Why Zach isn't telling anyone about his diagnosis
Zelda: Wanna say more about why you're not telling anyone?
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Zach: Why would I wanna do that?
Zelda: To explain.
Zach: I don’t have to explain anything.
Zelda: Stubborn much?
Zach: Pfft.
Zelda: Humor me.
Zach: Fuckit. Fine. I don’t want to tell because it’s just going to cause stress. Them knowing won’t help–there’s nothing they can do.
Zelda: They could pray for you.
Zach: That’s what I’m afraid of. That itself would stress me out.
Zelda: It might help them. Don’t you think your brothers deserve a heads-up–so they can get checked more often?
Zach: They already get checked. Too often, if you ask me.
Zelda: People will find out eventually, right? How will they feel, knowing you kept it from them?
Zach: Not my problem. I don’t want to make it a big deal.
Zelda: I respect that. But it’s cancer. It is kind of a big deal. It’s trying to kill you. You'll be getting all these treatments. People might start to wonder. They'd want to support you, and me too.
Zach: I don’t need that kind of support.
Zelda: Do you think your family and friends would treat you different–or judge you–if they knew?
Zach: It’s not that.
Zelda: What then?
Zach: I just don’t want everybody telling me what they think I should do. And I don’t want them always asking how I’m feeling, either. I love my family. But I just want to be left alone.
It gets tricky, though. Like when a conversation naturally turns to something we did or saw or heard at a doctor’s office. And why were we at the doctor’s office? Oh, I forget...must have been one of Zelda’s appointments (there have been many, and I’m happy to take the fall to keep Zach’s secret). I can play charades.
And honestly, Zach has tolerated the treatments well so far. Sometimes I almost forget he has stage 4 cancer. One doctor even suggested we think of it as a chronic illness, rather than a terminal disease.
And I can do that, on the good days.
But what do I do if (or when) everything goes south? What if Zach takes a turn? Will there come a point where I have to call his parents and explain what’s been going on? How will I know when we reach that point?
Or do I keep Zach's secret ‘til the end?
A couple years ago, my dad got sick. Nobody knew what his problem was, and he didn’t want to go to the hospital to find out. He got worse and worse, and my mom didn’t force him to get help. He just laid on the couch and tried to sleep it away. 3 weeks later, he was dead.
I don’t blame my mom for letting my dad die at home. She respected his wishes: He would have been livid if she took him to the hospital. And he might have died anyway.
So I do respect Zach’s wishes. And unlike my dad, he’s getting treatment. But it’s hard for me, not being able to tell friends and family what’s going on.
Zelda: To explain.
Zach: I don’t have to explain anything.
Zelda: Stubborn much?
Zach: Pfft.
Zelda: Humor me.
Zach: Fuckit. Fine. I don’t want to tell because it’s just going to cause stress. Them knowing won’t help–there’s nothing they can do.
Zelda: They could pray for you.
Zach: That’s what I’m afraid of. That itself would stress me out.
Zelda: It might help them. Don’t you think your brothers deserve a heads-up–so they can get checked more often?
Zach: They already get checked. Too often, if you ask me.
Zelda: People will find out eventually, right? How will they feel, knowing you kept it from them?
Zach: Not my problem. I don’t want to make it a big deal.
Zelda: I respect that. But it’s cancer. It is kind of a big deal. It’s trying to kill you. You'll be getting all these treatments. People might start to wonder. They'd want to support you, and me too.
Zach: I don’t need that kind of support.
Zelda: Do you think your family and friends would treat you different–or judge you–if they knew?
Zach: It’s not that.
Zelda: What then?
Zach: I just don’t want everybody telling me what they think I should do. And I don’t want them always asking how I’m feeling, either. I love my family. But I just want to be left alone.
Zelda: You're ferociously independent.
Zach: You're not wrong.
Zelda: I'll take that. I guess I should consider myself lucky you let me in on it.
Zach: You're not wrong.
Zelda: I'll take that. I guess I should consider myself lucky you let me in on it.
Zach: Damn straight.
Zelda: OK.
*******
Zelda: So we’re going to go as long as possible without telling anyone. We’re a close family, but Zach and I live out of state, and we don’t see our people every day. So keeping a secret like this has been doable so far.
It gets tricky, though. Like when a conversation naturally turns to something we did or saw or heard at a doctor’s office. And why were we at the doctor’s office? Oh, I forget...must have been one of Zelda’s appointments (there have been many, and I’m happy to take the fall to keep Zach’s secret). I can play charades.
And honestly, Zach has tolerated the treatments well so far. Sometimes I almost forget he has stage 4 cancer. One doctor even suggested we think of it as a chronic illness, rather than a terminal disease.
And I can do that, on the good days.
But what do I do if (or when) everything goes south? What if Zach takes a turn? Will there come a point where I have to call his parents and explain what’s been going on? How will I know when we reach that point?
Or do I keep Zach's secret ‘til the end?
A couple years ago, my dad got sick. Nobody knew what his problem was, and he didn’t want to go to the hospital to find out. He got worse and worse, and my mom didn’t force him to get help. He just laid on the couch and tried to sleep it away. 3 weeks later, he was dead.
I don’t blame my mom for letting my dad die at home. She respected his wishes: He would have been livid if she took him to the hospital. And he might have died anyway.
So I do respect Zach’s wishes. And unlike my dad, he’s getting treatment. But it’s hard for me, not being able to tell friends and family what’s going on.
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