Break the Illusion Blog by Davey Wavey

Last month, I published a short quote from a friend and client that is dying from terminal leukemia. In the days thereafter, I received a number of heartfelt emails from blog buddies around the world; I knew that I had to invite Theresa back to share more. I thank Theresa for using her precious time to put together this post. She wrote it for you, and it just may be one of the most important things you’ll ever read.

My name is Theresa, and I have terminal leukemia. I am also a wife, a mother to a seven-year old son, and a Physician Assistant who practiced medicine in the Hematology-Oncology field prior to my own cancer diagnosis at the age of 32 in 2004. Since 2004, I have undergone two bone marrow transplants and now, this March 2010, a final third relapse. It is finally time to say, “I did all I could do to keep this disease away. I don’t need to fight anymore.”

So now, I find myself in the process of saying goodbye to my life. And it isn’t as bad as you might think.

Throughout our lives, many of us find ourselves searching out who we are and what those things are in our lives that can bring us the highest degree of happiness – or perhaps the most ego gratification, as sometimes that line is very thin. Many of us turn to the meritocracy that is so pervasive in our society, the obtaining of the highest degree, the prestige that comes with a job. Others may turn to the collection of material items; the more stuff we have, the more value appointed to our lives. Others may find gratification in acting oppositional towards others, thinking that this may afford oneself more personal power in some way. Doing so is only human; we all want to feel powerful. Still others may seek attention through lamentation of sufferings, which is also very human; no one wants to feel alone when they suffer either physically or emotionally. And for these people, sometimes the question becomes what is useful to say and do to mitigate the suffering, while others may find themselves rather stuck and hopeless in predicament and tribulation. In any case, it is messy out there, indeed.

When you find yourself in my position – anticipating the transition – things become much more simple. The material and the physical melt away – I am thinner, hairless – but my spiritual being has enriched in ways you could never imagine. My interest in material things has all but vanished. And when I see people being mean to each other, I must look away; I can’t fix any of that, and I feel so sorry for those who expend energy attacking others. It is a squandering of energy, and it is a compromise to one’s character. And in the end, it doesn’t mean very much.

Many people ask me if I have regrets. Things I feel like I need to go back and address in some way. The answer I give is that I do. Places I never went to, experiences I never had. Not being able to raise my son; the heartbreak there is immeasurable. And all those patients I will not be able to impact or care for. Those plans to help shape my little slice of the world in a positive way. There will never be enough words or time to give to the regret over a life cut short.

But interestingly enough, I feel in a place of peace. Over the years since initial diagnosis, I have faced a degree of physical suffering with this disease that is hard to put into words. And somehow, knowing this suffering, I can now know true peace. Furthermore, I find that the place in which I am now is all about the giving and receiving of love. It is a place in which connection with others is paramount, when the connection has something to do with the expression of love and care.

I often contemplate how we can get to a place of peace within ourselves when we don’t face illness or other limitation, how we can find that satisfaction in our lives within a more “normal” context. How we access that which is beautiful and simple in this world, and how we can feel this with our hearts and our minds. How, in the words of Walt Whitman, we experience “Happiness… not in another place but this place, not in another hour but this hour.” How we can live our lives in the present, and in a more simple manner, where we recognize mostly the good, and when we register the bad, we are able to reach out to one another in ways that are constructive and soul-building.

Because in the end, it is the soul – those things that comprise one’s spirit which can’t be seen – that becomes important. The simple things like love and the ability to recognize the small joys in this world are now significant. No longer is it about the external, complicated things like one’s status, material possessions, or looks. These are temporary.

This other place? The place where the soul builds? It is glorious. No matter what your circumstance may be.

Update: Theresa is deeply moved and grateful for the many comments that you all have left on this post. She asked me to thank all of you on her behalf. Thank you.

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