The Schopenhauer Cure(32)
Groups require time to develop stability and trust. Often a new group will spin off members who are unable, for reasons of either motivation or ability, to engage in the group task (that is, interacting with other members and analyzing that interaction). Then it may go through weeks of uneasy conflict as members jockey for position of power, centrality, and influence, but eventually, as trust develops, the healing atmosphere grows in strength. His colleague, Scott, had once likened a therapy group to a bridge built in battle. Many casualties (that is, dropouts) had to be taken during the early formative stage, but once the bridge was built it conveyed many people—the remaining original members and all those who subsequently joined the group—to a better place.
Julius had written professional articles about the various ways that therapy groups helped patients, but he always had difficulty in finding the language to describe the truly crucial ingredient: the group’s healing ambience. In one article he likened it to dermatological treatments of severe skin lesions in which the patient was immersed into soothing oatmeal baths.
One of the major side benefits of leading a group—a fact never stated in the professional literature—is that a potent therapy group often heals the therapist as well as the patients. Though Julius had often experienced personal relief after a meeting, he never was certain of the precise mechanism. Was it simply a result of forgetting himself for ninety minutes, or of the altruistic act of therapy, or of enjoying his own expertise, feeling proud of his abilities, and enjoying the high regard of others? All of the above? Julius gave up trying to be precise and for the past few years accepted the folksy explanation of simply dipping into the healing waters of the group.
Going public with his melanoma to his therapy group seemed a momentous act. It was one thing, he thought, to be open with family, friends, and all the other folks residing backstage, but quite another to unmask himself to his primary audience, to that select group for whom he had been healer, doctor, priest, and shaman. It was an irreversible step, an admission that he was superannuated, a public confession that his life no longer spiraled upward toward a bigger, brighter future.
Julius had been thinking a good bit of the missing member, Pam, now traveling and not due to return for a month. He regretted she would not be there today for his disclosure. For him, she was the key member of the group, always a comforting, healing presence for others—and for him as well. And he felt chagrined by the fact that the group had not been able to help with her extreme rage and obsessional thinking about her husband and an ex-lover and that Pam, in desperation, had sought help at a Buddhist meditation retreat in India.
And so, heaving and churning with all these feelings, Julius entered the group room at four-thirty that afternoon. The members were already seated and poring over sheets of paper which were whisked out of sight when Julius entered.
Odd, he thought. Was he late? He took a quick look at his watch. Nope, four-thirty on the dot. He put it out of mind and began the recitation of his prepared statement.
“Well, let’s get started. As you know, I never make a practice of starting the meeting, but today’s an exception because there’s something I need to get off my chest, something that’s hard for me to say. So here goes.
“About a month ago I learned that I have a serious, I’ll be frank, more than serious—a life-threatening form of skin cancer, malignant melanoma. I thought I was in good health; this turned up at a recent routine physical exam….”
Julius stopped. Something was off kilter: The members’ facial expression and nonverbal language weren’t right. Their posture was wrong. They should have been turned toward him; focusing on him; instead no one fully faced him, no one met his gaze, all eyes were averted, unfocused, except for Rebecca, who covertly studied the sheet of paper in her lap.
“What’s happening?” asked Julius. “I feel like I’m not making contact. You all seem preoccupied with something else today. And, Rebecca, what is it that you’re reading?”
Rebecca immediately folded the paper, buried it in her purse, and avoided Julius’s gaze. Everyone sat quietly until Tony broke the silence.
“Well, I gotta talk. I can’t talk for Rebecca but I’ll talk for myself. My problem when you were speaking was that I already know what you’re going to tell us about your…health. So it was hard to look at you and pretend I was hearing something new. And yet I just couldn’t interrupt you to tell you that I knew it already.”
“How? What do you mean you knew what I was going to say? What in hell is going on today?”
“Julius, I’m sorry, let me explain,” said Gill. “I mean, in a way I’m to blame. After the last meeting I was still frazzled and not clear about when or whether to go home or where to sleep that night. I really put pressure on everyone to come to the coffee shop, where we continued the meeting.”
“Yeah? And?” Julius coaxed, moving his hand in a small circle as though conducting an orchestra.
“Well, Philip told us what the score was. You know—about your health and about the malignant myeloma—”
“Melanoma,” Philip softly interjected.
Gill glanced at the paper in his hand. “Right, melanoma. Thanks, Philip. Keep doing that. I get mixed up.”
“Multiple myeloma is a cancer of the bone,” said Philip. “Melanoma is a cancer of the skin, think of melanin, pigment, skin coloring—”