I almost died eight years ago.
I had undergone about four months of chemotherapy for an aggressive form of germ cell cancer in my chest. In the spring of 2004, I went in to get the last of the tumor taken out, and ended up in the ICU with a lung infection, because I had been smoking pot for months on end with no intention of stopping. They took 60% of my left lung out, and replaced my pericardium. My throat was damaged by the ventilator and it still hasn't returned to normal. Thanks to the massive surgical scars, I ended up hooked on opiates and benzos, which led to some serious relationship issues and one active suicide attempt- several passive ones. All of that is fine; it falls under "Stuff happens then other stuff happens," which is one of my wise sayings and slogans. I'm a better person for all of it.
Here's what's not fine: How people treat you when they think you might die. I'm writing about this now because I'm in a hospital room with my sister, who has ALS. She isn't going to get better and the only question is how quickly it gets worse. I'm watching her deal with my parents, a neverending parade of doctors, nurses and social workers, and the implied question of "When are you leaving the hospital for wherever it is you're going to die?" I have power of attorney in these matters, and what's amazing is I'm ready for all this. I've seen it from the other side, even though I managed to live through it. I know what it's like when someone tries to smile at you when they really want to cry. I know how hollow pleasantries can sound, and I know what feigned hope sounds like. So if you ever find yourself bedside of someone whose time can be measured in days rather than years, I have some handy dandy tips for you.
-Put your best face forward. Pretending there is no illness is patronizing and insulting; pretending there's nothing but illness is just depressing. If you can't hide your shock, anger, or sadness, do not enter the room. A critically ill person has enough to worry about without you guilt tripping them with "I'm sad and it's because of you." I know you don't mean it that way. It doesn't matter. Just don't do it. Treat them like a normal human being. You can acknowledge the illness without saying anything, but you can acknowledge the person behind it, too. If it's someone you don't know well enough to do that, well, they probably don't need to see you either.
-Humor. My father and I are sick bastards and the only good way to address nasty shit like a feeding tube in a stomach is to ask "If I blow in that, will you fart?" We've been exchanging our favorite South Park and Simpsons lines. It hurts her physically to laugh, but it hurts her more to watch people get all miserable. Dad and I just got done discussing American Idol, a show I enjoy despite the wishes of literally everyone I have ever known. And it was funny. It's not that hard to keep it light, people.
-Grieve at the right time. We're human beings and some of us have the need to express grief. In my case, I just get ahead of the game and grieve for someone as soon as it seems fitting. I've known a few people who lived most of their lives on a direct route to death, and for those people, I never saw the point in waiting. If someone has made up their mind to be unhappy until they die, well then, they get to do that. But they're just grieving for themselves, and it's not my responsibility to pile onto that. On the other side, everybody who's got a terminal illness is going to die and people are aware of that, but there is absolutely no rule that says we can't wait till after you're gone before we turn into whiny little bitches. Cause if by some stroke of luck you pull through, then you get to live the rest of their lives knowing that your family and friends are a bunch of needy emo tools who can't wait to make your death about them.
So, to sum up: A slow painful death only gets miserable because of the survivors. Put yourself aside and don't make the sick and dying among you feel your pain in addition to their own. Thank you.
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