An Intimate Illness

(This picture represents the support my family has shown for one another during tough times.)

Up until a year and a half ago, illness was not a topic of discussion in my family, nor a topic of serious consideration. We did what was necessary to remain healthy: worked out, ate nutritious food, went to the doctor for all of our regular exams and check ups, etc. My extended family, cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles, were extremely healthy as well. At least that is what we all thought.
In November of 2005, we received the first bit of discomforting news that my grandma had breast cancer. A mere 2 months later, within two weeks of each other,
both my grandpa and my aunt were diagnosed, leaving the family in a state of complete shock and devastation. Let’s just say, from that moment on, illness was no longer a stranger to our family. Never before had we dealt with illness of this capacity, and we were far from prepared, but we put our best foot forward and began to tackle the diseases. With all three of them living in Toledo, Ohio, five minutes away from each other, it was easy for them to look out for one another. Still, we did not know how we personally could help, plaguing us with fear, “the mind’s reaction against the inherent generosity of the heart” (Dass and Gordon 58).
My aunt’s situation worsened most rapidly. In early December of 2006 pre-diagnosis, we held an 80th birthday celebration for Pawpaw at my home in San Antonio. All of his kids came down along with their significant others and a couple of cousins. With the everyday hustle and bustle, it is often impossible to find a time to gather everyone together, and this was the first time in years. During the weeklong celebration, Nanci was noticeably different, becoming exhausted after short periods of time, not eating very much, and feeling so sick to her stomach that she had to go back to the hotel. Nanci was not accustomed to eating much, however. From a young age, she was extremely cautious about her diet and weight, a habit that would come back to haunt her and prevent her from healing properly post-surgery. Days after she left our home, she was diagnosed with cancer. I remember my mom calling me, sobbing on the other end of the line as she relayed this distressing news. After leaving the doctor’s office, Nanci, feeling too weak and broken down to walk, had to be carried by her husband, my Uncle David, into my grand parents house, where he sat her down on her father’s lap. Nanci and Pawpaw sat and cried together, holding onto the last moments before the disease and treatment would begin to take over her body and her life.
Growing up, if I got into an argument with my parents or siblings and went to bed angry, I knew that the next morning, chances are the negative feelings would have subsided and we would proceed with our day as if nothing had happened. Illness isn’t like that. I woke up the next day and my aunt, grandpa and grandma all still had cancer and all had the fight of their life ahead of them. When I first began reading “Illness as Metaphor,” by Susan Sontag, I was shocked by some of the “metaphors” and common beliefs regarding cancer and tuberculosis. How could someone believe that tuberculosis is “the disease of born victims, of sensitive, passive people who are not quite life-loving enough to survive”? Or that “cancer is a disease of insufficient passion, afflicting those who are sexually repressed, inhibited, unspontaneous, incapable of expressing anger”? [1] However, as I kept reading, I began to realize that some of the metaphors associated with cancer are common in my own beliefs and ideas too. For example, the idea that TB was a romantic disease translated in some ways to the cancer in my family. Nanci, a young, outgoing, active woman with seven children and a husband that loves her more than life itself could not possibly die a slow painful death. She couldn’t. Her husband and family would take care of her. She would fight. She would win. I knew there would be suffering and difficult times; however I could not imagine that she would actually leave this world behind. The romantic stories do not end this way. I was proven wrong. A year and a half after being diagnosed Nanci passed away, with my mom holding her hand and her children and husband by her side. Having undergone surgery and been unable to completely recover, she was in a state of fragility and vulnerability. Rarely would she stand up, eat, even keep her eyes open. It was just far too difficult a task.
Throughout her illness, my Uncle David served as her primary caretaker, coming home from work to assist her, taking her to the doctor, feeding her, helping her to the bathroom, and anything else you could think of. However he was unable to be around all of the time, having to provide for the family and run his own reality business. I was astounded by the way Aaron, Stella’s husband, in “The Caregiver” was able to be such a sturdy and consistent source of support for her. From the beginning of her battle with Alzheimer’s, Aaron was understanding of the difficulties that came along with the disease and that “every alz patient is different”. Although there were times when David was unable to be with Nanci, he knew he “[could] do more for her than anybody else” [2] and was ready to take on the challenge of accompanying her, physically and emotionally, through the battleground that lay ahead. David, as well as the rest of the family, had an extremely difficult time coping with Nanci’s illness, perhaps because as human beings, “we don’t know how to deal with our own pain and fear” (Dass and Gordon 14).
It was during this year and a half of her illness that I began to realized how self-serving the majority of our society is, including me. On a day-to-day basis, I go to MY classes, do MY homework, eat what I want, and engage in extracurricular activities of MY choosing. Since coming to college, this self-serving policy has been magnified even more. Living on my own, I don’t have to do chores or pick my brother up from school or run errands for my mom. It’s all about me. Looking back on my Aunts last few months, I realize that for her children, husband, parents, brothers and sisters, it was not longer all about them. It was now all about her. (Nanci will never leave our hearts or our minds.) They were willing to drop many of the major components of their lives to help with hers. My cousin left the University of Ohio to live at home. Another one of my cousins moved back home, switching jobs and entering into a long distance relationship with his girl friend. My grandparents began spending enormous amounts of time at my aunt’s house, bringing over dinner and goodies to keep her from having to get out of bed to cook. My mom and Nanci spoke everyday for a year and half, unless Nanci was too tired or weak to talk. The family unity that resulted from this terrible illness was incredible.
As I write this paper and reflect on the events that occurred during the past two years, I have found myself of the verge of tears many times. I think back to the days when I would ride with my aunt out to the barn to visit her horse, or the trips to the mall and to see movies. I remember the days when I could call my grandparents and hear something other than “Well, today was a tough day. Grandpa’s not feeling too well.” And I begin to wonder what the future holds, not only for my family, but also for me. I have adopted the idea that I too, given my family background and the commonality of the illness, will someday battle cancer myself. “It’s no longer a question of staying healthy, it’s a question of finding the sickness you like.” [3] Perhaps this is the kind of metaphor and stigma that Sontag is referring to—this presumption that cancer will attack you and cancer will win. I am an extremely optimistic person, however, in this area of my life, I am already assuming the worse—that I will suffer from cancer. I do retain optimism about recovery. Currently, my grandma is in remission from breast cancer, and my grandpa is fighting hard against lymphoma. The battle is a rollercoaster, one day he is feeling better, the next day he has the shakes and can barely stand up, having to get blood and hope to wake up the next day feeling better. His illness is felt by everyone in my family and continues to be a source of sadness, especially for my mom and grandma. During these times, “our hearts go out to these people, not only because of the immediate circumstances but because, intuitively, we regonize the response of mental suffering that we ourselves would experience under such conditions. Their predicament awakens our own fears of pain or loss of control” (Dass and Gordon 77).
Reading about illnesses that others have encountered and dealt with has been helpful in understanding and analyzing, in a sense, the illnesses that have struck my family. Inevitably, I will deal with illness involving my parents and will likely step in as a caregiver, a support system, and a source of optimism and love. One can never prepare for something like cancer to affect their family, however viewing it in a realistic way with the proper attitude and the acceptance of what is to come can help not only the patient, but also the loved ones in dealing with the disease and finding the meaning in the illness.


[1] Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor (New York: Picador, 1977), 25.
[2] Aaron Alterra, The Caregiver (Vermont: Steerforth Press, 1999), 192.
[3] Thinkexist.com, http://thinkexist.com/quotations/illness/.