HIS NAME IS FEAR

HIS NAME IS FEAR

Fear!

Fear and I had become long-time friends.

Perhaps friends might be the wrong word for our relationship. Perhaps acquaintances, or frenemies; now there was a word that had a trendy ring to it. Maybe it was enemies. Whatever the relationship, we knew each other intimately, for we had lived together for some time now.

We first met that early spring day in the hospital a year ago. I remember Jack and I laughing all the way there, pointing out the first robin of the season in the park. Watching as it cocked its head to one side, intently listening to the comings and goings under the ground, watching as it suddenly leaned forward and pulled out a large juicy half-frozen worm. We marveled at the crocuses sticking their heads up valiantly through the scattered patches of snow. The sun had been shining brightly as we had left home on our carefree journey, however, during our journey, storm clouds rolled in, and just as we reached the hospital entrance a clap of foreboding thunder welcomed us. I later thought perhaps it was meant to be an omen or foreshadowing of things to come.

We lucked out and found a parking spot close to the main entrance. I ran around and helped Jack from the car, holding his arm and supporting him as much as I could as we hurried out of the torrential rain. Once inside we stopped, for a few minutes while I checked out a few of the pictures in the little art gallery inside the hospital lobby. I gushed enthusiastically over the art but in reality; I was giving Jack a chance to rest. I could see he was exhausted, just from the hurried trip from the car to the lobby. This ruse probably didn’t fool Jack, but it was a game that we had played all too often in the past weeks.

Once Jack had caught his breath, we took the elevator to our assigned floor. He staggered slightly when the elevator stopped abruptly at our floor. Lack of balance was another symptom that I had noticed in Jack lately, one of many.

We stepped out into the hallway; it was a long, long hallway and Jack gave a small sigh as he scanned the distance we would have to travel. Jack’s breathing was heavy and laboured. The lights were very dim, and the cause seemed apparent. A section of the corridor was sectioned off with tall orange safety cones that surrounded a ladder, a spool of electrical wire, and a couple of workman’s tool belts. The drop ceiling tiles had been removed. The workmen were obviously taking a coffee break, but the hallway was dark and dingy and we could barely see, a shiver went up my spine, I could feel a presence right behind me, and hear some heavy breathing, but when I turned and looked behind me in the dim hallway, there was no one there. Suddenly I could feel a tenseness in my chest, a nasty flutter in my stomach. Goosebumps covered my arms and my hackles arose like a guard dog faced with a heinous perpetrator. This was to be my first formal introduction to the one I grew to know as Fear.

As we slowly traveled down the hallway, I thought about our current situation. It was a routine checkup, nothing to be overly concerned about, Dr. Brown had said It was just always good to have these little things checked out. It was probably stress, overwork, or possibly anemia, or at worse Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I had to face it, Jack had always been an over-achiever, your typical Type A personality, and a raging workaholic. But that's what I loved about him, his ambition, his drive, his competitiveness, his enthusiasm for everything in life. It was probably finally catching up with him. At last, we reached the end of the hallway and the person at the desk escorted us to an inner office.

Dr. Brown finally walked in. Gone was his usual smiling joking self, and in their place was a very nervous man fidgeting with the file folders in his hand. He sat behind his desk, not meeting our eyes, his demeanor one of stoic resignation. “Oh God, this isn’t good,” I thought as Fear tapped me roughly on the shoulder. The doctor slowly opened the files. We sat in stunned silence later in his office. 

Cancer. Stage three. No! No, it couldn’t be. There must be some kind of mistake. How could this happen to Jack, to us?  Stage one, denial. Dr. Brown assured us there was no mistake. A visiting doctor, a world specialist, had viewed the tests and after confirming with other specialists they had all concurred that Jack had Cancer. The big C. It was very late in being diagnosed. The prognosis was not encouraging.

My greatest fear had been realized. For weeks now, no, months, I had been daily pushing back the dreaded thought that Jack’s illness was more than just stress or overwork. As I spent those lonely evenings alone, while Jack was at the office, the first vestiges of uneasiness had gradually crept in. I remember losing my Mother at the age of seven to Cancer; it awoke in me a paralyzing fear of losing family or friends. The therapist said the technical term is Thanatophobia or death anxiety but I also suffered from Necrophobia which is a fear of dead things or graveyards. My own personal fears and phobias were tucked firmly away in Jack’s presence, replaced by an always positive attitude; in private they ran rampant with only Fear being privy to them, egging them on.

 Jack had not been well for some time now. It started out with a general malaise; he was feeling tired, feeling rundown. Jack had a stressful job, it was fast passed, demanding. He had just been given a big promotion, he was the youngest person ever to hold this important and prestigious job, the company was counting on him and so he spent long hours making sure his work was perfect. Jack was like that, dependable, reliable, and a perfectionist with an eye for detail. He was in charge of a dozen others and he cracked his whip with a gentle hand. He put in more hours than anyone else on his team, arriving early and leaving late every day. He had a lot to prove to his boss, his clients, his team, and himself. Sure he was tired and became more tired as the weeks went by, but everyone was counting on him, and with the new demands thrust upon him he was bound to be exhausted. It was just a by-product of relentless hours and lack of sleep. 

  When the first symptoms of tiredness and weakness set in, I asked Jack to get things checked out but he was always too busy, sure things would turn around soon. I finally made the appointment and took off work from my own job to make sure he went. Of course, there were tests, and more tests, and now this terrible diagnosis. Stage two, anger. We were angry at the diagnosis, the doctors, the nurses, the technicians, angry with each other, angry with life, angry at God.

Weeks went by and then came the day that Jack had to leave his job, Jack had tried working from home but that really didn’t last long. Jack was devastated when he had to quit his job, but he knew there was no future for him there. No future for him anywhere for that matter. I took leave from my job; it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, only Jack. I tried to be supportive, to be upbeat for him, “Come on Jack you got this. You’re strong, you are stubborn. You can lick this.” 

“You know it”, he would answer me back his face pale as the pillow that surrounded his head. The game continued.

I would smile, tell him to rest awhile, and quietly close the bedroom door. In the hallway outside the door, my smile would crack into a million small fragments, I would feel the presence, hear that, now familiar, raspy breathing, and smell the sweat, tangy and sour. Fear was a daily visitor now. I awoke and Fear sat on the edge of my bed; I went about the tasks of the day and felt Fear sitting in the corner watching my every move, a dark shadow in my life. At night Fear would lay his head down beside mine, his body lying wedged tightly between my body and Jack’s. For days on end I bargained with God, spare Jack, take me if you must, but not Jack, not my precious Jack. I’ll do anything, anything you ask. Please! Please!  Step three, bargaining.

The day finally came when Jack went bravely to the hospice. The decision had been difficult; we had wanted to spend our last days together alone, wrapped in each other's arms, not surrounded by medical equipment and staff, but it was not to be. 

 Full-blown depression had set in no matter how hard we tried to be encouraging and to be supportive of one another. No matter how often we pasted an everything-is-going-to-be-alright smile upon our faces. We became residents of Rockbottom. Ground Zero became or dwelling place. Step Four, depression. The Let's Be Happy game was exhausting and futile.

When the decision to move to the hospice was finally decided, things moved quickly. I did a tour prior to Jack going there. It was peaceful at the hospice, the rooms were painted a calming colour, tastefully decorated,  with intimate seating areas for families and their loved ones. On the way to the hospice, I rode beside Jack in the ambulance in one of the two jump seats. Fear rode along with us in the other seat.

Two weeks later I arrived for my daily visit; as I walked down the hallway to Jack’s room, I once again felt that ever-familiar presence, stronger today, much stronger. Fear walked beside me, like a faithful dog at one's side. But as I rushed into Jack's room I could feel another presence as well. Stronger, almost palpable. Hovering,  patiently waiting.

Jack lay on the bed and as I closed the door, he opened his eyes and his eyes held mine; he opened his hand with agonizing slowness. I reached out and held it; I reached down and kissed his lips gently; he responded with only a whisper.

“I waited for you”, he murmured.

 My phony smile faltered. “Waited?” I asked. 

“Yes, waited.”

 I leaned in close to hear his faltering voice, Fear's hand gripped cruelly upon my shoulder. 

“To tell you I love you. Forever, for always.”

“I love you too. Forever, for always.”

There was suddenly a mysterious sound in the room, a rushing sound, the kind of sound that a flock of birds makes as they land in a field. A hundred birds, perhaps a thousand strong. The room got brighter, maybe it was the sun shining through the window, but maybe … something else. I felt Fear’s ever-present hand squeeze hard, digging brutally into my flesh, then depart the room. Jack and I exchanged one more sweet smile, then he closed his eyes and was gone. Game over. I closed my eyes, held tightly to Jack’s hand, and felt the new presence, with a flutter, descend and fill the room and fill my soul.

Five Stages of  Cancer and Grief

Stage one - Denial,    Step two - Anger,    Step three - Bargaining, Step four-Depression, Step five- Acceptance