So I'm sitting in an "infusion room" at the oncologist's office. Nice room, although definitely clinical and functional. A few "Lazy Boy" type lounge chairs for the patients and some generic waiting room chairs for friends and family. People coming and going, NPR talk radio (this is San Francisco!) in the background and conversations coming and going along with the changing faces. Some infusions only last about 15 minutes, others, like mine, several hours, so there's a wide range of subject matter over time.
Since the function of the room centers around the treatment of cancer, they are not the same conversations one would have most anywhere else. Stories get shared about diagnoses, about complex and life-saving surgeries, about having, and keeping, hope in a difficult circumstance and about how one faces the fear that inevitably goes with the diagnosis.
It got me thinking about how I have reacted to fearful situations in my past - luckily few. Of the two that came to mind, one was life-threatening and the other one I felt was life threatening when it probably wasn't.
The first was while I was a commercial diver and working to raise a vessel which had sunk in about 40 ft. of water. I was inside the hull placing air bags which would later be inflated to provide buoyancy. The vessel shifted and I was pinned inside with my air supply compromised. Although a very dangerous situation, I knew that my safety diver was nearby and would be aiding me soon. I released myself from any encumbrances (weight belt, harness, tool belt, etc.) to make it easier for my safety diver to pull me out and was trying to clear the lifting bags out of the way when I blacked out from lack of oxygen. I regained consciousness on deck, rested a bit, had lunch, then went back down and finished the job. Although I had felt fear during the event, it seemed to have helped me focus on what I needed to do to get out of the situation.
The second event was much different. I had always wanted to skydive, and several of my fellow medical students decided to give it a try. I made my reservation for the jump class and a first jump then drove out to the airfield the next weekend. None of my fellow students showed up, but I went ahead with the class and the jump anyway. On our final approach to the jump zone, the jump master had me climb out onto a small footplate under the wing and hang on to the strut. When he tapped me on the shoulder I was to let go and do what was taught in the class. Luckily it was a static-line jump and I didn't have to pull the ripcord because from the time I let go of the strut to the time that my chute opened, everything was a complete blank. Although I didn't think I felt all that nervous, or fearful, my mind reacted in a way that it didn't want to know what was going on, and basically stopped.
In each event, my immediate perception was that I was going through an unwanted situation, but my reaction, although not a conscious decision, was completely different. It seems that in the first situation I had at least some level of control and I kept moving (as long as able) to get myself out of the predicament. Jumping out of the airplane, however, must have been perceived as a surrender of all control (if not reason). The first reaction much more functional, the second with no functionality whatever.
So as I'm facing my own fears about what is happening to me now, one thing I need to keep in mind is to not stop but keep moving ahead. It reminds me of the quote from Sir Winston Churchill:
If you're going through hell, keep going.
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