After I was diagnosed with a terminal disease (HIV) in 1986 I went through a panoply of emotions. 30 years later I was told that I had another frightening condition, a tiny malignant neuroendocrine tumor on my pancreas. In both of these situations, it was like Pandora’s boxes had been opened and a horde of demons had been released. I experienced intense periods of mood swings ranging from unmitigated despair to unrealistic bravado. I lived all the states of grieving that author Kubler-Ross documents in her book Of Death and Dying. She formulated 5 stages that terminally ill patients go through — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I went through all of these stages in the first few weeks after receiving my news. Part of me wanted to curl up in a ball, wither way, and die on the spot. Then anger set in. Why me? True, life style was a factor in my disease, but it is a factor in most illnesses. Other people much more deprived and depraved than me were perfectly healthy, while l was a victim of fate. For some reason or no reason at all, the gods singled me out for an early demise. It wasn’t fair! I was such a victim that only full martyrdom was an appropriate path for me to follow.
Then I went into denial. The tests were bungled. I received someone else’s results. I had the wrong doctor. Western medicine was wrong. I decided to find an alternative source, a faith healer even if he was a quack, or a Mexican pharmacist even if it was illegal. I’d run around the block or lift thirty-five pounds just to show that I still was in shape. But deep inside, I knew I wasn’t. AIDS was in the news. So were cancer, diabetes, and a host of other terminal health conditions. Living in denial was not possible without shutting out all the people in my life and the entire world around me.
Then came the bargaining stage. I prayed to the heavens that from then on I would eat right, act better, exercise ‘til the cows came home, do humanitarian work, and be an exemplary role model. By being good, these conditions would be lifted from me. Miracles happen to those who believe in them, right? My plans to become superhuman were easy to formulate but impossible to maintain. And in the meantime, inside me were ticking time bombs ready to go off.
Then I tried copying what many others in my situations were doing. There’s no escape like a great escape. Alcohol, drugs, sexual conquests, and casino gambling were wonderful temporary band-aids that helped me block out my fears and dreads. A night of partying let me forget about my illness for a spell, but when I woke up the morning after a binge my conditions were still there. And I had much less energy and strength to deal with them.
The depression stage was always lurking in the background. Feeling that I was doomed and the rest of my life was to be spent drowning in my own tears, I was ready to end it all. I came up with several wonderful end-of-life scenarios, each more dramatic than the previous one.
Finally, in both cases I accepted these diagnoses. Although coming to terms with these stern situations, by no means did I accept the outcome. I decided to fight the retrovirus that was attacking my body. I sought a second opinion on my tumor and found a better doctor who gave me a more hopeful prognosis. I steeped myself in research articles and studies on the internet. I consulted with a wide variety of medical professionals and alternative practitioners. I studied healing modalities from many sources. Somehow in my dedicated pursuit of dealing with my diseases, I managed to keep them from taking over. Here I am 35 years later, still not cured, but still breathing air and still enjoying life. I’ll share more about this in future blogs.
C 2021 David Cat Cohen
DAVID CAT COHEN In Recovery blogs 