they are terrified. Their treatment brings debilitating side effects, their disease is progressive, and they “have to” keep up a brave face for the people they love, so that they are not also terrified. The meeting concludes, I leave the exam room. Walking down the hall, I encounter the patient’s loved one, hastily hanging up the phone. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” they inquire. We duck into an empty room, where I learn that they too, are “terrified”. They have full cognizance of what is happening, and they believe they have to remain “upbeat and optimistic”, so that the patient does not become scared at their sadness and fear.
This happens all the time, and every time, it makes me really sad. It makes me sad that in the very moment when everyone needs the most support, they are drifting apart, being tugged by the currents of fear that underlie their “optimism” or “bravery”.
It happens outside of the cancer context, too. For this dynamic to exist, there have to be at least two people, with awareness of something difficult happening, at least one of whom is making an active choice to “protect” the other, by not sharing what they are feeling, experiencing and fearing.
Now, I know that every relationship is not like this. I have seen the other side as well, though less frequently. And I know that when something difficult is happening, whether it be illness or heartbreak or loss, we cannot live in that difficult place ALL the time. Everyone needs a break. But I also know that the inability to share the experience, to honestly sit in the pain and fear and to honor the losses inherent in this case, of the cancer experience, effectively holds those dearest at arms length. Far from the most real and difficult and elemental of life experiences and feelings. And if you can’t share that with someone you love, then who can you share it with?
One of my favorite TV shows ever, of all time, is Breaking Bad. Some of you may have seen it, and there is much I love about the lead character, Walter White. Regardless of what we think of his actions, from the minute he is diagnosed with lung cancer, Walter is always moving forward; becoming, evolving, shifting into a more raw version of who everyone thought he was. The thing is, that Walter tells himself throughout that he is doing everything he is doing (deeply illegal, violent and difficult things) to protect his family. To create financial security upon his passing. He creates a myth of protection and lives in it until the very last episode, when he sits with his wife who calls him out. She is crystal clear: You didn’t do this for us, you did it for you. It is hard to hear, but absolutely true. As one of my friends would say, “let’s call this spade a shovel” and move on. We aren’t protecting anyone but ourselves when we fail to live in the truth with those we love most. They too are scared, hurt, angry, and sad. And by not connecting with them over the experience, everyone’s feelings are less real, with no outlet, no way to resolve or be something else.
I have already expounded on the power of bearing witness to an experience. That the very act of witnessing makes us more human, makes this life richer and more real. Now, it makes sense that not everyone can tolerate making cancer more real in their lives, and I understand that. But I also know that to pretend it is something else undermines the experience and keeps those we love most far from our hearts and our truth.
When it comes to very emotionally difficult, challenging, sometimes terrifying things, we often try to protect ourselves, framing it in the most palatable and acceptable of light, and telling ourselves that we are protecting those we love. Let’s be clear, this choice is a safer one, but not one that is intended to connect anyone or bring anyone closer together. Strangely, despite our best efforts, living in a half-truth has more potential to hurt and isolate the ones we love than just sharing the truth, no matter how hard it is, with them.
I don’t know about anyone else, but when I am really scared, I feel a lot better to have someone nearby, maybe even holding my hand or just sitting so close that we are touching. We don’t have to “protect” each other. We are both afraid. Having them with me brings comfort because I know we are in it together.