Homework #18: Health & Illness & Feasting

While our society is generally fixed around nurturing the mind, Thanksgiving has become about pleasuring the body – giving it satisfaction through food. It seems odd that we would choose such a route to honor the Pilgrims who migrated to the United States and wiped out the indigenous people. But maybe because we focus so much on our bodily pleasures through feasting, for one day we are able to ignore our minds and the cruelty that actually lies in the event that we celebrate. Many people look at Thanksgiving as a day when our stomachs have no limit, we instead eat as much as we possibly can, knowing that we will probably not consume turkey in this form for another year.

My family takes part in the Thanksgiving tradition, especially the consummation of tons of unhealthy foods. Thanksgiving is celebrated on my dad’s side of the family: he has five brothers and sisters, four of which have two kids, his one sister with only a daughter; all together we have 26 people. This side of the family is generally healthy; regardless of the fact that they grew up on a lot of processed foods having a large family, and especially considering the fact that my grandmother is a terrible cook. But through growing up with such an interesting diet, they seem to have survived with quite fit, durable bodies. The consummation of our Thanksgiving foods does not seem to bother them. We of course have the turkey and mashed potatoes, also accompanied by one or two salads (which never seem to be finished by the end of the day) and sweet mashed potatoes with cooked marshmallows on top. The meal is far from healthy, and the healthiest part – the salads – seem to be eaten the least. I am not sure how the rest of them eat outside of holidays, but I can say that they focus on pleasure. Health in the foods is lacking, but that has never seemed the point of Thanksgiving.

Besides taking pleasure in food, the men of course found pleasure in watching football, all passed out on the couches rooting for teams they did not even care about normally. This eventually turned into a ping-pong tournament downstairs between a couple of the uncles and boy cousins. Thanksgiving used to take place at my grandparents’ house; they too have a ping-pong table. I guess I could say that it is indeed a tradition to play ping-pong on Thanksgiving, while I doubt it would be mentioned if anyone in the family were to be asked about the traditions of Thanksgiving. The people in my family take pleasure in competition, and this is a perfect outlet for them when we all come together. People, or at least my family, come together to take pleasure in a meal created by all of them, but also to see those whom they love.

This Thanksgiving we also celebrated my grandparents’ 60^th wedding anniversary. It was initially during the summer, but it was impossible to get everyone together to celebrate it. This was actually the first time we have had the entire family together in probably three years. Nobody was sure how to celebrate their marriage; each aunt and uncle ended up saying ten things for which they thanked my grandparents. Each shared small anecdotes, reminiscing on their times as children. My grandmother and grandfather sat there on the verge of tears, simultaneously roaring with laughter. They were thanked for their humor, their support, for their appreciation of other people’s good cooking. My grandfather stood up at the end and thanked everyone; he said he hoped they both could hold on a little longer. As he sat down I wondered to myself if he was scared of dying. Or if, because he could make a joke of it, he accepted it. Both my grandparents have had their share of battles in the health department, it seemed that they always healed, always held on for us. It was weird to think that one day they would be defeated.

Saying goodbye to 26 people at once is a hard thing, each person receives a hug and always has something extra to say, whether it be about college or the shoes I am wearing. I went to hug my cousin Mickey goodbye and he said, “I’ll see you at Christmas, unless someone dies before then.” I gave him a weird look and told him to not say that, it was terrible. He assured me that it was just a joke, that nobody would die. In the car home my parents were discussing the Christmas party that we throw every year for this side of the family. It was hard to find a date because so many people had other commitments. It came down to deciding whom we would rather not have there, because it would be impossible for everyone to come. I take thanks in the fact that we can still decide who is not going to come, not that someone cannot come because they are no longer there, that no matter the date, their chair will still be empty. 

Homework #17: First Thoughts on the Illness & Dying Unit

            As a kid I thought I was invincible, that no disease or sickness could penetrate my immune system. I guess I do still think along these lines; anything as serious as cancer or diabetes seems outside my realm of sickness. In a world like ours it is hard to be realistic about illness, especially when you are not directly impacted by it. No one in my immediate family has ever had such a fatal illness, one that has mental effects on the entire family. Maybe because of that, fatal illness does not appear as a physical thing to me, but as a mere idea floating around in the distant future, if ever. Being sick in general, like having a cold, is an entirely common thing in our society. We see it as no threat to ourselves and because of that fail to notice when it becomes any the more serious. We convince ourselves that it is nothing, that we will get better. While I take part in this notion entirely, I am also the complete hypochondriac. I contradict myself in the way that I think about illness. On one hand I believe I am “invincible”, but at the same time I work up a sweat over anything as small as a headache. A couple years ago I had a terrible headache for a few days, it was a bug that had been going around. I had never had a headache quite like it, so it scared me. I lay in bed one night convincing myself I had a brain tumor until the point when I could no longer take it, and ran downstairs to my parents for consolation. While I have a feeling of being invincible, it seems that any idea that comes close to breaking down this wall of ignorance, brings fear. I fear becoming ill, dying.

            I have never really been close to anyone who has died, except for maybe my dog when I was three. We had left him outside on a leash tied up while we were down the beach. He broke loose and ran into the highway, where a car ran him over. He was found later and buried, but I did not go to see him. I did not really realize what was going on, what had happened, while my sister sat there crying. But maybe it is not the same, having a person ill and dying, as opposed to a pet that was perfectly healthy and did not have to suffer. I cannot imagine being in a hospital, dreading the news of my own illness, or perhaps that of a close relative. In Germany my host grandmother from my first host family had cancer and we went to visit her. The hospital was completely sterile and white, it made me uncomfortable. I remember seeing her, she did not look sick to me at all. Her hair was oddly highlighted with pink colors, something that puzzled me. When I hugged her she had a pungent smell to her, as if she had not bathed in weeks. I barely spoke the language, so my verbal interaction was minimal. All I could do was try not to stare or look at her funny. I felt awkward about the situation, I had only known the family a week but I was already experiencing their ill grandmother. It seemed too personal a situation to invite a stranger into.

            In the American culture illness is seen as such a private matter, one almost to be embarrassed about. We isolate people when they become sick, they become “lesser”. As harsh as it may seem, and as hard as we try to avoid it, it is rooted in the very notion of our speech and body language.  It seems a hassle to take care of them, while their actual caretakers show no compassion. People would rather not be surrounded by the sick, just as I felt uncomfortable watching another family’s misery. When in a hospital I feel timid and wince when I see someone suffering. As much as we would each like to say that we treat everyone equally, there is a large amount of pity going around for those suffering. Elderly people are also treated as incapable of doing things. There are so many instances where they are completely ignored or made fun of; they are seen as week. But is this really justified? Each and every one of us will die eventually, and most of us will follow their path. Why is it then that we treat them so horribly? Is it denial? Are we convincing ourselves that we will never reach that level of defeat? Who knows? People are ill and dying all around us, but we still treat it as this abnormality, a reason to look down at another person. I do not think we intend to show that we are better than them, because in a lot of ways I am sure we are not. This separation is created to define the “normal” and the “abnormal”. But as this course demonstrates, the normal is weird.

            Once this separation exists though, between the sick and the healthy, can the sick ever truly rejoin the side of the healthy? We may break a bone, sprain an ankle, get a deep cut, but the injury eventually heals, it does not prevent us from carrying out the simple task of living our lives. But the aftermath of the injury is still there: the person might run a little less hard, be less passionate, for fear of re-injury. Is this person the same as they were before? Should they still be deemed again healthy, normal, when in fact they no longer perform as well as they did before? But then does this not make us all abnormal, since we have all experienced a cold, or gotten a scrap? If this is so, then there seems to be no logical reason to have a divide at all; there is no reason to isolate the sick. When we isolate them, we put up this wall, a boundary, something that prevents us from accepting the truth. This boundary forms the awkwardness that one feels, when presented with a sick person. It causes this subconscious opposition towards what we deem not normal. But indeed none of us are normal, by our own definition. We should be able to talk about someone’s sickness with them and not have it be rude and “something that one simply doesn’t do”. Illness is normal, and people must accept it, then maybe we can finally rest in peace.