For Questions from a Loved One Dying of Cancer

I’ve never published this anywhere before, but pulled it out after posting the “Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh” piece over the holidays. “Questions…” was written while dealing with the situation described in part in that piece. Another one about that time and topic is “Oran for us.” For the curious, last I heard — it’s been a while— M is doing well. 

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Howdy Partner! Tickled to make your acquaintance! You’re probably none too happy to be reading this pamphlet, but just you remember that a warm How do’ on the trail can make any cowpokes day a lil brighter. Let’s see them pearly whites! Did you know it takes more muscles to frown than to smile? Your face is in a more relaxed postures by just raising the corners of those lips a bit, so why not do it! Make everyone’s day a little brighter. Lord knows there’s enough suffering in the world!

Judging by that sour puss, it looks like your loved one is dying from cancer. That’s just too durn bad. To try to ease the burden just a bit, we’ve created this handy dandy pamphlet to help you address those mighty peculiar questions that often come up at such a time. You know the scenario: you’re on the trail with your loved one who is way too young and beautiful to be terminally ill, she’s crying her eyes out, so much so you can barely understand what she’s saying, and in a brief moment the sobs cease and she blurts out: “I’m gonna die!” 

Uh oh! How the heck are you supposed to respond to that? Stuck? Well this pamphlet provides many options for that answer and others as you’re walking those fateful last steps to the boneyard with your terminally ill cancer patient/loved one. It’s our hope that this pamphlet will help you help them (help you) come to terms with the painful death not far in the distance, just over that ridge, into the horizon, a day’s ride at most. Saddle up cowboy! Let’s get to it!

1. What do I say when she tells me she’s going to die?

A. Everybody dies.

B. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. You never know.

C. Look at all this crazy weather. I think the apocalypse is coming soon anyway; we’ll all be following shortly thereafter.

D. Yes, probably.

E. Be quiet and wait for the next bit.

Hmmm… well, what do you think? Any guesses? EEEENNNN!!! Wrong!

(E) is the best course of action when dealing with this particular statement and/or question. (D) is also possible depending on the nature of the diagnosis, probable time left before your loved one does “shuffle off this mortal coil,” as the poets say, and the relative seriousness of the conversation i.e. how many times, and with what sincerity, the question has been broached in the past. While (A), (B), and ( C) may well be true, there is a certain flippant, canned quality to the responses. Further, “everybody” dying is not “me” dying, and there is quite a disconnect between the two. Who wants to be just like everybody else!

It is important to note an alternative formation of this question may also come up: not that of “I am going to die” but that of “I want to die.” Yikes! That’s a touch trickier and you’ll be glad to know best left up to a professional to handle. Possible suggestions for your loved one in this situation include: 1) advising her to see a mental health professional, 2) recommending she explore many of a broad array of medications designed to “take the edge off” her feelings of bitter hopelessness, or, 3) if she’s the type, yoga, meditation and other hippie shit like that. Furthermore, if your loved one truly does want to die, has carefully thought through the pros and cons of such a momentous decision, discontinuing further treatment may well be a valid option. And hey, if you think these questions are tough, imagine that fun talk!

2. How do I respond to her assertion that cancer “isn’t fair?”

A. Life isn’t fair.

B. You’re right. It isn’t fair at all.

C. What’s fairness got to do with it?

D. Neither is roulette. But people still win sometimes.

E. Be quiet and wait for the next bit.

Once again (E) may be the proper course of action, while acknowledging (B). Often in these situations silence is the best policy. Many times your loved one will simply want to be heard and understood rather than answered — on some level your loved one is aware these are impossible questions — she is simply shouting into the wind — making wanton harangues against God. Which of course brings up an interesting point and perhaps your loved one’s next question: why does God allow such things to happen? Not in general mind you, not why does God allow for disease and war, but why does God hate me and want to kill me?

3. Why does God/Jesus hate me and want to kill me?

A. God doesn’t exist.

B. God exists and doesn’t care.

C. Your life has displeased Him and will now be dramatically shortened. 

D. God is Love. You’re just really, really unlucky.

E. Leave the room following a series of mute gestures of profound exasperation.

Hoo hoo! Getting a little tricky isn’t it, pilgrim! Good thing you took that religious studies class back in community college! The simplest answer here is that disease is inexplicable and fucked. (Particularly for a young, healthy, vegetarian who exercises 5 times a week — nutty how that works out, huh?)

Let’s face it, chief, God doesn’t give a rat’s ass about those mutant cells. Would you? You have a hard time flossing for His sake! These situations, unfortunate as they may be, are just out of God’s control. The cells mutated all alone, or perhaps with some help from the variety of chemicals your loved one ingested over the years, through no fault of hers. (Unless she’s a heavy smoker/drinker/eater of red meat/has a cell phone/has been outside without sunblock/owns a car/has ever driven a car/breathes, then feel free to lightly chide her for the poor life choices that have resulted in this cancer diagnosis.)

Look at it this way, it’s much like the children you and your loved one will never have that she keeps mentioning - that potential future that has been ripped away from you both. Like your imaginary kids would be free and bohemian having such flakes as parents as you would no doubt be, so too are the cells in your loved one’s liver free to mutate in a self-destructive random act of unspeakable violence that will kill her. Like a teenager with the car keys.

Truth be told, God and/or dumb inexplicable luck may well see your loved one through. And well, if your loved one does turn out to be buzzard grub, it was meant to be, Sport. Sorry! She’s in a better place.

4. When I die will I go to a better place?

A. Yes.

B. No.

C. If you like playing pinochle with Jerry Falwell.

D. Is Hell the better place? Cause that’s where you’re going.

E. …

No idea on this one, Bud. We’ll leave this up to you depending on your religious affiliation and/or preference. Suffice to say it won’t matter much either way. Well, that about wraps her. Nicely done! The cows are in the barn and the cells they-are-a-mutating. Way to stand by your loved one through this difficult time of trial and tribulation. Hopefully this pamphlet helped to smooth out some of those difficult conversations you faced as a result of your loved ones diagnosis. Good luck to you going forward partner, sharpen up those spurs and polish up that six-shooter, there be Injuns in them thar hills!