Lately, I haven’t been sweating the details.It’s not that I don’t know how. Administration has always been one of my gifts. I’ve even worked full-time in higher education administration (Director of Admissions and Assistant Dean, University of Dubuque Theological Seminary, 1985-1990).
I do know how to keep track of details. Since coming down with cancer, I just don’t want to.
My desk at the church is piled high with papers. “I’ll bet you know where everything is,” a kind visitor will remark, beholding the sight. The scary truth is, I don’t know where everything is. (And this, from a person who used to lecture seminary students on efficient ways to organize a desktop.)
Having gone through chemotherapy and come out the other side, the thought of spending an afternoon doing something so mundane as filing has no appeal whatsoever. So, I just don’t do it.Last April, facing a huge backlog of financial record-keeping that began when those love letters from doctors and insurance companies started packing our mailbox, there was no way I could have gotten our tax information to the accountant on time. So, I asked him to file for an extension. Yesterday was the do-or-die deadline, and I was on the phone to the accountant as late as 3 in the afternoon, answering his last-minute questions so he could file our return electronically. I could have submitted our information to him much earlier, but my recently-acquired aversion to details got in the way.
It seems like there are so many other, more important, things to do. Like preaching. And writing. And other things that – in my naive hope, anyway – may leave some sort of legacy. Compared to those pursuits, clearing off the desktop just doesn’t rate. These days, I only feel like doing things that feed my soul.I’m quite sure there are nasty things hiding out under that pile of paper that will come back and bite me eventually. The thought of that is enough to concern me, but not enough to compel me to action.
So, what’s going on, here? I’m still trying to figure it out.
It’s possible that I’m mildly depressed. Depression is a common- enough side-effect of cancer, and I’ve heard how – ironically – the black clouds often descend only after treatment is concluded. When I’ve had a task before me – getting through chemo, consulting with specialists about a stem-cell transplant – depression hasn’t been on my radar screen (it may have been there all along, I just didn’t know it). Now, as I’m navigating the featureless fogbank of “watch and wait,” I’m becoming aware of how lonely it is out here. I’ve been thinking I need to find somebody (a dual-qualification professional, one who knows cancer as well as psychology) to talk with about how I’m coping – and maybe I will.
It’s often said that depression is anger turned inward. Surely, cancer’s given me plenty of things to feel angry about. The problem is, it’s hard to direct that anger anywhere constructive. There’s nobody to blame for giving me cancer (unless I blame God, and that leaves me in a theological conundrum). My doctors have been doing a great job treating me. My family’s been wonderfully supportive. Other than the people who send me all those window envelopes, I really can’t blame anyone – so, maybe I’m subconsciously punishing myself, through self-destructive behaviors like letting the papers pile up on the desktop, or procrastinating on paying bills.All this is leaving me with a lot of questions, and not a whole lot of answers. I feel different, this side of cancer treatment. I am different. Just how, I’m only starting to figure out.
In the meantime, I wonder – will I ever see my desktop again?
