LETTER TO MY ONCOLOGIST |
Julia Dobner-Pereira
Dear Doctor _______,
I like to think we have a shared bemused curiosity about each other. It developed slowly, for me at least—at first, I found you far too laid-back to save my life. Your twinkly eyes and broad smile couldn’t possibly belong in the world of CANCER. And, well, at times you possess the emotional clumsiness and constipation that typically comes with your identities. Still, the scar on the back of your bald head made me wonder about the lives you’ve lived.
Over time, you learned I am anxious and I learned you don’t believe in God. “I would tell you to have faith, but then I don’t really believe in that.” Moving through diagnosis and early treatment, I found wells of peace within myself, saw the face of God in every stone and nurse and wave and janitor saving my life. You lingered a little longer when you visited me in the bowels of inpatient overflow, blood dripping from a crimson-soaked bag into my chest, straight to the vena cava. (Hollowed cave of my heart, portal to my ancestors.) A sound bath played through tinny iPhone speakers. “It’s very zen in here,” you said.
I stared into your eyes as fears stampeded through my thoughts (Do I have the rest of my life? Do I have another year? Are my lungs clear? Is this it? Will the next infusion kill me? Will I be a mother?). You never looked away. There’s bravery in being emotionally vulnerable, in looking down as your voice shakes. There’s bravery in staring the truth in the face, persistently and stoic. You hold strong — a solid tree trunk. You told me that on an early airport pick-up you feared a Mack truck obliterating you. “What would my patients do?” There it is; the tree cannot fall.
I ask you big questions because it comforts me to know you better. I really want to know. Are you desensitized to death? “No.” Too confident. Do you cry when your patients die? “Yes, often.” Not always. How? I didn’t ask that part. Maybe I’m wondering if I’m going to die, and if you’ll cry then. Or maybe I know I would cry if you died.
I am twenty years younger on the exam table with you. I force banter down the throat of grief when you need me to. I swallow my own need to share my fears. Can you even imagine me as a psychologist, seeing my own patients, holding their fears and desires for a better life?
I sometimes forget you don’t control my fate, that I can ride the waves of chaos and access my center of deep knowing. This too is a season; a storm and a clearing all at once.
And then the scan comes, and I must hear it from you – not you, you, or you. Only you can soften my armor as I lay down my swords to finally listen: “You are OK. You are going to survive this.” If only you could pull the swords out of my back as I rise, again and again.
Love Warmly,
_______
Julia Dobner-Pereira (she/they) is a psychologist, drama therapist, and artist, writes poetry and prose and creates auto-ethnographic therapeutic theater, most recently about illness as a spiritual portal. Her clinical work and research involve integrating drama therapy with attachment-based interpersonal approaches to therapy, queering psychotherapy, and improving systems to promote trauma-informed, liberated healthcare. Dobner-Pereira loves spending time with her family and extended dear ones, including their diva calico cat, Joni. They also enjoy singing, exploring the natural world, and gathering.