Thank you for this beautiful essay, Bill. I'm looking forward to reading your other posts too! I was not much able to write during my three separate cancers. The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual energy required to navigate the Kingdom impaired many of my cognitive/creative pathways for a very long time. But I've been slowly emerging these past years...
Thanks for the kind words, Liza. I'm looking forward to reading your blog.
When I was getting radiation (5 sessions/week * 7 weeks), I couldn't think much; too much pain. All I could do was write what was happening. The essays worked because it was so strange! Immunotherapy and chemotherapy have been easier for me. I must be made of some odd metal, because I have had few side effects other than fatigue.
Thanks Bill! It's so interesting how we all have different ways of being/feeling during this stuff. So sorry you had so much pain with rads. And so lucky that you had few side effects from immuno/chemo. I had horrible side effects from rads (same regimen as you — skin burned off both times... argg) and chemo, as well as surgical complications... as well as all the long term "collateral damage" as the late great Dr Susan Love described it. And nevertheless, here we are...
Sometime ago I was reading one of the many wonderful books by Barry Lopez and he remarked on the importance of fully describing what you see, artfully, accurately and concisely. As I interpret his words, the better we can describe our experience, the more we will more fully live it. I picture him, patiently observing details in a scene he wishes to convey, the changing light as time passes, its effect on the shadows, the colors, the imperceptibility of tiny changes in object and subject, allowing us to know it better. So, the more fully we can live our experience, the better we can describe it and share it. Thank you so much for your courage and tenacity.
How very deeply this resonated with me, Bill, thank you. Throughout my cancer experience, writing has been solve, solution, and salvation. It's the thing that has kept me going by helping my understand that journey from the "Republic of the Healthy" to "the Kingdom of Cancer," and how (I feel) I can transcend both.
"Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. That is, after all, the case. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?"
It's a wonderful quote. The challenge is that if you are not ill, how do you know what it is like to die? Murdoch would say: read Tolstoy, look at van Gogh, listen to Messaien.
>read Tolstoy, look at van Gogh, listen to Messaien.
I have some goals for the week.
Sometimes I imagine reading aloud what I just wrote to a gathered crowd of nursing home residents. And visualize the blank stares, a few eye rolls and maybe a feeble nod of assent.
"When people tell you that your catastrophic diagnosis doesn’t have to be a part of your identity, they are squeezing their eyes shut, sticking their fingers in their ears, and squealing “la la la” in the face of reality."
Thank you for this beautiful essay, Bill. I'm looking forward to reading your other posts too! I was not much able to write during my three separate cancers. The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual energy required to navigate the Kingdom impaired many of my cognitive/creative pathways for a very long time. But I've been slowly emerging these past years...
Thanks for the kind words, Liza. I'm looking forward to reading your blog.
When I was getting radiation (5 sessions/week * 7 weeks), I couldn't think much; too much pain. All I could do was write what was happening. The essays worked because it was so strange! Immunotherapy and chemotherapy have been easier for me. I must be made of some odd metal, because I have had few side effects other than fatigue.
Thanks Bill! It's so interesting how we all have different ways of being/feeling during this stuff. So sorry you had so much pain with rads. And so lucky that you had few side effects from immuno/chemo. I had horrible side effects from rads (same regimen as you — skin burned off both times... argg) and chemo, as well as surgical complications... as well as all the long term "collateral damage" as the late great Dr Susan Love described it. And nevertheless, here we are...
PS: I emailed you :)
Sometime ago I was reading one of the many wonderful books by Barry Lopez and he remarked on the importance of fully describing what you see, artfully, accurately and concisely. As I interpret his words, the better we can describe our experience, the more we will more fully live it. I picture him, patiently observing details in a scene he wishes to convey, the changing light as time passes, its effect on the shadows, the colors, the imperceptibility of tiny changes in object and subject, allowing us to know it better. So, the more fully we can live our experience, the better we can describe it and share it. Thank you so much for your courage and tenacity.
How very deeply this resonated with me, Bill, thank you. Throughout my cancer experience, writing has been solve, solution, and salvation. It's the thing that has kept me going by helping my understand that journey from the "Republic of the Healthy" to "the Kingdom of Cancer," and how (I feel) I can transcend both.
Thank you for those kind words, Barry. I will read your substack with great interest.
"Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. That is, after all, the case. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?"
-Annie Dillard
It's a wonderful quote. The challenge is that if you are not ill, how do you know what it is like to die? Murdoch would say: read Tolstoy, look at van Gogh, listen to Messaien.
>read Tolstoy, look at van Gogh, listen to Messaien.
I have some goals for the week.
Sometimes I imagine reading aloud what I just wrote to a gathered crowd of nursing home residents. And visualize the blank stares, a few eye rolls and maybe a feeble nod of assent.
Hi Liza -- I was just now finishing your great essay on cancer and identity. For others reading this comment, check out who Liza is here: https://www.cancertodaymag.org/cancer-talk/On-Cancer-and-Identity/. Here is a quote:
"When people tell you that your catastrophic diagnosis doesn’t have to be a part of your identity, they are squeezing their eyes shut, sticking their fingers in their ears, and squealing “la la la” in the face of reality."
I couldn't agree more.
Ted, I am a fan of the late Barry Lopez. Do you recall which book this is in?