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Dealing With Another Person’s Illness

At the Buddhist Truckstop, I’ve mentioned previously that a number of regular customers are terminally ill. It’s unfortunately not a question of whether they’ll leave this mortal coil because of their illness, but when. While diabetes seems to be a very common ailment amongst our regulars, cancer seems to be a close second, with joint problems next.

Cancer has already taken a few of our regulars over the past couple of years. Right now, one of our regulars, M, a former bobbie (British police officer) and firefighter has been reduced from a hearty, hale, outgoing, adventuresome tall man of senior years to a frail, barely audible wraith. It’s a sad process to see. And while I’ve known people that have suffered illnesses, even been taken by them, this is the first time I’ve witnessed the process, other than in myself and my mother. But while our illness may or may not eventually take us, M’s end has already been proclaimed by his doctor. If his new round of treatments “doesn’t take”, he only has a half-year or so left.

These kinds of pronouncements always bother me, anger me. Who are doctors to say such things? They’re still human. How do they come up with such numbers? On the other hand, the last regular who passed away from cancer left us all in shock. He used to sneak cigarettes in the men’s bathroom. My mother argued up and down that the man didn’t smoke, but deductive reasoning proved that it was his cigarette butt in the toilet. One day, he was having chicken curry and rice at his corner of the counter. Then two weeks passed and we hadn’t seen him.

A regular couple informed us that he had passed away, exactly one week after his doctor gave him one week to live. No one including he himself knew that he had cancer, and by then, it was far too late to do anything. While the couple that had seen him said that he looked awful, when I had seen him last he had looked a hearty, healthy, tall man of at most 38. Except that he was actually in his 60s. Regardless, after his doctor’s verdict, he looked more than his age very quickly.

M, on the other, always looked his debonair 60+ self. But he doesn’t say much any more. He just sits scratching his lottery tickets and talking quietly to himself. In the past, he was extremely outgoing, opinionated, and brash. He constantly annoyed and disagreed with my mother - a very proud, self-sufficient woman who is well-loved by several generations of her customers, and doesn’t take guff from anyone. Even the hoodlums respect her and behave themselves.

As M tells it, my mother banished him from her diner for a year. But he missed her chicken curry and rice so much, he came back and apologized. He still argues with her regularly, but comes back often for chicken curry, lottery tickets, and his favourite brand of cigarettes.

No, this isn’t going to be a rant about “why is a man with cancer smoking”. At least four of our regular customers have cancer and still smoke. From their point of view, they want to enjoy whatever time they have left with the vices that they have had, even if said vices are the source of their illness or not.

Fair enough. I’m no doctor. Not yet anyway. But I’ve learned detachment for the most part, over the last 9 years. So while I may have lectured the same people a decade ago, I don’t feel it’s my place anymore. All I can do is welcome them and learn what I can from any wisdom they may impart to me - which has actually been a fair bit. However at all costs, I treat them like I would anyone who is not ill, including agreeing or disagreeing with them when situations warrant. Not everyone wants to be pitied just because they’re ill. It’s a lesson that I’m glad I actually learned the easy way for once.