The inevitability of pain
Nov. 1st, 2007 10:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chronicpaintFurther to this week's quote, I wanted to write down some of the things that have been going through my head since I heard about Anna's sister, Heidi, the other day. No one who knows me will be surprised to know that I've been thinking about it a lot. Hell, even Marriedman, who's only met me once, told me I was the type to "always think six hours into the future". I've always taken the expression "And unexamined life is not worth living" to absurd new heights.
So, it makes sense that this situation has made me think. About the nature of pain and tragedy. About the line that separates them from our everyday life. Or doesn't, as the case may be.
I've noticed when people are faced with this kind of horrible situation, for the first time, or even multiple times for some people, there's often a feeling of "why me?" "why did this happen?"
I remember back after my first bout or two with cancer, I was home visiting my parents and CBC radio was on in the background. We were listening to a story about a woman who had a daughter who had been born with severe birth defects, who had gone through multiple surgeries and required constant care. The woman said something that has always stayed with me, as it illustrated how I felt, how I still feel. "Why did this happen? Because it did. Why me? Why not?"
Until we are confronted with something like this, I think the natural human reaction is to be surprised that terrible things happen to good people, that we endure tragedies that we "don't deserve". But once that line is crossed, it becomes a whole lot harder to hold onto the illusion that life is somehow fair. Life for all it's beauty, is also horrific and brutal. The universe is an unfeeling place sometimes, apathetic to our pain.
Some people cling to their notions even in the face of new tragedies. I remember when my mother died, my sisters saying things like "it's too soon. It's not fair" and thinking "were you not paying attention back when I had cancer??" I think it's easy to slip back to that mode of thinking, like it's the default position for the switch.
I know from the inside, as someone who has endured a life threatening illness and come out the other side (albeit utterly transformed, in both good and bad ways) I am no longer surprised when tragedy strikes. That default switch can't go back to its old position. When people say "why did this happen?", my brain goes to that new place. "Because it did."
I remember using this analogy in a conversation with the psychiatrist I saw during my treatment. I don't know how many of you saw the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers. There's a scene at the end where the main character is trying to convince the army and the world that the world is in danger, that this awful thing is happening. And no one will believe him. I have felt like that since I had cancer, since my own life hung in the balance and I had to deal with the aftermath. I had this knowledge, this understanding of this dire truth that hid under the surface of our modern lives. And hardly anyone understood. Even those who claimed to understand, who should have known it was true, seemed to lose that knowledge when confronted, brutally, with it in their own lives.
We cannot avoid these car swerving off the road moments when our lives are suddenly not in our control any more. When the fates roll snake-eyes for us. We can only hold on until the car stops moving, then deal with what comes next. It is the response, the actions we take in that aftermath, that define the situation.
All of which is easy for me to say. When these situations strike, the pain is real. And my heart goes to Anna and Heidi. I have offered my hand to them. If there is anything I can do, I will do it. In the face of this, it's all I can do. But, deep down, I still have that kernel of knowledge, that dark understanding.
Why them? Why not?
So, it makes sense that this situation has made me think. About the nature of pain and tragedy. About the line that separates them from our everyday life. Or doesn't, as the case may be.
I've noticed when people are faced with this kind of horrible situation, for the first time, or even multiple times for some people, there's often a feeling of "why me?" "why did this happen?"
I remember back after my first bout or two with cancer, I was home visiting my parents and CBC radio was on in the background. We were listening to a story about a woman who had a daughter who had been born with severe birth defects, who had gone through multiple surgeries and required constant care. The woman said something that has always stayed with me, as it illustrated how I felt, how I still feel. "Why did this happen? Because it did. Why me? Why not?"
Until we are confronted with something like this, I think the natural human reaction is to be surprised that terrible things happen to good people, that we endure tragedies that we "don't deserve". But once that line is crossed, it becomes a whole lot harder to hold onto the illusion that life is somehow fair. Life for all it's beauty, is also horrific and brutal. The universe is an unfeeling place sometimes, apathetic to our pain.
Some people cling to their notions even in the face of new tragedies. I remember when my mother died, my sisters saying things like "it's too soon. It's not fair" and thinking "were you not paying attention back when I had cancer??" I think it's easy to slip back to that mode of thinking, like it's the default position for the switch.
I know from the inside, as someone who has endured a life threatening illness and come out the other side (albeit utterly transformed, in both good and bad ways) I am no longer surprised when tragedy strikes. That default switch can't go back to its old position. When people say "why did this happen?", my brain goes to that new place. "Because it did."
I remember using this analogy in a conversation with the psychiatrist I saw during my treatment. I don't know how many of you saw the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers. There's a scene at the end where the main character is trying to convince the army and the world that the world is in danger, that this awful thing is happening. And no one will believe him. I have felt like that since I had cancer, since my own life hung in the balance and I had to deal with the aftermath. I had this knowledge, this understanding of this dire truth that hid under the surface of our modern lives. And hardly anyone understood. Even those who claimed to understand, who should have known it was true, seemed to lose that knowledge when confronted, brutally, with it in their own lives.
We cannot avoid these car swerving off the road moments when our lives are suddenly not in our control any more. When the fates roll snake-eyes for us. We can only hold on until the car stops moving, then deal with what comes next. It is the response, the actions we take in that aftermath, that define the situation.
All of which is easy for me to say. When these situations strike, the pain is real. And my heart goes to Anna and Heidi. I have offered my hand to them. If there is anything I can do, I will do it. In the face of this, it's all I can do. But, deep down, I still have that kernel of knowledge, that dark understanding.
Why them? Why not?