What Does Love Look Like in CancerLand?

Most of us have a sense of where boundaries are in a good relationship. It’s always imperfect, but we have the idea of balancing dependence and autonomy. Our boundaries are permeable and we can go away and come back, and we can give our partner both space and attention as needed.

But then cancer arrives and we get muddled. Our boundaries—and our relationships --go to hell. Sometimes we are praised as good caregivers even as we are sacrificing the autonomy that made the relationship great pre-cancer. What’s a wife/lover/girlfriend to do?

How do we keep a relationship strong when one half of it is very weak? How do we keep a

separate sense of identity even as our partner, medical professionals and maybe even our friends are celebrating (or nudging us toward) a dependent role as caregiver?

It is not easy. But I knew early on that I wanted more than John’s physical survival; I also wanted our sexy, happy, and intellectually stimulating marriage to survive. And that meant finding the line between caregiving and codependence.

Here is a quote that I have to read again and again. It’s a great reminder and antidote to the “teaching”, controlling, and all manner of codependency I am so tempted to tumble into. This is Scott Peck on genuine love: 

“A major characteristic of genuine love is that the distinction between oneself and the other is always maintained and preserved. The genuine lover always perceives the beloved as someone who has a totally separate identity. Moreover the genuine lover always respects and even encourages this separateness and the unique individuality of the beloved. Failure to perceive and respect this separateness is exceedingly common however and the cause of much suffering.”

--M. Scott Peck, MD

I do not want to be exceedingly common.

Whose Cancer is It?

Here is one of the toughest things about cancer and caregiving—whose cancer is it? And who bears the consequences? Yes, I know it’s really his. It’s his body after all. But, here’s an example: He’s in pain. I hand him the phone. He won’t call the doc. I find a specialist. He won’t ask. I say, “Try this.” He says, “Later”. He doesn’t sleep. So neither do I.

Yes, he is the person with cancer but do I get a vote?

I don't want to be part of the cancer conspiracy. I wait too long to say, “That pain could be related to your cancer.” But when are decisions around his cancer only his? When are they mine --or ours? His denial impacts  my sleep, work, activities, and life. So whose cancer is it?

Talk about a valiant battle with cancer.

 Grrrrrrrr.

(Yes, I am afraid.)

Keep Out

“I have never found anything in a man’s wallet, dresser, glove compartment or medicine cabinet that made me happy.”

I used that line in a short story many years ago and it may be one of the smartest things I have ever written to myself. Today I would have to add: cell phone, laptop, iPad and maybe Facebook, though I know many married couples who are in and out of each other’s social media all the time. That gives me the willies. I like a stronger boundary in my coupled life.

This week John is editing some essays I wrote 20 years ago. Many are about relationships, dating and marriage. It’s taken this long for me to feel like he can read what the reading world has read for years. A bit strange maybe, but as I prepare to write a book I’m looking at the line between the written word and the lived word.

But even now, happily married for some years, a man’s wallet still feels like a hot potato to me. 

MMOB

Mind My Own Business. I am writing this acronym: MMOB everywhere this week. On my planner, my to-do list and even on a Post-it in my car.

As a caregiver it can be hard to sort out sometimes, but I’m working at it. Years ago a great play about the right to die was called, “Whose Life is It Anyway?” I’m reminded that even though I may care about his life and his health—they are both his, not mine.

But, again, it’s tricky when you are the caregiver and the consequences of another person’s choices might eventually tumble into your lap. But this is where having good boundaries, and maybe a Black Belt in Alanon, can come in handy. (I do think that every caregiver qualifies for Alanon—the free, anonymous program for family members).

I have to say MMOB when he doesn’t want to take the B vitamins that will help his neuropathy. And I say MMOB when he scoffs at the baby aspirin that can prevent colon cancer. And I say MMOB when he says he might skip the next round of tests that the doctor recommends. And I say it also when his kids are struggling and if his ex has stuff going on. In each of these cases the consequences might tumble back on to me later, but if I take them on now I’ll have no peace of mind at all.

I also have to have a quiet moment and be honest with myself. It’s too easy as a caregiver to pretend that the reason that I mind other people’s business is because I am kind and altruistic. I might say that I only want him to be healthy or them to be happy or her to be at peace, but really? In reality it’s all pretty selfish—The reason that I want any of that for them is so that I can be happy and so that I can have peace. I get caught in that old control fallacy.

In truth the best way for me to be happy and to have peace is not by getting everyone else’s life straightened out—(even in my head and even in my driving alone in my car fantasy time. Yes, guilty.) But my peace will come from detaching and letting go of their lives, and putting the focus back on myself.

Yes, much easier said than done, but I am slowly learning that being “selfish” is the most unselfish thing I can do. So I’ll scribble this little note to me where I can see it every day MMOB and I’ll mind my very own, all the time growing and changing, business.