Prostate Cancer is the Least of My Problems

 



People ask me how depression feels. I reply with a number of similes, mostly related to metal. It is like wearing medieval chain mail, a lead suit, an iron diving helmet, a set of prisoner restraints. It's physical, heavy, and comprehensive, rising from the calves up over my head. Anxiety is similarly physical, except that it's prickly, like I'm a pin cushion. Or there's a circular saw buzzing down through my head and I'm cross-eyed. Sometimes, it's both at once. Dreadful hopelessness makes me want to die. There's no reason to get out of bed. I just want to go. This has gone on for more than a year and a half. The medication, Effexor, Buspirone, and Gabapentin, has no effect. I sleep only by Trazodone and wake up like a zombie.

 

Aha. How necessary it was to set the scene: radiation treatment for prostate cancer. They say you have to be positive to get through it. You have to want to live. What life do I have and what do I return to with a successful treatment? Prostate Cancer is the least of my problems.

 

My dear son Manny. My dear brother Alan. My sister Judith. My dogs. My uncle Nathan and aunt Ann. My writing and photography. The beach in the summer. Honeycrisp apples. Vietnamese Pho. Rice and Beans, fried plantains, yuca with mojo. The Village Vanguard. The films of Almodovar and Robert Altman. A crisp, sunny day. A yoga class. Cuban music. Pictures of my mother. Conversation. I'm getting tired of the New York Times but I'll list that. All these things go through my head. On any given day they're more or less successful ways to bait me out of complete despair.

 

I have to admit, there's just something about being Jewish. "Like my cardiologist said to me, no matter what happens to us, Job, for example, we always get up." Moses got us out of slavery, and that's pretty bad, like the worst thing that can happen to you. Well, the Romans flayed Rabbi Akiba's skin with steel combs. Later on, there's the crucifixion, but it has the silver lining that you always get resurrected. We don't go for that. There's always a little light no matter how dark it gets. Maybe I'm just scared of weapons. The only Jews thick with guns are the Israelis. That's a lot of Jews with guns. I don't know how many use them on themselves. Maybe there's a hidden epidemic.

 

This is too hard.