The Coriolis Effect

My friend George Beier is a really wonderful guy. Smart, quick witted and funny, he is also financially successful, and cute as a bug's ear. 

George has written to me to tell me, that although he loves my blog, I am mostly wrong about things. According to George, "You Light Up My Life" is one of the greatest songs ever written. I have no problem there - once again, he's just showing how bad taste knows no boundaries.

But George also says that self-help books are wonderful, and he devours them. In his last note to me, he was encouraging me to write one.

I know that I'm a little early in my exploration of Chemoworld to publish my own Baedeker on the place, but I have already been making notes on what I am learning from this experience. Maybe this is installment one. 

My first chapter will be about "What Not To Say To People In Chemoworld." Unfortunately, I have already gathered a lot of examples. Here are several of my favorite wrong comments, all from well-meaning and wonderful people. I don't post these to shame anyone, so I'm not saying who said these. But hopefully, this little bit of my own Chemoworld Baedeker will be helpful to people who meet other travelers in my country.

Ready? Here goes.

"This is such horrible news, Dmitri. We have lost friends before, and now we are starting to lose more. It's really hard to face more loss."

Why Is This Wrong: This is one of those comments that makes me immediately check my pulse, wondering if maybe I am already dead and no one has bothered to tell me. The message this gives me is "Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Have Entered Here."  Reading this line made me feel that maybe it was time to just lie down in a box instead of a bed, and skip the middle man.

As you'll note from several other comments: it has really nothing to do with me. People get so absorbed in their own reactions and experience, and so they express how hard it is for them. What exactly am I supposed to say: "I'm so sorry I got Stage Four Cancer and upset you"?

What Would Be Better: How about "I am so sorry to hear that you're going through this Dmitri, but I have to believe that you are a strong and determined person, and that you will get through. I'm here for you." Really, was that so hard?

On to the next one:

[After telling everyone that my energy levels are practically non-existent] "When is the next Chemo? How are you feeling? Can you eat? Are you able to get out and exercise?" [40 questions later, and I finally texted and said, "I can't keep texting, just read the blog" and I got this response] "Oh, I read the blog. I just wanted to feel more special than your other friends and get the information straight from you."

Why This Is Wrong: This can't be too difficult to figure out, can it? I have tried to explain how difficult texting feels to me: finding my phone, picking it up, unlocking it, opening the text, reading it, then responding. Invariably, after I do all that, I set the phone down, and just after it automatically re-locks, I get a follow up text. I can do that once, maybe twice. Then I'm exhausted.

What Would Be Better: Hmm, how about getting a freaking clue? I don't know about other people here, but when I tell someone I am completely exhausted, it doesn't mean I'm taking a little nap before my next rollerblading lesson. It means I am exhausted: cannot lift my head, cannot concentrate, cannot even form words correctly. Is "get a freaking clue" too harsh? How about follow my lead? Believe me when I tell you something? Back the fuck off? 

Here is a great text I got early on:

"I love you love you love you love you love you LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU YOU YOU YOU YOU I love you so much!!"

Why This Is Wrong: I know, many people will think "what a sweet message!" and I know the person who sent it, who I adore and who  is the kindest person around, did not mean anything by this except the words.

But what is the message the words convey? If this were how we texted each other every day, it would be one thing - but in fact, although we say we love each other, we don't go all cuckoo-faz and nonny on each other like this. We basically have good chats, and always express our caring.

What a text like this tell me is, "You are dying, and I gotta say 'I love you' as much as I can now before you are gone." Once again, it's really not a message I need to hear. The more of an outpouring there is, the bigger risk that the outpouring becomes the basis for the eulogy. I'd rather everyone wait to write eulogies until I don't have to spend my time listening to them.

What Would Be Better: "I love you, glad you are having a better day [or "sorry it has been a rough day"], talk to you tomorrow. I really like the "talk to you tomorrow" part. It assumes I'll be here tomorrow. Which is definitely on my to-do list.

Try this one:

"Have you considered leaving your estate to Hampshire College? They could certainly use the funds, and they would probably name a building after you."

Why This Is Wrong: Yet again, another assumption that the end is near and I better think about my legacy. Despite the fact that I feel like my legacy is firmly established (raising two great kids, restoring a dozen houses, moving old houses to save, them, building the Ed Roberts Campus, my work at CforAT, etc etc.) I was a bit amazed that this person actually thought this would be something I would even consider. Hampshire College? Seriously? I did get my MRS Degree there when I met Tom, but I hardly think that entitles them to having me cut my family out of my will and give them everything, just so some building in Western Massachusetts can bear my name. 

What Would Have Been Better: I'd say "pretty much anything" but one never knows. In the note I sent back, I told this person that, in face, I wasn't planning on any disbursement of my estate any time in the near future. Once I get home from Chemoworld, I hope to move the Hercules House, reassemble the Kenney Cottage, and maybe even retire and spend some time enjoying my family. 

Another example:

[On commenting to a friend that I have heard the second chemo is usually much better tolerated than the first] "Ooo, no no no, just you wait!"

Why This Is Wrong: The person who said this has medical experience, which I find is always death to the ability to be helpful. I know several people who are/were "medical professionals" and they tend to always think they know better. The medical advice this person has given in the past has often been right, and also has been wrong.

The real question here is, why would you even say that?? If I am getting through the days by deluding myself that things will be easier, why do you feel the need to take that away from me? One of the common aspects I have found in the people I know who are medical hangers-on: they often pick up a lot of information. They pretty much NEVER pick up bedside manner. 

What Would Be Better: "I've heard that is often true, I hope it is in your case." What, does that feel like lying? Then lie to me, baby. Have you actually heard that every single person feels worse after the second chemo ad that I am doomed to suffer miserably? Or is it in fact true that there are a range of responses? My doctor, head of oncology at Kaiser, seems to feel it could go either way. I guess your extensive training in being a busybody trumps her years of school and working directly with people who have cancer.

One last one:

[No Comment at All]

Why This Is Wrong: I've known you for more than half your life, we've done many things together, you have traveled with my family - and you can't think of anything to say? Or, it's "too hard" to come up with the right thing to say?

I recognize that for many people, especially young people, serious illness is scary, and people are often afraid of saying the wrong thing. As a young gay man in San Francisco in the early 1980s, my community learned to get over ourselves on this one, and to say what needs to be said. We were the only ones taking care of each other, so we had to step up - there were no other options. 

But trust me: even the wrong thing is better than nothing.Saying the wrong thing suggests, "I care about you but I'm not thinking to clearly about what I'm saying." Saying nothing implies, "I don't really care."

So yeah, if you really don't care, by all means, don't say anything. It's always a good way of getting a check in as to where one stands with the people in their lives. But there are things that are easy to say.

What Would Be Better: Here is a simple list of things that could be easily written on a card, sent via text or even said directly to the person:

"I'm thinking about you and hope you feel better soon."

"Do you need anything that I could get you?"

I'm here any time you need me."

"I'm sorry this is happening - keep me posted and know that I do love you."

Trust me, all of those would be better than radio silence.

So all that remains here is, "Why is this blog entry called 'The Coriolis Effect'?"

I've always thought the whole Coriolis Force was interesting, and the myth that surrounds it fascinates me. As you may know, the Coriolis effect says that, when a toilet or basin is flushed in the Northern Hemisphere, the water will turn counterclockwise, but in the Southern Hemisphere, it will turn clockwise.  I remember as a kid, watching an episode of "Lost in Space", and the Robinsons, with Major West driving the chariot, get caught in a whirlpool. My brother said, "They are obviously still in the Southern Hemisphere" and then explained that, since the water was turning clockwise, it meant they were still in the south (where they had fled to avoid the extreme cold."

But the reality is: the Coriolis Effect has no impact on this. In a controlled experiment, with everything being exactly controlled, it is possible to demonstrate the Coriolis Effect using a whirlpool. But actually, the shape of the container will easily override the Coriolis Effect. I remember hearing these great stories as a kid, about how builders from the US had planned to build buildings in the Southern Hemisphere, only to find the plumbing destroyed because they assumed the water would turn one way, and instead it turned the other. Fun story, but totally untrue: if you buy two identical toilets, and install one in San Francisco and one in Rio, they will both flush exactly the same way.

But I digress.

I've been thinking about the Coriolis Effect because my life feels controlled by it at present. In the morning, I get up and go for Chemo Round Two, and it definitely feels like I'm getting tossed into the whirlpool again. Maybe it's not a toilet, but its dizzying and overwhelming. I expect to be out of it for several days, and for my already lacking energy levels to take yet another hit.

But I'm trying to change my attitude. I'm here visiting this weird land, and I want to experience what it has to offer. Total exhaustion is not fun, but are there lessons I can learn? Will I be getting more information to write my own Baedeker on this strange land? What are the experiences I can have that might help others, might help people understand what it like, or help those entering Chemoworld get ready for what might be coming?

I have been having a certain amount of self pity, a quality I really loathe when I see it in myself. So I'm trying to change my approach. As the historian Charles Austin Beard said, "When it's dark enough, you can see the stars." 

So I am descending back into the vortex tomorrow morning, and I know it is going to be rough. But hopefully, in the darkness of my own Chemoworld experience, I will be able to see the stars.