In my wildest imagination, I never dreamed of helping someone kick cancer over
phone!One evening in 1985, telephone rang. It was my brother John who lived in Washington, D.C. A call from my elder sibling was highly unusual. A year my senior, John hadn't connected with me for several years. It wasn't that we disliked each other; we loved one another. We simply didn't have much in common and, therefore, little to talk about. He was a big city, government lawyer, married with a family. I was an ex-hippie acupuncturist living single life in Boston.
When I answered telephone, it took me a moment to recognize my brother's voice. John was crying profusely, his voice conveying a feeling of terror and extreme loss. I'd never heard my brother in this condition. He was ordinarily a bastion of macho strength and bravado.
"John? What's wrong? What's happened? The boys? Sharon? Did something happen to Mom?"
"I'm dying, Keith," John choked out between sobs.
My brother had developed a cancerous tumor size of a golf ball in center of his brain stem. Most of left side of his body was already paralyzed. Within a few weeks doctors said paralysis would reach his heart. At that point, he'd die.
I was stunned. "Can't they operate or something? Did you get a second opinion?"
The answer was no, they couldn't operate because of size and location of tumor. Yes, he'd seen a slew of doctors. All cancer specialists he consulted concurred: because of location and size of tumor, his condition was beyond help through surgery, radiation or chemotherapy. There was nothing medical science could do. My brother had approximately three weeks to live. John had been sent home to die. His wife Sharon and our mother were immobilized with grief and anxiety.
"What can I do, John?"
"Nothing, Keith. I just need to talk to someone. I've tried to talk to Sharon and Mom. Every time I do, they just break down and cry. The doctors can't help me, so they don't want any further contact with me. My friends, well, they don't know what to say, so they avoid me. I just need someone to talk to, Keith. Will you talk to me?"
John had never asked me for any kind of assistance our whole lives. He was big brother who always had everything together. I was younger brother, nonconformist who espoused strange philosophies, made weird career choices and had all societal problems. Talk to him? Of course I would talk to him! I was willing to do anything I could for him. I immediately offered to catch next plane to Washington.
"No, that's not what I need, Keith. There's nothing you can do for me here. I just want to talk to someone."
"Okay, John," I answered.
We conversed for over two hours first night. I quickly realized that despite my accumulation of so many varied, alternative healing techniques, nothing in my bag of tricks could help my brother. It was too late to try acupuncture, macrobiotics, yoga or rebirthing. The cancer was too far advanced. He was paralyzed. He was being fed intravenously. It was too late to change his diet or lifestyle. I'd never felt so helpless.
What use is all my healing knowledge, I asked myself, if I can't help my own brother in a life and death crisis?
Again, I offered to fly to Washington. Again, he refused. He simply wanted someone to listen to him and be with him right where he was-in pain, fear and despair. He didn't want to be alone in his terror. Death was stealthily approaching, and my brother had surrendered to inevitable. He asked me to make sure his two young sons had a strong male presence to support them as they grew up. Although barely staying afloat in ocean of life's emotional challenges myself, I assured him I'd be there as a caring and reliable father figure for his sons. When we hung up, I was emotionally drained.
John called next evening and, within minutes, again began crying and expressing his fears. I listened helplessly, offering suggestions based on my beliefs and experience as honestly as I could without causing him even more pain. After he spent himself and broke off connection, I meditated late into night searching for some way to help this man who was such an integral part of me. The answer I received didn't seem appropriate, but I was determined to trust my inner coach. It had never let me down before.
When telephone rang next evening, I listened to his already familiar litany of fears and angry tirades. Finally, taking a quivering breath, I put to him question my inner coach had suggested, "John, do you want to die?"
