FLASHBACK 6 YEARS: Merry Christmas (and fuck cancer)
Thankfully, I’m not preparing the 12-course, meat-free Wigilia feast this year. Just as well; there is no way in hell I’d have been able to pull it off. Instead we’re celebrating with my stepdaughter, Alexa and her family, in-laws, and Jack’s son and girlfriend. It’s been years since I’ve been with my own family on Christmas Eve but the idea of being with my stepdaughter’s in-laws, people I really don’t know, is weird for me. But Jack is keen to be with his kids and grandchild so I agreed.
“No, too soon,” Jack says. We’re in the car and I’ve just asked if we’re going to tell anyone about the appointment at the lung clinic. It’s primarily his news, not mine. “We don’t have anything to tell.”
Three days ago, we heard those words ‘it’s likely cancer,’ but I follow his lead and greet everyone as though nothing has happened. But everything has happened. Finding the joy we’re expected to see at Christmas is never easy for me. The merriment grates even more this year.
At gift-giving time, Jack’s son and partner present us with a wood-burnt sign: ‘Jacek* and Celia’s garden, protected by Bidi.’ My stomach lurches. I’m dropped deep in a grief hole, with its range of emotions: sadness - will that hang in the garden this summer? fear - will Bidi be barking potential intruders away from our garden, or mine. I slip to the bathroom for a cry, and then I force myself out of the hole. It’s the first time I realize grief must sometimes be set aside for a better moment.
As the adults chat, Jack distracts his 18 month old granddaughter, Naomi, with a wooden rocking sheep. I admire him for avoiding the horribilising and reflect as I have so many times on how he’s the match to my magnet, opposite in so many ways.
—-
In the language of the Myers Briggs Personality Indicator (MBTI), I’m an ENTJ and Jack, likely an ENTP.** Renee Baron in Opposites Attract: How to use the Secrets of Personality Type to create a love that lasts ¨describes the J/P distinction this way: [at page 135]
“Judgers are people who see closure and who prefer to have matters settled and resolved as quickly as possible. They do not necessarily enjoy making decisions, but they do feel more comfortable once a decision is made. At that point, the matter is finally out of the way and off their mind; then they can go on to the next thing.”
“Perceivers like to gather a lot of information and consider the different possibilities before they make a decision. Making decisions too quickly can be stressful to a Perceiver because it closes down other possibilities and options.”
This different approach to decision-making provides both mutual fascination and irritation.
Jack plays with Naomi as though nothing has happened. As a P, he hasn’t heard anything definitive and therefore hasn’t given any thought to the future. He’s right there on the floor beside the rocking sheep. I’m physically sitting across the dining room table but mentally flashing forward to an uncertain future. The J in me decided three days ago Jack has cancer.
—-
As always, it’s just us on Christmas Day. Although I am convinced it will be our last shared December 25, I nonetheless waste a chunk of it alone in my office deep in the internet grazing at the buffet offered me in response to the Google search ‘lung cancer’: Stage IIA, IIB, prognoses, conventional treatment, alternative treatment, academic papers I cannot understand, stories of miracle cures that annoy me.
I glance at the clock. There’s a couple of hours before I need to start cooking the Cornish hens. I force myself to descend from my office to the main floor. “Jack, let’s take Bidi for a walk.”
He looks up from the couch where he’s comfortably sprawled reading “The Girl in the Spider’s Web,” the book I’ve given him that morning. I love that he loves to read and that he does it in his second language awes me. He looks up, grins, and makes a space for me to cuddle in with him. “Only shit, this book is fucking brilliant. Do we have to?” Bidi, snoring quietly at his feet, looks like a walk would be an unnecessary intrusion on her day too.
“Holy shit, Jack.” I reply automatically. He wants me to correct him but after six years of my intensive English coaching, successful in so many regards,, he still makes this mistake. “Come on, let’s go to those woods by Superstore. There will be no-one there. It’ll be fun.” I walk when I’m feeling anxious or bored or, as it turns out, grief-stricken. Laughing, I grab him under the armpits, struggling to move him to a seated position, at the same time trying to flip his legs off the couch and onto the floor. He’s too heavy for me but I feel him stop resisting and suddenly he’s seated and then hauling himself to his feet. Good!
We pile into my car, Bidi in the back, Jack driving. The sky is grey, not too cold, but with a skiff of snow on the ground. We park and walk over the iron pedestrian bridge in the shadow of the freeway and we’re suddenly in the woods. He reaches down to release Bidi from the leash.
“Jack, do you have to?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with her.”
I imagine all manner of bad things: she will run after a deer, she will be chased by a coyote, she will get caught in a trap, she will roll in raccoon poop, she will be sprayed by a skunk. These things have never happened - but they might.
We walk hand in hand on the trail, Bidi mostly close but occasionally darting off on a mission known only to her. We laugh and keep the conversation light. Jack retrieves his hand regularly to light a fresh cigarette. We round a corner and find four ATVs parked in a circle, their owners passing a joint around. Bidi greets them warmly and they her. Bidi’s a ‘people person.’ We say “hi” and “Merry Christmas” and Jack cracks a joke and we push on. I wonder who among that foursome is harbouring some horrible news or will learn something next week that will drop him into a grief hole. We’re not out long but Bidi and I are grateful for the fresh air.
We’ve been invited to Jack’s aunt’s for a meal on Boxing Day, the second day of Christmas as Jack calls it. By now, I’m puking sick with stress but I go. We say nothing about Jack’s health. I pass the puking off as ‘flu and eat just a little potato, the first time I’ve ever turned down the turkey Rania has personally deboned and then stuffed.
On December 29, we have our friends, Barb, Peter, and Donald, over for dinner. It is a holiday gathering, booked weeks ago, and we keep the plan despite Jack’s health news.
“Ah, we have some kinda bad news to share with you,” I say as we finish the mushroom, shrimp, and hollandaise appetizer. “We have to kick you out about 10:15 tonight because Jack has an MRI scheduled at 11.” The energy in the room shifts.
“What’s going on?” Barb asks, concern in her voice. A widow only a few months, she knows how life can turn on a dime.
“It’s a little thing here,” Jack says, casually, pointing at his chest. “Doctor wants to check it out just to be sure.”
“She says it’s likely cancer,” I blurt out.
“Come on, Barb, let’s go for a smoke,” Jack says and with that, they descend to the basement.
I try to maintain my cool with Donald and Peter, who are clearly worried. I am imagining it’s the first of many tough conversations in which I must appear more stoic than I’m feeling. Is it worse than no-one knowing? No. This is easier than the veneer of normalcy I maintained on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day.
Three hours later, I’m helping Jack focus on the pre-MRI questionnaire. “OK, Jack, you have to report possible metal in you.” It’s our first trip down this list of questions. I fear not our last. “What was the ink you used to tattoo yourself?” I point to the letter A self-administered on his left wrist. He was a love struck teen. Thankfully, the girl, Agnieszka, was out of the picture before he got to work on the remaining letters.
“Just pen ink.”
“And they’re asking about dental work. Is there metal in your plates?”
“Yup, I’ll take them out when I get in there.” He always wears his teeth, even with me. He wants me to think of him as the strong, healthy, good looking middle-aged man he sees in the mirror.
“Have you ever had metal shavings in your eye?” This is a distinct possibility, given his work and the fact he’s not an eye-visor kind of guy.
“Don’t know. Probably.”
“OK, I’ll make a note. I wonder what the consequences are?” It seems a low priority right now given the things festering in his chest cavity.
We complete the questionnaire and Jack is invited to the inner sanctum. I sit with other caregivers like cabs at a taxi stand, all focussed one way on the TV on the wall. In my years with Jack, I’ve discovered the joy of chatting to strangers. I resist tonight though. I try to ignore CP24 as it cycles through its reel of traffic accidents, weather, and feel-good holiday fare.
“Is the MRI as loud as they say?” I ask on the way home.
“Yeah, it’s pretty loud, but I just lay there and willed myself not to panic.” Wow.
“I’ve been looking at the Internet about lung cancer. Interesting what they say about treatment and likely outcomes, eh?” I look sideways at him as he drives up Bathurst Street, quiet at this time of night during the holiday week.
“What do they say? I haven’t looked.”
I draw a breath and get a good whiff of the cigarette smell that always lingers around Jack, even now in my car where he’s never smoked. “What?!?? You haven’t googled this? You amaze me!”
“Why would I look? We don’t know anything yet.” He replies, his tone matter-of-fact. He squeezes my hand slightly, maybe an indication that he’s a tiny bit worried?
He’s right though. Why trouble himself until there is something to be troubled about. I feel guilty that I’ve let myself think about what life might be like on my own again.
We’re home and in bed by 12:30 a.m. They’ve collected the evidence and it’s being processed now. What will it show?
* Jacek is Jack’s Polish name.
**Extravert, Intuitive, Thinking as opposed to Introvert, Sensing, Feeling. MBTI is a great way for strong Js like me to organize the world.
