Some Thoughts

SPOILER ALERT: This essay will deal with the subject of death. If that offends you, depresses you, or is of no interest, now is the time to bail out. No one will know except you.

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You're probably aware by now that I've had surgery for cancer (of the pancreas) but since no evidence of spread was found during the procedure, and all the lymph nodes removed were free of tumor, my doctor is optimistic. So am I. The surgery was six months ago today (irrespective of when you're reading this, “today” is September 15^th, 2016 and I was operated on on March 15^th) and a CT examination I had earlier this week (because of a continued elevation of a particular blood marker) only demonstrated the presence of a fluid collection at the operative site – a not uncommon event – but no evidence of recurrence. In all likelihood that fluid collection, a seroma, was the cause of the blood abnormality. What could be bad? I'm receiving chemotherapy as a “precautionary” measure but there's no particular finding to follow apart from how I feel, which is fine apart from occasional abdominal pains which aren't new. Actually I'm hungry most of the time.

What follows is something I wrote earlier this week. It will serve as a beginning of a description of my thought processes during the past few months.

Feeling pretty good today. The anxiety has worn off and I'm back to my usual (lack of) serenity. Yesterday's I was dying (literally, I thought) but not today. Not “dying” in the sense that a stand-up comedian might suggest – “I was dying out there” – but in a very physical sense. With the rising Ca 19-9 and the increasing abdominal symptoms [probably psychosomatic] I was convinced that there was a recurrence. The reassurance from the CT has eased my mind. There are still some explanations required, but they're relatively insignificant.

I wrote it earlier this week, the day following the CT – the day my doctor read the report to me. Since a couple of weeks prior to my surgery, starting about the time the diagnosis was originally made, I've been keeping a “diary” of my thoughts about the whole affair. (I've also had separate ideas that I haven't recorded and I'll include them as I relate a summary of the maunderings that appear in the diary.) I may even have expounded on some of them before in this series of essays. Who remembers? Indulge me. I'd do the same for you.

Not surprisingly, a lot of the diary is devoted to thoughts about death. It hasn't really mattered whether I was feeling well at the time or whether my symptoms were obvious – death has always been coloring my thoughts (and, from now on, I guess it always will). It's been difficult to consider anything without giving thought to how my death would affect it. That means that I've wondered about the wisdom of buying new things that I can do without if I'm going to die soon; it means that I keep wondering how everything will work out. I'm convinced that my death will mean a complete separation from all my experiences in this world; that if, in some form of “life” after death, I have any cognition, it will be totally unrelated to my life's contents: I won't have any knowledge of the people I knew or the world in which I lived. It will be a totally unrelated phenomenon, one lacking in awareness of this world. It's not all bad, though. I don't recall large parts of my childhood yet I don't suffer from the lack. And if my understanding of the teachings of my heritage is correct, it will be far more glorious than anything I've ever experienced.

But I've spent more time pondering what concerns me more, which is the possibility of eternal nothingness. If that's the case, however, I'll never know it. And that's what probably bothers me more than any other consideration. I'll never know what people said about me at my funeral – for better or for worse. Some, but not all, will be true. Of course it will all be complimentary – you don't speak ill of the dead. At least not in front of a grieving family and other witnesses. But, as I said, I'll never know.

And, I fear, I'll never know what happened with my children, grandchildren, and the generations that followed, nor what happened to my country and the world situation. And I'll be completely ignorant of the fate of my people. But, of course, I won't be aware of that ignorance or of my lack of knowledge of other matters – of anything at all.

And that's the “rub.” I've always wanted to know how things turn out. What happened next. Sleep has never been a threat because I was always confident I'd wake up afterwards. I'm not especially concerned about nightmares since, for the most part, they haven't been a problem. And dreams provided interesting interludes – diverting nocturnes. I didn't always remember their contents, but, when I awoke, I knew that I had had them and enjoyed myself along the way.

“When I awoke.” That was the key. I was sure that I'd wake up. There was a future. So if I missed something while I was sleeping I could always catch up on it when I awoke. But if the scenario of eternal nothingness is correct there will be no catching up. I'll never know, and I'll never know that I don't know. And I won't care. In fact I won't anything.

I'm not afraid of death. I'm aware that I haven't gone through all of Kubler Ross's stages. Denial of course. I'm perpetually in denial. But no anger, bargaining, or depression. Straight through to acceptance. Of course at my age death is always on the horizon so I've come to accept the idea that, sooner or later, it will come. It's normal. Death is a normal part of life. I'm no different from everyone who preceded me. And, after a while, I'll be forgotten by those who knew me. Those who didn't will have nothing to forget.

And I'll never know what happened next.