HW 18 Health & Illness & Feasting

To our family Thanksgiving is one of those times of the year that is simply reliable: we know exactly what to expect. I say this because ever since my Grandmother's house burned down in 2001 (my grand uncle Sandy died in this fire), our holidays and vacations as a family have never been the same. Almost immediately after the fire (this was just before 9/11, mind you) and during the construction of the new house my Grandfather died from an obscure infection. Ever since this catastrophic turn of events in our family it seems like our get-togethers have never been the same. Over many holidays and vacations in the past decade we have seen many outsiders come and go in our intimate family gatherings. Christmas, while it still remains my favorite time of the year due to tradition (mainly the one where I get loads of free goodies) has become bastardized into something reminiscent of an open house where anyone, no matter your relationship with the family are welcome to partake in our most sacred of traditions.

But back to Thanksgiving. I say this is one of the most reliable times of the year because it still keeps true to what made our family get-togethers so enjoyable: the family. The awkwardness of the outsider is rare on this holiday and it is one of the last remaining times of the year where we can just be comfortable with ourselves because we know each other's stories so well. What I mean by this is similar to what I meant in my last post when I said I felt misunderstood by people who don't know that I cared for my father during and after his death. When I meet new people in an intimate environment I usually find myself trying to make an impression, but instead of one that is illustrative of my pain and suffering I end up creating an image of comedy, like I am silly and do not spend time to contemplate the meaning of illness and dying. This of course is false, and although I do see myself as a pretty funny personality I regret that so few people understand my other half. When outsiders are around at Thanksgiving, Christmas or Passover it is inevitable that this will come into play.

Thanksgiving can also be a time of unreliability, as I witnessed that this was the time of year when my father was diagnosed with cancer. Of course I was not informed yet, my mother waited for a more suitable time to tell my brother and I.

This Thanksgiving was a good one, with some of the BEST mashed potatoes in the world thanks to my aunt Karen. This is a meal that is only second to the one I look forward to most: Grandma's Matzoh Ball Soup (which unfortunately I won't be here for this Passover!). This meal was meant for nothing more than to stuff ourselves senselessly, and when desert came I stuck to a modest plate of whipped cream (yes JUST whipped cream. Stop looking at me like that.). Pretty much everyone helped with the dinner (except for those of us who showed up late. Guess who.), and every one of us enjoyed it. Of course there were empty chairs at the table but in the end we were happy to be sharing this holiday with those of us still around.

When it comes to the topic of illness and dying at our table most of our conversations were lighthearted. Not long ago my brother stepped on a toothpick in his dorm room which plunged into the ball of his foot. He was sent to the emergency room when he attempted to pull it out and the outer half broke off, leaving the inner half in his foot. After much operating, the doctors could not get the toothpick out, and he was told it is to stay inside his foot forever. For a drumming performance major at music school who cannot use his left foot or walk at all this is some tragedy! Most of our conversation (which was full of laughter, mind you) was trying to solve the mystery of just how the friggen' thing got stuck up there! He and I tried to play ping pong afterward (we positioned him in a rolling chair that actually worked quite well), and being the skilled player that he is was still able to bat the ball around with finesse. Other than toothpick impalement, illness and dying was pretty much absent from the table conversation. It was a delightful Thanksgiving that will surely be remembered because of this silly incident, and I hope that illness and dying may stay out of the equation for some Thanksgivings to come.

HW 17- First Thoughts on Illness/Dying Unit

The subject of illness and dying is something that I unfortunately know very well. The way I was taught about illness and dying was very simple: we as humans have limited time on Earth and when our time is up, we die and disappear forever. Of course I was never told about the world of nightmarish suffering that is involved in one's death, and the fact that this time may come as soon as tomorrow, but unfortunately I found out the reality by what others may call the "hard way".

When my father was diagnosed with metastatic kidney cancer, I was still 13, and in positively no way did I understand the gravity of the situation. He apparently had it for as long as my life (at least), going undetected until he finally gave in to my mother's demands that he go in for a check-up. This brings up my first issue with the medical system: the doctors are so detached that they sometimes carelessly misdiagnose. My father, who was clearly ill and NOT doing well by any means was examined and sent home with high-blood pressure pills. Go figure.

Over the next nine months I never really felt like he was going to die. I knew it was possible somewhere in the back of my mind but I never came to terms with the idea that this could happen to MY father, a man who was well-liked by everyone and good-spirited. In fact, I will never be sure if he ever thought to himself that the so called "game was up" and that he was truly on the path to death. He had just begun a new art collection titled "Something Wonderful is Going to Happen" as if he were sure that the prophecy would hold water.

When I returned from a week at The Island School in Eleuthera, Bahamas, my mother was clearly troubled. I returned home to find my father in his worst state yet. When I had left for the Bahamas, he had been showing alarming signs of recovery, as if the battle were said and done and he had emerged the victor. Later I learned this was simply his "honeymoon with death", a term doctors use to describe a short grace period before one falls into a state of non-recovery. We had all been tricked. This was crushing in every sense of the word. For a moment something wonderful WAS going to happen, but it was just another deception- it was as if death were saying, "Haha! Good one right! You really thought you had a chance! There is no happy ending here."

In his final week of life I witnessed true suffering. My mother refused to allow him to fade away in a hospital because it felt cold and detached from what was important in his life: his art. I wondered how movies can so shamelessly portray illness in its final stages. Nothing is peaceful or attractive in this image. There is no sense of nobility, no sense of closure. People often think of advanced illness as pale skin, withered limbs and weak voice. This could not be any more false. What I witnessed in those final days was horrifying on levels I cannot even do justice to by simply typing words. In this end stage he could no longer speak, let alone eat or drink water. He was left tongue wagging, short spastic movements, falling in and out of consciousness and occasionally muttering indiscernible sounds. Part of me died that week. To watch him fight bravely for 9 months and then see him completely shattered and undone in such a short time was numbing. Nothing is majestic about illness. Having witnessed this however (my mom and I were the only ones who saw/cared for him in this end stage, absolutely no outsiders or other family) I believe it has had a huge influence on my point of view, and I often feel misunderstood by those who know me, but do not know about this moment of anguish I have gone through. I only hope that this unit can shed somewhat of a light toward those who have (thankfully) not gone through the same experience on what true illness and dying looks like.

And I realize that I probably wrote much more than I was supposed to on one subject, but please understand that this was not easy for me.