In Absence of Self-Pity

In Absence of Self-Pity

An Ojai resident, he addressed an attentive audience of forty people, at the Ojai Retreat one mid-May, on the subject of “living on the edge of dying.” In a matter-of-fact tone, punctuated with an enthusiastic chuckle and descriptive gestures, Gordon Farrell buoyantly described how cancer acts as a personal wake-up call. In the latter months of 1988, his busy career as a commercial photographer in San Francisco had brought him to the brim of financial success. He had energetically kept his nose to the Type-A fast track, resting only five hours a night, seven days a week. “At that time, my favorite song was ‘I am a rock; I am an island…’” He was then in his mid-thirties. Now in his late forties, with close-cropped brown hair, and a beard backed by a dimpled grin, his solid body is that of a former high-school football player. “I had always been healthy.” Then came the day when he touched a hard lump in his abdomen. Stopping by for a cursory check at his doctor’s office, he soon found himself in a day-long escalation of pathology tests at the Stanford University medical center. Concluding a CAT scan with biopsies, the diagnosis: cancer in the lymphatic network, which is the body’s defensive tackle. And cancer’s end run: metastasis in pancreas, lung, bone marrow—and the abdominal tumor. Prognosis: too advanced for surgery, chemotherapy or radiation. Time left in the game: three to six months.

It is rare for oncologists to encounter fourth-stage cancer which has been entirely untreated. Gordon’s participation was solicited for a program of experimentation in the interest of medical science. He was informed that he could anticipate a “fifty-fifty chance of survival.” When he mused aloud about this “fifty-fifty chance of surviving cancer,” he was corrected: “No, no. We mean a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the experimental program.” Gordon chose to punt. He notes wryly that the experimental program since floundered, and has been discontinued. Driving home from the research facility, Gordon recalls that he felt no fear, only—to his surprise—a sense of relief. “I no longer had to do all that ambitious stuff anymore.” If there is a reason that he is alive today, it seems to hinge on his first response, which was to squarely face the fact of his impending death; having avoided “denial,” he was positioned to radically alter his customary lifestyle. Retiring to his home state of Oregon, in complete surrender to his present condition, he “began to meditate, in solitude.” There might be a period of weeks when he spoke to no one. Within eighteen months, intense pain preceded spontaneous loss of consciousness, and numerous injurious falls. Gordon learned that if he abandoned resistance to the pain, it could be neutralized; and that if he surrendered to the reality of each moment, discomfort was unlikely to ensue. Such awareness requires attention: each fumble provided a reminder. At one point, the abdominal tumor—which girdles his aortic artery—clenched, provoking a nearfatal experience. “Friends who visited were soon leaving in tears.”

He found himself in contact with a parade of people who had either experienced cancer or were knowledgeable about alternative therapies. The touch of each person served to further open his heart, and to replenish his healing energies. “I would not be here, if it were not for these friends.” Four years after moving to Oregon, he returned to California. “I’ve had no pancreatic pain in nearly four years. The bone marrow pain is gone. The lung cancer has become encapsulated. And though some of the lymph tumors have grown, some have diminished.” The abdominal tumor is still present to the touch, and still harnesses the aortic artery. Though the only day he spent in medical school was his day in the Stanford facility, he says with conviction, “The number one reason why people die from cancer is fear.” He is not opposed to allopathic treatment: but as a possible last resort, not first. “Though I have respect for doctors, they treat the symptoms, not the cause.” He adds, “Everyone has cancerous cells in the body, at any point in time.” In any case, “every one of us is terminal!” Terminal illness, he observes, “can bring our attention to the present moment.” Further, “Pain itself can be a gateway. I’ve had a lot of experience with it, and I have been helped by it. Pain can be the guide to a return to wholeness.” Ending his talk with a discussion with the audience, a 60-year-old woman remarked that although she’s had breast cancer, she has rejected mastectomy. “And I want to corroborate what you’ve said. Cancer has been a powerful teacher for me. Eight years ago, my life became dramatically

better because of my cancer. And if I have only one more year, I have now learned to live one day at a time!” Denouement: Prior to the occasion of giving another talk, Gordon wrenched a muscle in his back while riding his horse. Contrary to his better judgment, he resorted to taking pain-killers so that he would not have to cancel the talk. It is this disruption in his alternative-therapy program that he believes caused the abdominal tumor to reinvigorate. He died within a couple of months after that last talk.