Amid the comfort of friends and kindness of strangers, adieu
Pamela Bone, Age Journalist, December 19, 2005
“You have multiple myeloma. It is not curable, but it is treatable. The usual outlook is one to eight years.”
In the bed next to mine an old man who had two toes amputated because of diabetes was crying loudly. I don’t know why they insist on putting men and women together in hospital rooms these days. I don’t think either sex likes it much.
I had never heard of multiple myeloma, which is cancer of the bone marrow. I’d been in Africa, was sick while I was there and sicker when I got home, and thought I had picked up some exotic virus. My doctor sent me to the Royal Melbourne Hospital, where after many blood tests, the diagnosis was made.
The world of illness is a different world. Weeks later I stood before the mirror, 13 kilograms lighter, my head bald, a plastic tube burrowed into my chest, and saw myself a poor, diminished creature. I used to bustle about. Now I walked slowly, weakly. When I went out into the street I marveled at how well and strong all the people looked. I felt no longer one of them.
I didn’t cry, though I came close to it when my hair came out in my hands and lay in long strands on the floor of the shower. I didn’t pray, and I didn’t ask, “why me?” as others have told me they have. As far as I can tell there’s no one up there handing out fairness; in any case I wouldn’t even want a God who would save me and let so many innocent children die. I am sure the parents of those hundreds of children buried under the rubble of the earthquake in Pakistan prayed.
All right, if I’m going to die, let’s get is over with, I thought. But that was a year ago and I haven’t died yet, despite my refusal to think “positive” thoughts. Why am I writing about this now?. Partly, because I couldn’t before. But also, because there is nothing unusual about my case. Multiple myeloma is fairly rare, but cancer is not. One in four or even one in three people will get it. There’s a whole community of us out there, we can be seen around the place in our headscarves and wigs and beanies, and we recognise each other and give each other sympathetic smiles.
Please leave Kylie Minogue alone, I shouted silently to the Media. She’s one of us and I know how she feels, she just wants to be left alone.
What have I learned in my year of illness? That, there is such an amazing degree of kindness around. I have been overwhelmed by kindness, the kindness of family, of friends, of work colleagues, the kindness of people in shops and cafes in my local shopping centre, the kindness of doctors and nurses at the Royal Melbourne Hospital, far beyond the requirements of their professions (oh, but the food at the RMH is an insult to sick people!); the kindness of my specialist, who tells me to stop talking about dying. There simply is a great instinct for kindness in most people.
One thinks a system should be devised in which this is more strongly appealed to.
I have learned that this is a society in denial about death – hardly a revolutionary discovery, it’s often been remarked on. On one level everyone knows they’re going to die, but the mind slides away from it. People change the subject. At first, I was critical of this, but now I think it has to be this way. You can’t spend your life being constantly aware of your death. Harder was the other realization that struck me with force, not only will I die, so will everyone else, every single one; every little baby with dribble running down his chin, every carefree teenage girl, every rich and powerful business man.
All must die. What is the point then?
You have to learn again what you always knew. Life is more precious because it is brief and the only one there is (and really who would want an eternity of anything, even paradise?) What matters – and I do apologise for this sentimentality – is that although every individual will die, the human race will go on.
I believe it will and I even believe it will get better. Not withstanding the strange apocalyptic times we are in, I still believe in the continuing, gradual, difficult, faltering improvement of the human conditions. If I had space I could make a rational argument for this.
Fear of death is natural; it’s what keeps us alive when we are young and strong. But for most older people, for whom death is no longer a remote unlikely possibility, the fear is not so much of death, as of what might precede it; prolonged pain and sickness and (especially) dementia.
More than death what most people fear is the prospect of being kept in some sort of half life for years, being sponged and toileted in some nursing home, sans mind, sans personality, sans dignity.
What I have learned in this year of illness is that legislation for assisted suicide – for the right to die at a time of one’s own choosing, and have help to do so if necessary – will and should come.
It will come because the majority of the population wants it (according to opinion polls) and because those who protest so loudly every time the subject is mentioned are minority. To know there is the means to end life peacefully and painlessly when they want to would be a great comfort to most old people.
This is a kindness that we, as a society, need to extend to ourselves.
Last week when I walked into the hospital, which is now as familiar as a second home, some schoolchildren were there singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing. All year music students come into the hospital wards and play instruments and sing. Others come to offer conversation and pastoral care, for those who want it. In the foyer, volunteers sell knitted toys and jams and raffle tickets to raise money to help the hospital.
There it is again, that human kindness. It’s all around, if you care to look.
This is my last column. It has been an immense privilege to have had this space for so long, to have my say about things. I have not set out to be a “contrarian” as I have been described, but then to offend no one you will say nothing. I do want to thank all of you, who have read, either approvingly or disapprovingly, what I have written over the years. I will miss you.
Pamela Bone, an associate editor, retired on Friday after 23 years with The Age
This article has been retyped (the b@#@! scan wouldn’t work) from Page 13 The Age, Monday December 19 2005 – Opinion
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I somehow found myself reliving 1999 with the reading of Pamela’s story. Pamela makes the point that we as a Society owe it to ourselves to show the kindness that choice would provide. Her exact words were ” This is a kindness that we, as a society, need to extend to ourselves”
With the incoming law (January 6 2006) against Suicide Related Materials being lawful on carriageways (as distinct from freeways), Australians need to ensure their local Member for Parliament understands the distress this will cause an already fragile and ill group of people. It is such a shame that the mainstream society cannot see beyond their days of health and happiness to a time when they too may join of the ranks of 25% misfortunate enough to contract cancer, not to mention all those other terrible illnesses that can make our lives so very miserable.
Kim Beazley, Opposition ALP Leader looks like a kindly man, yet where was his kindness when this Bill was presented to Parliament. Mr Howard, PM, on the other hand, never did strike me, as being kindly. He is very clever! oh yes, so very clever, but kind??…..I don’t think so, but I would love someone to reassure me I am wrong about him. I keep remembering that he too has been touched by cancer in his family and wonder again, whether he is like that other Victorian State Politician who thought pain and suffering was an honour for his faith (but it was his wife’s suffering, not his!) that was the “honour”…….Very vehemently against Voluntary Euthanasia, I frequently wonder when some of these same politicians will be afflicted with the sorts of illnesses that promote the preference in people such as myself. Given the law of averages, they too will be a part of the statistics…but then, they probably know the “right people” to assist them along with a hastened death when it all becomes too much to bear.