Chapter 23: New emotions

 Chapter 23: new emotions

              Back to the present briefly. One aspect of my recurrent cancer diagnosis I did not or could not anticipate was the slew of new and unfamiliar emotions that accompanied it. Among the strongest was shame. I felt ashamed that I didn’t truly become the person/doctor/etc that I had striven to be, that I was cut short, that somehow it was my fault it didn’t work out. I knew that it was ludicrous. I also felt incredibly inadequate. I felt like I had completely missed out on dating and long-term relationships, and I was disparaged by this. Despite my situation I wanted to find someone and try, just to have done it. But every time I started I would think “How dare I?” “How is it OK to bring a stranger into my situation like this? They don’t have any allegiance to me, and they don’t deserve the emotional and other hardship that I will carry with me and into them.” I felt totally unworthy for new love. It was an awful feeling, because at the same time I felt that, if someone went for me while they didn’t know my situation and wanted to start something, that that would be incredibly validating—as if to say “you still matter independent of everything that’s happening.” I wanted that validation. I went on a couple of first dates, but they never quite felt right. I felt as though I was skirting around specific topics and being evasive the whole time, and I figured that they noticed as well that something wasn’t quite right. Part of me wanted to share at the get-go just to clear the air, but I never did. Eventually one date did turn into some others. We’ll call her J. I enjoyed spending time with J, she was very kind and understanding and had a great sense of humor. Eventually, after number 3 I began to feel guilty that I hadn’t shared my situation with her. I wanted to let her know before anything progressed. It was right around that time that I found out about the growth and recurrence as well and my life was thrown into pieces. After our third date I told her in the car outside of my apartment. She was very kind and understanding about the whole thing. She thanked me for telling her. I told her that with all of the new growth and stuff going on that I didn’t think it would be proper for me to continue any relationship. She said she understood, and that she enjoyed spending time with me anyway and would be happy to continue spending time together, even just as friends. She also told me she had grown to care about me and wanted to know if there were any way that she could help with my new growth situation. I thanked her and told her I would keep in touch. Then I wished her the best and we said our goodbyes.

              The other emotion that I did not anticipate was jealousy. I was profoundly jealous of everyone around me. They got to continue to be doctors. They didn’t have to think about their own death. They could grow in their relationships and look forward to any personal growth they made. They could make goals for the future, and talk to each other about what they wanted later in life. I couldn’t participate in any of these conversations. But I would listen, jealous, wishing my situation were more like theirs. And the jealousy would turn to anger at the world, which would keep me up at night and cause nightmares. It was a vicious circle, because social circles—up to then my greatest comfort—became agonizing.

              And when my brother and his Fiancé JP came to visit, I realized how incredibly jealous of them both I was. My twin brother, someone with much of the same genetics, with much of the same initial lottery, was highly successful working a great job, had bought a house, gotten a dog, and was in an incredible relationship with a wonderful person, and over the course of several years I had gotten to see them grow together into incredible people. I wanted the same thing for myself so desperately. I felt so robbed of life in general. I was so happy and proud for them both, but at the same time jealousy washed over me every day like a briny aftertaste. I began to worry. How could I connect more deeply with them and have meaningful time together if I was consumed by jealousy the whole time? I wanted to take the emotion from my brain and throw it out. It felt like an emotional poison. And so I eventually shared my feelings, hoping they would understand and that it would open a door to feeling differently. It was mildly effective. Before this all, I never appreciated how important it was to verbalize and share your feelings. People can’t always sense where you are, and if you don’t tell them, they can’t possibly help. Over time the shame and jealousy, while remaining, improved.