Re-cov-er-ie: even the four syllables and the alternating hard-sounding consonants and soft end of the word suggest the convoluting journey till the end.
It's true when they tell you that it's not a straight road- but an uphill one full of tiny stones along the way. It's true when they tell you that if you're not careful, you could slide down, back to the beginning, and it could seem like you never started out in the first place. It's true when they tell you that you never know what to expect, that you can't plan your own timeline, that every step is a step of faith.
We see that in hospitalised patients all the time. Every patient wants a concrete date of discharge, wants to know the day they'll get well, or die. But nobody knows, and not even the best doctor can be sure.
Re-cov-er-ie. The convoluting juurney till the end. And the only way we'll ever make it through is by being honest with one's journey, one's progress. Too many patients want to discharge themselves- they tell you they feel perfectly fine even though test results shout otherwise. So many of us are trapped in denial, and dishonesty could perhaps be the greatest hindrance to Recovering well.
I met an old lady yesterday. I was told by my professor from the breast oncology department to go speak with her to learn more about her condition. Breast Cancer- one of the deadliest cancers which affect women today.
I tried to be most gentle with her. Mdm Z was an old, frail lady, and she lay on her bed listening to an old radio playing the latest Malay hits. I greeted her in malay and her eyes lit up immediately. Being able to converse in malay is something I thank God every day for.
"Apa kabar, macik? (How are you, Auntie?)"
Her lifeless, sallow face broke out into a smile. " Baik, doktor. Terima Kasih. (I'm well, doctor. Thank you."
"Saya tidak doktor. Lagi bachar! (I'm no doctor, I'm just a medical student!)." We both laugh.
"Manah yang sakit? Kenapa mari hospital? (Where do you hurt, why did you come to the hospital?)"
It was then that a darkness swept over her. It was as if a fog came over her eyes, and her countenance fell. There was no anger, no sorrow even, just a faraway look of bewilderment. A poignant moment, thick with amnesia, hung in the air. Her eyes travelled to the ceiling, searched the walls, and then finally rested on my face.
"Saya... lupah... (I... forgot.)"
It was impossible. She had had a masectomy a while ago, and her wound was sorely infected. She must have been in pain. But she said she was fine, perfectly fine.
Denial- our last resort when our greatest efforts to keep ourselves sane and hopeful fail.
Why are they keeping me here, she asked me in malay. Her eyes looked into the distance. To all my other questions, she merely stared squarely at me, smiled weakly and said, "Saya lupah. (I forgot)."
As I leaned over her to ask about her son, the only one topic which seemed to interest her, she looked into my face intently, held my chin gently and said in english... "You... so sweet your smile."
And I lost her again.
Possibly the hardest thing to remember, is that Honesty is the key to Recovery. It's most important, because being honest with yourself ensures you stay on track, and hardest, because it can be so difficult to share, so difficult to accept, especially when things have been either too tragic to bear or going swimmingly well. In tragedy, the pain is excruciating and alienating, to hard to face. In making progress, everyone's congratulating you, you're waving your own coloured flag, and there's a banner flown in the sky with your name on it, above a cheering crowd with bright pom-poms shouting your name... and you can't bear to tell those who love you that you've hit another rock in the road, and that you need some time, some space to find your way around it. It's not that you've given up, it's not even that you've messed up big time, but it's just the way things are with Recovery.
Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, but falling doesn't mean failing. Not everyone understands that. And so, being honest can be difficult. It's easier to say, I don't know where I'm at. I've given up. Or simply, I forgot.
Saya lupah.
Recovery is not a full-stop. It is an everyday commitment. Every day is a fresh start, and one awakes with a fresh commitment to be an overcomer.
Ed has been far away for a long time. The Professional People helped to put him and Ele behind bars. Over the weekend, however, I saw an article in the papers about an animal breaking loose from the zoo, and I saw Ele, right there on the front page. I went swimming last week, and she came along into the pool right with me.
Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, and it can be discouraging.
In life, why do we fall in the same place twice?
Once, someone shared with me that she wanted to give up because it was too hard, because it's been going on far too long falling down in the same places over and over, because she couldn't see the end. But I said that each time we fall, things are different. Every time we fall, we fall differently, with the experience from the previous one to help make the climbing up easier, more manageable- and we become stronger, yes.
Being honest is the first step, and the bravest one. The discouragement of a little fall can be enough to floor you, especially when it happens the second, third, eleventh time. But much is lost when we deny the truth and hide behind the shadows of self-soothing.
I interviewed another young lady today who found out three years ago that she had breast cancer. She was in her twenties then. She never smoked, never drank. She had no family history of cancers, no predisposing factors. She was young, pretty even. She was about to marry her college sweetheart.
Angry, traumatised and fiercely in denial, she wanted nothing done. You got the test results wrong! she had told the doctors. Three years later, now, her cancer has spread to her lungs, spine and legs.
The truth then, was too hard to bear. It was easier not to face the truth, easier not to be honest with oneself.
Life can be harsh, even to the best and kindest of people. But it takes a true believer, to grit his teeth and believe that God allowed it and is in control, that He is fair and just, and that He understands, will see us through- again, yes again, all the way to the end.
In Recovery from anything- loss, disppointment, grief, or even in the process of self-improvement, Honesty really is the best policy. It tells you where you came from, where you stumbled, and where you think you're going. A year back, before Therapy, I told myself and the world I was well. Yeah, I got better by myself reading books. Denial made life easier to cope with, it's easier to say I... forgot... forgot everything like a bad dream and I'm okay now. And we forget, that bad dreams can be recurrent, and unless we solve our problems, our nightmares haunt us forever.
So it's okay, I think, to share that I saw Ele again in a red-and-white striped swimsuit in the swimming pool last week, with a yellow float. Pride makes it hard to acknowledge, but I can accept that because Honesty... really is the best policy. It may not be the most pleasant thing to do- but it gives us the truth, helps us and others to help ourselves, keeps us on track.
Because on the day I am completely well, I want to say that I walked through the road of Recovery well and bravely, want to know that I stayed real through it all, want to remember all the times and places where I fell so that I could share it with others, help them help themselves too.
I want to be honest so that I can look ahead to a better destination. I want to be honest so that I can look back and remember these precious moments, and use them to help others, too. I want to be honest so that you see that Recovery isn't as straightforward as most think it is, that you're not alone and that being Honest in fact brings us closer to Being Well.
And at the end of the day, I want to be able to hold my head high and say that I remembered every battle fought and won. And that through it all, God never forsook me. Anger, denial, grief and guilt, He was with me through the deepest of valleys.
Honesty- it is the harder but braver choice. It is the best policy.
And on the day of victory, I want my eyes to be full of the light of hope and triumph, of gratitude and joy, and not the faraway bewilderment of loss, confusion and amnesia. I don't want to say... Saya lupah.
I will say Saya ingat. I remembered every bit of it.
And Victory, with the remembrance of the full journey reaching it, because of one's honesty to face every little obstacle, will be all the more sweeter then.
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