Someone I love had a mastectomy today. We were not to share the news when we were told. We were not to talk to family or friends. It was their private news. Typing these words I think of how hard it was to carry the secret of my husband's illness for too many years. Him and I alone knew. They warn me not to share like I have a secret and I gain power from knowing it. It is not the power it is the load. Can I not share this load? I am sad for you and for me. I am sad and need a hug. But you tell me to carry it alone. I wonder if I was married if I would have the same restrictions?
When his illness was obvious and we shared with family we took the optimistic road. He was going to live. If we remained positive and did all the steps then we could return to our lives. I smiled. And I cried alone in the car. I wanted to be optimistic. I did not want him to know that it had any negative effect on my life. So when I was in pain I carried it alone. When I was scared I pushed it away.
I worry for my friend and their family. Will they stay optimistic and positive even in the privacy of their own bedroom at night when the children are sleeping and the door is closed? Will each one of them be forced to carry their fears alone, too afraid to share, too afraid to break the pack of positiveness to cry with their own mate, to voice out loud they are scared, to voice out loud that they don't want them to die? For one to voice out loud that they don't want to die, that they are scared of dying? I think of times, the looks my husband and I would exchange, the ones that said I am scared as if exchanging glances across a dinner party table. I was envious of my friend who talked to her husband about dying, was it cowardice, pessimism? Oh, to have had him make a video to me, to his children, to have a recording of his voice, his snoring. That would have brought so much comfort in the beginning. We were optimistic. We were positive. He died non-the-less.
We are not to talk of the 'c' work in cases that did not go well and positive. The face slap stings. Again another reason why I am not allowed to talk about a part of my life. I can not mention my husband or I am living in the past. I have to block over ten years of experiences from my life. Now I can not share because my husband was not a survivor. I hate all the talk that surviving is an accomplishment. What does that say about the non-survivors? Was our positive attitude and optimism not quite enough? Did we let a drop of doubt spoil our thoughts? Did we falter in being vigilant of our thoughts and attitude? Did we miss the bar that allows survival because of our optimism? Did the cancer sense my tears in my car down the street? Did it double its attack when the thought of being alone sneaked into my head before I banished it? Did we fail, so he died as a result? Will I kill you if I say it will be scary and I am here if you need a hug?
When he did died I was traumatized. I had convinced myself that he would live. It is all we talked about, the positive outcome and what we would do after it was all over. I had convinced myself. Then when I was standing alone I cried. I wanted to hug him when he was scared. I wanted to tell him what a wonderful life he gave me. I wanted to curl up behind him and wrap my arms around him and cry and for him to cry and to hold each other as our tears fell.
Is it nobler to be optimistic or to be realistic? Is it so wrong to say I am positive and yet I am still frightened? I can not believe that in their hearts they are not scared. Why is it so wrong to hold the one you love above all others and say 'I am scared.'
I am angry that you dismiss my experience because it turned out badly. I am angry that you imply that we were not optimistic and positive enough for him to survive. I am angry that your illness makes me sad and I have to pretend again that everything is fine.
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