The Couch Was Enough

Hospital Journal

It’s interesting to see whether my character has changed since I started this cancer adventure. Some people have told me that I have changed, and others have said not at all. First of all, when I first heard I had cancer, I didn’t go into the “Why me?” phase whatsoever. I was more interested in the procedure for curing the cancer, or what would happen in the near future. Not out of fear or even great concern, but more of a curiosity than anything else.

I don’t have a strong emotional response to what is happening to me, but I do care about procedures in getting home safely. Being dropped on my staircase to the entrance of our house is always a bigger concern than the cancer itself, which is kind of nuts.

The caretaker/patient relationship is always a dangerous area because, due to chemotherapy and basic concerns about one’s health on everyone’s part, it can cause strain between individuals. That is often difficult to manage, but, again, time can address it. We all want the same results, and therefore, there is a singular direction from A to B. But sometimes B starts first, or someone throws in a C or D. Changes happen all the time, so one has to roll with the punches. And having cancer is a big push in the chest, but my job is to hit cancer in the face and knock it out.

Whatever I do successfully is another concern, but in actuality, I don’t think I’ll worry that much about it. After the fourth round of chemo, I’ll have two more. I’m feeling good. My legs are still weak, but I’m getting my muscles back in that area, and I have been walking four laps around the Kaiser hallway. I also have a step machine to build muscles in the ankles and upper legs.

One thing I must write to you about is that as one ages, life becomes more difficult, not easier. There are more challenges; for me, it is the steps, but also things happen mentally as well as physically. In other words, aging is an intense period. Not all hair dye is going to make the pain go away, or the fear of change in one’s body. Cancer, to me, is something that everyone has. It is like a sleeping cell in one’s body, and sometimes it doesn’t awaken, if you are lucky, but when it does open, here comes the flood.

Perhaps this is why I’m enjoying John le Carré’s writing. There is something nice about reading about an aging British spy, George Smiley, as he grapples with the loneliness of espionage. To me, he’s the Marcel Proust of spy literature. The way he describes various rooms and nature is so detailed and lively, and he captures everything like a 70mm movie camera, all in sharp focus. He is a master at what he does. I started reading Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy last night, and I fell under his spell.

So, the struggle is here, and it seems I have my sanity back. At the very beginning of my sickness, I think I was actually dying. I couldn’t leave my living room couch, and I was fixated on the TV series Long Way Round, starring Ewan McGregor and his best friend, Charley Boorman, an actor and the son of the great British director John Boorman. Basically, it’s an existential narration of them traveling the hardest parts of the world on two motorcycles.

The show is kind of depressing to me because I felt like I was on the journey with them, and I would die with them as I sat on the couch watching the series. It was the lowest point so far, as I got weaker and couldn’t get off the couch. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I knew it was serious, but at the same time I couldn’t care less.

A friend of mine told me that I had called him and was talking to spirits around me, but I have no memory of that conversation at all. What I do remember is that it was easy to sit on the couch and eventually die there. I had no problem with that.

My wife and doctor insisted that I go to the ER at that moment, so they pretty much saved my life. It’s a flip of the coin at times.