Eskişehir, Türkiye
Thursday 21 March 2024
An emotional evening yesterday.
A student, proficient in his Encounter (the name of my school’s oral examination of a Unit), checks his messages on his phone as I search for a time slot wherein I can schedule the engineer’s next appointment..
He begins to cry as he learns that his wife has just been diagnosed with breast cancer.
He is a relatively new student at our school and this evening was the first time I had spoken with him, so I had little previous rapport with the man.
I am a loss for words to comfort him.
I want to say something, anything, that is a positive support to this man in his pain, afraid of losing his soulmate.
He is unashamed of his tears.
He is strong and secure in himself and unconcerned as to whether his reactions to his wife’s diagnosis are witnessed by a man he has just met.
He does not pretend to feel unaffected by this life-changing news.
I give him my contact information should he ever need someone to talk to.
I find myself in awe of his courage to not hold back his feelings, but I am also afraid for him.
Women are, for many men, an emotional sanctuary where a man can fully express himself, but where we differ in our gender-specific struggles is where women strive against the oppression of the world outside themselves, men seek an escape from enemies within themselves.
Where women nurture themselves in groups, many men battle with isolation and loneliness which often goes unexpressed even with the women we love.
The loneliness of men is something women rarely understand.
Too many men pretend a strength they don’t actually feel.
I am in awe of this student who teaches this teacher how to face up to what he is feeling.
He is comfortable enough with me to express the outburst of involuntary anguish that his wife’s message has wrought from him.
I hope that he has male friends who can give him the emotional support and strength he will need to aid his wife in her struggle with merciless cancer.
I am reminded of a story told by the Australian psychologist Steve Biddulph.
Two farmers stand in the dusty yard of a property.
One is a neighbour, come to say goodbye, the other is watching as the last of his furniture is packed onto a truck.
The farm looks bare – stock gone, machinery sold.
Two teenagers stand by the car.
The wife sits inside it, eyes averted.
The two men have farmed alongside each other for 30 years, fought bushfires, driven through the night with injured children, eaten thousands of scones, drunk gallons of black tea and cared for each other’s wives and kids as their own.
They have shared good times and bad.
Now, one is leaving, bankrupt.
He will go to live in the city, where his wife will support them by cleaning motels.
“Well“, says the mate. “I’ll be off then.“
“Yeah“, says the other. “Thanks for coming over.“
“Look us up sometime.“
“Yeah, I reckon.“
And they climb into their vehicles and leave.
And while their wives will correspond for years to come, these men will never exchange words again.
So much unspoken.
So much that would help the healing to take place from this terrible turn of events.
What pain would flow out if one was to say, “Listen, you have been the best mate a bloke could want.” and looked the other straight in the eye as he said it.
Or if they had spent a long evening together with their wives, full of “remember whens” punctuated with tears and easing laughter.
If, instead of standing stiff-armed and choked, they could have had a long strong hug, from which yo draw strength and assurance, as they faced the hardship their futures would bring.
The farmer leaving the land will not find the opportunity for any of these supports, comforts or appreciations.
He will be a massive risk for suicide, alcoholism, cancer or accidents, as he twists up inside to suppress the emotions his body feels.
Biddulph tells another story in contrast.
Years ago, in a large public service department in Hobart, a man in his 40s was given a redundancy notice.
He had been a dedicated, professional worker and his boss did not have the guts to tell him personally.
Instead, out of the blue, this man and a dozen others received a photocopied letter in their mailbox.
The man became irrational and, on the following day, purchased a gun, shredded work documents and greatly alarmed his wife and children.
Several friends conferred about what to do.
They settled on a course of action.
They went to his house, taking food and sleeping bags, and spent the weekend living there, while his wife and children were sent elsewhere.
They rostered themselves so that someone was always awake and with the man – who was too agitated to sleep very much.
By the Sunday afternoon, after much talking, crying and holding, the man thanked his friends for stopping him from “making an idiot” of himself and began to make concrete plans for his future.
The friends stayed in touch and checked that things were in fact going well.
His family came back home a few days later and his life has progressed well.
The friends knew somehow that this was their job – it was a man’s issue.
Male friends can do these things where wives and other women cannot.
Other men know what you are feeling.
Men have issues which do not have a female equivalent.
For example, few women have to live with the knowledge that they could be asked one day to be prepared to kill in the actual horror of battle.
Only other men can help you learn about the ongoing process of being a man.
Controlling one’s feelings is a very valuable part of male make-up, but being able to also let go of those feelings when the time is right is another matter entirely.
Failing to feel leads to a shutdown in the full spectrum of emotions – anger, fear, warmth and love.
Passionate expression is what most men have lost and what they stand to gain.
When someone you love is diagnosed with cancer and you suddenly find yourself in the role of carer, it can be a tremendously difficult time.
Not only will you need to give your loved one emotional support, absorbing their distress as well as managing your own, but you may need to acquire the practical skills of a nurse, as well as a cook, cleaner, accountant, social secretary – indeed all the domestic duties which they cannot manage at this time.
You will find you are called upon to help your loved ones make choices about their treatment, to engage with doctors and play the go-between with concerned relatives and friends.
You may have to deflect or encourage visits depending on how well your loved one is.
And you may find it difficult to tell others when you need a break.
Because who is going to support you, while you are doing all this work, giving all this care and shouldering all these worries?
Looking after someone with cancer is difficult, both practically and emotionally.
To be gentle on yourself as well as your loved one is crucial to the wellbeing of you both.
I hope that the engineer has male friends that can lend him the strength he needs to help his wife fight the disease that unjustly ravages her.
I hope that I can be a good friend to those that need me.
I wrote yesterday that I have begun to wear simply sweaters rather than winter wear as spring is coming.
But last night the weather turned cold.
First there was rain and then there were snow flurries.
A night of unwelcome winter on the eve of spring.
A night of unwelcome news marring the bright promise of tomorrow.
As I trudged home from work, I felt cold and sad.
My sweater belied a warmth and comfort I did not feel.
Sources:
- Manhood, Steve Biddulph
- The Novel Cure, Rachel Joyce