The Suffering Olympics

Sigh. Back in the day when I had a full head of hair. 
I sound like an old man, don't I?

The weekend before my surgery, my precious friend Emily drove in 2.5 hours from Indianapolis to come spend the day with me. Emily and I've known each other for well over 20 years, having first met as freshmen in college. Emily is the kind of friend you want in the trenches with you when life falls apart. And my life has certainly fallen apart in the last 3 months, but this is not our first rodeo together. We have already weathered assorted trenches together in 20+ years. She's who I want next to me when the bottom drops out.

So, what does one do when your best friend comes to the bustling metropolis of Columbus, Ohio? You go to the cement cornfield. Obviously. I mean, who doesn't want to experience this artistic ode to corn in all its cement glory?  Being the good friend that she is, off we went to stand in awe and wonder at all 109 ears of cement corn. We then eventually headed off to grab dinner at one of my favorite places to eat, Rebol. While chatting over dinner, I explained to her how I had noticed a subtle shift in conversations with friends, a certain kind of withholding on their part. Some would start to say something about some sort of frustration or pain in their own life, but then apologize and say, "Sorry, I'm complaining, but I know it's nothing compared to what you're going through." It always made me sad, watching this self-censuring in action.

Emily immediately started laughing, somewhat incredulously, and uttered something that I thought was so profound and has lingered in my head ever since. "This is not the suffering Olympics here, people," she said.

Which is to say no one is handing out gold medals to those who are experiencing the worst life has to offer, including me. Whatever you're experiencing is valid in and of itself, and not because it may or may not pale in comparison to the perceived severity of my own experience. No one gets to stand on a podium at the end of this thing called life and raise a fist in victory at having the suckiest life out of everyone they know. If that's the case, then Jesus is the only one left standing on the podium at the end of it all, and instead of a gold medal, he's getting a crown. 

And yet, that's how we subconsciously move through life, comparing our own pain and suffering to those around us. That can have value at times because it grants us perspective, but when we are always looking through that lens, it becomes counterproductive because we start to decide that if we can't share our pain because it's not as bad as someone else's then that also means we need to start opting out of sharing our joy. If you opt out of one, then you need to opt out of both. Which just leaves you locked in silence because most of life is marked by one of those two things.

Yes, my life super sucks right now on so many levels, but there will always be someone who has it better, and someone who has it worse. I came across this quote shortly before all this mayhem started, and I think it offers up a good reminder:

“I am washing my face before bed while a country is on fire. It feels dumb to wash my face, and dumb not to. It has never been this way, and it has always been this way. Someone has always clinked a cocktail glass in one hemisphere as someone loses a home in another while someone falls in love in the same apartment building where someone grieves. The fact that suffering, mundanity, and beauty coincide is unbearable and remarkable.” - Mari Andrew

This is both an unbearable and remarkable life, but what it most certainly is not is the suffering Olympics. That's a gold medal nobody wants to win. Trust me. 

So, to my friends: don't withhold from me whatever pain or frustration you may be experiencing, no matter how seemingly mundane. It still matters. My pain doesn't nullify yours. My current version of suckiness doesn't invalidate yours. And don't withhold your joy either.

_________________

Functional updates

I'll try to carve out space in each post to provide updates on where I am in the process. So, if you're just here for the nuts and bolts, in the future you can slide straight here to the bottom and skip my idle wanderings above.

I’m seemingly no longer having the episodes that I had last week, thankfully. I did have a follow-up appointment with my neuro-oncologist earlier this week, and he’s going to put me on a different seizure medication because he thinks my original one was causing a depression as a side effect, which I would agree with. Last week felt like such a black hole mentally. I really struggled to keep everything on the rails. So for the moment, I’m transitioning from one medication to the other, which is going to be about a three week process to wean off one and load up on the other. 

I started rehab last week, which has been okay. It includes occupational therapy, physical therapy, and speech therapy. I have it a couple times a week, typically all in one visit, with back-to-back 45 minute visits per provider. It makes for a long day on those days.

I also got my staples out, which feels good to have those gone.The other good thing is is that it appears as though I won’t need the second surgery, thankfully. I was not a fan at all of the idea the awake craniotomy, but the surgeon thinks it’s not warranted because of the success he had with the first surgery, and because we would face even more risk that we would do permanent damage to my motor control. So, the next step is to finish rehab, which goes until the end of June, and simultaneously we'll also start mapping out chemo and radiation plans. I told the oncologist, though, that I would like to summit Everest and return to basecamp before I have to turn around and summit Everest again. I want to get through rehab and give my body as much time as possible to rebound before I have to trudge back up the mountain. One thing at a time. One day at a time. keep the prayers coming. My left arm is still getting a one-star Yelp review.