The Schopenhauer Cure(33)
“So those sheets are…,” interrupted Julius, gesturing with his hands to invite Gill or Philip to explain.
“Philip downloaded information about your medical condition and prepared a summary, which he handed out just as we entered the room a few minutes ago.” Gill extended his copy toward Julius, who saw the heading: Malignant Melanoma.
Staggered, Julius sat back in his chair. “I…uh…don’t know how to put it…I feel preempted, I feel like I had a big news story to tell you and I’ve been scooped, scooped on my own life story—or death story.” Turning and speaking directly to Philip, Julius said, “Had you any guesses about how I’d feel about that?”
Philip remained impassive, neither replying nor looking at Julius.
“That’s not entirely fair, Julius,” said Rebecca, who removed her barrette, loosened her long black hair, and twisted it into a coil on the top of her head. “He’s not at fault here. First of all, Philip did not, in the worst way, want to go to the coffee shop after the meeting. Said he didn’t socialize, said he had a class to prepare. We had to practically drag him there.”
“Right.” Gill took over. “We talked mostly about me and my wife and where I should sleep that night. Then, of course, we all asked Philip about why he was in therapy, which is only natural—every new member gets asked that—and he told us about your phone call to him which was prompted by your illness. That news jolted us, and we couldn’t let it pass without pressing him to tell us what he knew. Looking back, I don’t see how he could have withheld that from us.”
“Philip even asked,” Rebecca added, “whether it was kosher for the group to meet without you.”
“Kosher? Philip said that?” asked Julius.
“Well, no,” said Rebecca, “come to think of it, kosher was my term, not his. But that was his meaning, and I told him that we often had a postgroup session at the coffee shop and that you’ve never raised objections about it except to insist that we debrief everyone who wasn’t there in the next meeting so that there be no secrets.”
It was good that Rebecca and Gill gave Julius time to calm himself. His mind churned with negativity: That ungrateful prick, that undercutting bastard. I try to do something for him, and this is what I get for it—no good deed goes unpunished. And I can just imagine how little he told the group about himself and why he had been in therapy with me in the first place…. I’d lay big money that he conveniently forgot to tell the group that he had screwed about a thousand women without an ounce of care or compassion for a single one of them.
But he kept all these thoughts to himself and gradually cleansed his mind of rancor by considering the events following the last meeting. He realized that of course the group would have pressured Philip to attend a postgroup coffee and that Philip would have been swayed by the group pressure to attend—indeed he himself was at fault for not having informed Philip about these periodic postgroup get-togethers. And, of course, the group would have questioned Philip about why he was in therapy—Gill was right—the group never failed to pose this question to a new member, and of course Philip would have to reveal the story of their unusual history and subsequent contract for therapy—what choice did he have? As for his distributing medical information on malignant melanoma—that was Philip’s own idea, no doubt his way of ingratiating himself with the group.
Julius felt wobbly, couldn’t pull off a smile, but braced himself and continued. “Well, I’ll do my best to talk about this. Rebecca, let me take a good look at that sheet.” Julius quickly scanned it. “These medical facts seem accurate so I won’t repeat them, but I’ll just fill you in on my experience. It started with my doctor spotting an unusual mole on my back, which a biopsy confirmed was a malignant melanoma. Of course that’s why I canceled the group—had a rough couple of weeks, really rough, letting it sink in.” Julius’s voice quavered. “As you see, it’s still rough.” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “My doctors can’t predict my future, but what is important here is they feel strongly that I have at least a year of good health ahead. So this group will be open for business as usual for the twelve months. No, wait, let me put it this way: health permitting, I commit myself to meet with you for one more year, at which time the group will terminate. Sorry to be clumsy about it, but I’ve had no practice at this.”
“Julius, is this seriously life threatening?” asked Bonnie. “Philip’s Internet information…all these statistics based on stages of the melanoma.”
“Straight question and the straight answer is ‘yes’—definitely life threatening. The chances are good that this thing will get me in the future. I know that wasn’t an easy question to ask, but I appreciate your straightforwardness, Bonnie, because I’m like most people with major illness—I hate everyone to be pussyfooting around. That would just isolate and frighten me. I’ve got to get used to my new reality. I don’t like it, but life as a healthy carefree person—well, that life is definitely coming to an end.”
“I’m thinking of what Philip said to Gill last week. I wonder—is there something of value in there for you, Julius? asked Rebecca. “I’m not sure if it was in the coffee shop or here in the group—but it had to do with defining yourself or your life by your attachments. Do I have it right, Philip?”