Death therapy.

Source: Mathew Schwartz, Unsplash

I’ve been making jokes about death lately. Troy hates it and doesn’t think it’s funny but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I am getting a little amusement out of it. I mean, how often does one get an opportunity to crack a few good ones about their own mortality and have it really resonate with the present moment?

We were out to lunch yesterday with our friends Andy and Sarah when the subject of organ transplants came up. As one might expect the discussion shifted to the tumors in my liver and I explained that because of the cancer I was no longer eligible for a liver transplant. I then followed up with, “I mean, if I were deciding who gets one I’d probably make the same decision too. Better odds with the non-cancer guys.” …I might have crossed a line when I started talking about how I wanted to start my own death pool once I got my prognosis from the oncologist. Too soon?

Death pools and liver transplant jokes aside I’m realizing jokes and levity is how I am managing my emotions during this weird limbo state that Troy and I are both stuck in right now. We’ve cried. Boy have we cried and we have also exhausted nearly every emotion as well as others we never knew we had. I was telling one of my friends the other day that this experience has taught me the difference between crying, sobbing, and weeping; something I previously thought I knew but never really knew in my core until now. We’ve all cried so I don’t think I need to explain that one. I think of a good sob like that meme of Kim Kardashian ugly crying. Sobbing is where you have a hard time catching your breath, snot is running out of your nose, yet you wipe your face with your sleeve and don’t really care because at the end of the day the only thing you really care about is catharsis and that release of energy. Weeping is when you have nothing more to give, you are emotionally exhausted, and water pours effortlessly out of your eyes while you are sitting in your husband’s arms because you feel completely and utterly powerless. Weeping is quiet and eerily beautiful.

I make jokes because I know I have no control. At times in my life where I’ve felt this the only thing that has sustained me has been to turn toward the light and accept this for what it is. I don’t think my behavior is in any way new. I used to crack jokes when I worked in tech and predict bad outcomes resulting from bad decision making. It’s not because I didn’t know how to fix it or didn’t have countless examples of times I tried to fix it, but because at that point even if I tried or got angry about it, it would have made no difference in that environment because they were simply unwilling to listen. Obviously work stress and cancer are on a vastly different spectrum but the common thread is control (or a lack thereof). So I can choose to get angry and fight or deny it or I can embrace it and find opportunities to laugh at the tragic comedy that is our human existence.

I woke up today feeling pretty horrible. I also went to bed feeling like this and was a little bummed to wake up this morning feeling the chronic ache of my abdomen with this annoying fullness and nausea that just won’t go away. It sucks but it also serves as a reminder that this is something I can’t control. I can either wallow in it and stress about feeling like crap, or I simply take today for what it is, accept it, and listen to my body telling me that today probably needs to be a couch day. So as I hunker down and enjoy my Sunday from the couch I look forward to next week and to hopefully getting news about my labs so I can finally get things rolling with the oncologist. Tomorrow is a new day and for today I will continue to find the light wherever I can get it. Even if it means adding a few more death jokes to my repertoire. We’ll see…

-Brynn