To Do That Which is Needful
Another fortnight has passed, and it has been a fortnight of preparation — for my upcoming treatment; for the settlement of our apartment and life’s continuation; and for the possibility of life’s end. With all the energy expended in the process, it is a good thing that we are surrounded by loved ones, nourished by the time we spend with others.
Since the last entry, I have had a phone consultation with the oncologist overseeing my care at the hospital. He was thorough and honest, walking me through the next few steps and giving us a date for the start of cyberknife treatment: the 25th of March. To me, it seemed an age away, as I was acutely aware of the tumour inside me, given the gift of several extra weeks to grow at will. Still, it was not so far away as it could have been, and Alessandra and I were reassured at having a date to work with. Another CT scan was taken of my abdomen in the meantime, and an appointment at the hospital was spent preparing a mold of my torso, to hold my body in place during the treatment itself.
Mold-making
Though we may not like to acknowledge or even think of it, sometimes, things do not work out. I am of the view that an optimistic mindset is important, but I do not believe that this means ignoring the possibility of my own death. It is necessary to presume the best, but to prepare for the worst. Acting in accordance with this, the last two weeks have been an exercise in arranging my affairs. I called the support co-ordinator at the cancer clinic and received information on the creation of my will, which I then proceeded to write. I began the process of looking into my life insurance, and the transferral of superannuation upon death. I made note of assets, accounts and subscriptions, and prepared my instructions. I wrote letters for loved ones, to make sure that I can say what needs to be said. These steps have brought a sadness to the surface of my experience; but, equally, an appreciation for all that I have. I have been blessed in so many ways, and to meditate on the specter of death has only strengthened that knowledge. In taking these steps now, I can clear my mind and set it fully to the task of living.
…
And what a beautiful life it is. In two weeks, there has been so much joy to be found in quality time with friends and family, and we have refused to allow our situation to take over our lives, carving out pockets of time here and there to spend with others. Winding walks through trails or along the coast opened opportunities for conversation and connection. A cinema experience gave us the chance to step out of our world and into another. Dinner outings allowed us to kick back and savor the pleasure of sharing a good meal with good people.
We did not neglect quality time spent together, either. Morning trails, long days at the beach, a day visit paddling our inflatable kayak around Lake Leschenaultia, a beachside dinner date, and working together to perfect the moves learned in our salsa classes have been but a handful of the ways in which we have given our time to one another.
Dinner date
The fortnight was capped off at a high with the final inspection of our apartment, which will come into our hands before the end of next week. Our minds reeling from the possibilities, we were wandering the neighborhood of our new home when I got a phone call. It was the hospital — the preparation for cyberknife treatment had been completed earlier than anticipated, and they could book me in almost a week earlier. The relief washed over us, giving way to a lightness of spirit that stayed with us for the rest of the day.
The coming few weeks bring with them a host of uncertainties. Cyberknife treatment will occur every second day, and no-one can say which side effects I will experience — or to what degree they will affect our daily lives. The house will be settled, and Alessandra and I will have the opportunity to begin planning renovations and designing the space to suit our taste. There is much we cannot know ahead of time, but I, for one, am glad to be facing it all with the love of my life by my side and my friends and family at my back.
As our story goes on, the lessons to be learnt from our experiences continue to repeat, drilling their importance deeper into the weave of our daily lives.
Proactively face what you fear most. You will meet it when you are strongest and it is still developing. In this way, it cannot hide and grow in the shadows, and you will be prepared if it comes knocking.
There is a Stoic practice that I have unintentionally followed in this journey: it suggests that you take time to meditate upon your own death, or to deeply imagine the unexpected death of those you love. Curiously, you will likely find that love and gratitude are the byproduct of this seemingly morbid practice. It is death — life’s impermanence — that gives life its meaning and value.
In order to be strong, we must have our needs met. That means prioritising more than just what needs to happen. It means making time for friends, time for family, time for ourselves and time for each other.
