Holistic/Diagnostic You\'re Going to Get Better --

Holistic/Diagnostic

You're going to get better -- it's just going to take some time," I said, holding her hand. "But you know it's ok to be angry. You can accept your reality and at the same time fight it."

She stared at me quizzically, furrowing her brow. "What exactly are you trying to say?" she asked.

I thought I made myself perfectly clear. As I stared at my friend, who had recently been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, I suddenly realized what a barrier language can be in human communications. I squeezed her hand, somehow hoping that I could transmit my thoughts to her through our skin. When that didn't work, Loreen repeated her herself. "I really don't know what you mean." sighed and released my grip on her soft, cold hand. I knew I could never truly understand what Loreen was going through and I didn't want to come across as being trite or thoughtless. At the same time I wanted to offer some kind of wisdom and encouragement. Because words are the only solid means of human communication, I relied on language to communicate my underlying thoughts and emotions. In hindsight, I wonder if I should not have said anything to her at all. However, Loreen wanted my input; she asked me what I thought about her dilemma and how she should approach her illness.

Should I fight it with all my will and refuse to allow myself to dwell on death, or should I simply kick back and accept that death is right around the corner?" stammered when I answered her. These questions were over my head, out of my locus of experience. Again I tried to explain to her that I felt it was possible to do both, to simultaneously look death squarely in the face, fearlessly accepting the fact that all people, healthy or well, eventually die. Yet I also believed that if Loreen focused her mind and intensely believed that she could get better, that some kind of "spontaneous remission" was possible: I had known one other person who experienced a type of spontaneous remission and I recounted that tale to Loreen.

The story inspired her and she was better able to understand what I was trying to say. Anecdotes, I have found, often bridge the gap between intended thought and verbiage. However, I also wanted to tell Loreen that I felt that she might have been repressing her anger all this time: anyone who has been diagnosed with a terminal illness must on some level, at some time, feel incredible anger, resentment, and fear. I wanted to let Loreen known that it was alright to experience and express these emotions. However, when I tried to tell her this, the words came out garbled and they didn't really connect with what I was trying to communicate via the anecdote about spontaneous healing.

I'm just saying that being angry might be necessary for you."

She agreed but still didn't see how that connected with her dilemma between accepting death and fighting it. Later on, reflecting on what I should or shouldn't have said to Loreen, I realized that I should have told her that I thought that regardless of which path she chose, I felt that confronting her emotions would be more beneficial than repressing them.