Definition; The action of separating or disconnecting.
A quick google tells me that there is a psychological condition called ‘Dissociation Disorder’. I am not going to delve into complex conditions about which I have no knowledge. This is about something I have observed in myself over the last 7 months and how, possibly, this has helped me keep my head straight(ish).
I am lucky to have a large and supporting circle of family, colleagues, and friends. They have been helping in all manner of ways, which I have mentioned in several previous essays. On occasions, someone has said to me ‘you guys are so brave’ ‘or I don’t think I could deal with what you are coping with as well as you are’.
Well, here’s the odd thing, and why I use the word disassociation. For much of the time I am not thinking about the cancer being inside me; I seem, without consciously doing so, to be observing someone else who is ill. This person has my name, date of birth and knows the first line of my address (how many times have I been asked to confirm these details since last May?) This person has complicated cancer; unresponsive to chemotherapy and difficult to operate on. They are unlikely to see their 70th birthday.
This person is me.
But it does not feel like me.
Why? My un-informed thought on why I appear to have separated my healthy mind from my unhealthy body is that this is a form of self-defence. It is definitely not a denial of what is happening. At no time have I hidden from the facts, and I have attended every appointment and endured numerous procedures and 3 hideous months of ineffective chemotherapy.
Or at least, the unhealthy me that I observe has. The other me has not allowed the cancer to stop me getting on with life. I am finding it extremely hard to articulate and describe this compartmentalisation. And, of course, the separation is not complete. I can’t put the cancer in a box and separate it from the rest of my life. Truth, be told, it has very much been the focus of my life since I found the lump. Our calendar pivots around hospital appointments and how well/unwell I am likely to be at certain times.
In earlier essays, I have described that I am doing various ‘life admin’ tasks. And I think that with these tasks, being able to disconnect my efficient-organiser self from the blunt finality of death has enabled me to do this. Among other things, I have been organising my own funeral and burial. It is truly odd to be organising an event centred around me and at which I will not be present (OK, I know, I am there, but lifeless in a large oblong picnic hamper does not really count, and I’ll be six feet under during the after-party – oh yes, a party, sourcing a band and, definitely, pork pies!)
Now, a quick ‘buyer beware’ warning. Being properly and seriously ill is actually really hard emotionally. When I wake at 3am for the necessary middle-aged man comfort break, there is often a tear when I think of the people that I may soon leave. I write this with an actual lump in my throat and eyes aching to cry. And it’s hard on those close to me.
Disassociation a blessing? For me, I guess so. My strong mind is taking my ailing body for its first chemo-radiotherapy session later today. 25 consecutive weekdays of ray guns being shot at my groin and 210 of those wretched chemo pills. Wish me luck!
