was in fact in pursuit of a fish, a fly fish, I think it was called. The fish, desperate to get away, literally flew out of the water and plopped right in the middle of the deck and started flopping around as if in its panic it would find a way to save its own life. What should we do? We could not save the fish. I suppose we could have moved the boat to another position and then thrown the fish back into the water. But surely, the shark or another predator would have found him in his compromised state. Eventually, one of our guides threw the fish back into the dark ocean, where he was swallowed whole by the shark and the waters soon returned to their usual calm.
I’ve thought about that fish often since. I know that the primordial instincts in him to survive, to save himself, lie within me, too. I know the base desperation he felt. I feel that desperate panic each time I notice my tumors growing again. I’ve seen the same instincts in others facing death. There was that guy who talked about potential clinical trials even as his lungs were about to be drained; he died five days later in the hospital. (In case you were wondering, when tubes need to be inserted to remove unwanted fluid, it is generally a sign that the end is near and that one is not healthy enough for a clinical trial.) Then there are the people in support groups who dole out the stupidest and most thoughtless advice, advice that is reflective of that same base desperate instinct to survive at all cost. To a patient considering stopping all treatments and going into hospice, they often say, “You have to keep going. Giving up is not an option.” One mother, who has since died, after being told by her doctor that she had eighteen months (she died much sooner), said, “Dying is not an option.” I thought to myself then, Really? And then I wondered, as her death became evident even to her, What did she think? Did she continue to think death was not an option? In fact and in reality, death is truly what is inevitable and life is the option.
These statements come from the same group of people who spew asinine assertions about how there is always hope, because look at their situations when they had limited cancer and they made it. But where’s the hope for me and others like me? Where’s the hope for my friend Amy, who just died one year after diagnosis, leaving behind a two-year-old daughter? Where’s the hope for the millions who have died from cancer?
At some point, the reality and inevitability of death must be acknowledged and accepted. People who make such thoughtless statements when faced with death allow their baser instincts to govern; they choose to be more like primordial fish than evolved human beings. These are the people who are so afraid of death they cannot approach it with the dignity and grace that befit an evolved soul.
I may have some of the instincts of that fish, but I am not that fish. We, as human beings, are not that fish. We are evolved. We have reason. We are capable of a thoughtful and meaningful existence that transcends our primal roots, and that is what I aspire to, and I daresay it is what every human being should aspire to. Our best humanity means being able to control our baser instincts, to squelch the panic and fear, to overcome with reason and intellect and compassion and honesty and faith and love.
What also distinguishes us from primordial fish is our ability to choose our fate. Self-will and self-determination are fundamental elements of what it means to be human, elements of ourselves that should be cherished and celebrated. Within certain confines, and even as there is so much beyond our control, you and I get to choose our destinies. And when I, or anyone else, am told that I don’t have an option, that I must act based on some mindless instinct, it takes away from the beauty of my humanity and my individual choice. This applies to any life context, not just cancer. For the person who battles depression and struggles to get up every morning but does so anyhow, I applaud that choice. For the person who battles depression and wants to commit suicide and take his life into his own