Toxins and what we owe one another

“A man left alone in the universe would have no rights whatever, but he would have obligations.” Simone Weil, The Need for Roots

It’s raining.

I’m standing across from the RVH Cancer Centre waiting for Sue to pick me up. I’ve had the last of six rounds of chemotherapy – a regime that leaves me with mixed results: I am both full of hope and full of toxins.

I see her come around the corner – and while it may be a hospital zone – I can tell from her eyes and the 10 & 2 position of her hands on the wheel – she’s ignoring the limits and speed bumps in her rush to get me.

Sue pulls up and I head towards the passenger door – only to have her speed away as I reach out for the handle.

Fortunately, there is a stop sign ahead. I jog forward, reach for the handle, but again, in Cruella style, she puts the pedal to the metal, does a “U” turn, and pulls in front of the main entrance. She leans over to study the faces of patients slumped over in wheelchairs.

Finally, I track her down and tap the driver side window. Sue lowers it.

“What are you doing over there?” she asks me. “Why are you running all over the parking lot? Shouldn’t you be in one of those wheelchairs?”

We get home, I shuffle into the kitchen, fill a glass with water, and head towards the living room. “So glad that’s over with,” I sigh as I plop myself on the chesterfield.

“Me too,” says Sue who comes over to tuck me in. She is my rock – or as the province of Ontario officially describes her role: “my caregiver.” It’s a title with which I’m rather uncomfortable. For me, it conjures images of motorized beds, adult diapers, and Stair Lifts. Trust me – we’re not there yet...

You may have noticed that it’s been a few months since my last column. I took a hiatus – not by choice but due to a side-effect known as chemo-brain. Alas, the fog is slowly lifting, and I’ve been assured it should soon be gone.

“By the way honey, did you make that bank transfer?” Sue asks. “Remember, you still owe me that one.”

She glances at me over the top of her reading glasses. Sue has a look… I try not to be too defensive.

“Yes darling… Of course, I made the transfer.”

“I’m not seeing it here,” she replies, scrolling through her smart phone. “Are you sure you did it?”

Now, I’m a little indignant.

Sue taps her phone and investigates further.

“Ohhhhh… I see what you did. You must have been confused,” she says. “Looks like you took it from the wrong account… and then moved it to the wrong place as well. That’s no problem, my love. I can fix it.”

“What!!!???” I cry.

Chemo-brain strikes again. The messed-up transaction is one of a panoply of recent brain farts.

The chemo toxins are messing with my grey matter. They tend to bring out the confused, over-sensitive, and irrational Ted… not exactly my best version. And of all therapy side-effects, it’s the one I find most irritating.

Sue’s solution is a detoxification regime to pump me full of green tea, kale, spinach, and blueberries. (The Vitamix is planted on the counter – and since I’d rather eat a bowl of bugs – I seek a second opinion.)

“The chemo-brain will pass,” explains my Big C Warrior (the hero oncologist/haematologist.) “Just a question of time,” she assures me with a pat on the head.

So, what to do with extra time during a never-ending pandemic?

Why, spend it online, of course!

It’s my inspired strategy for depleting an accumulation of toxicity.

That’s right. Gazing into a smart phone - browsing social media posts, news sites, and online forums.

And what do I find?

You guessed it!

I’m immersed in a gusher of toxicity – a veritable extravaganza of victimhood.

Claims of trampled rights – on the left – on the right – in the middle – I am soon swimming in cesspools of indignation. 

Eruptions of scorn that in a face-to-face world may have been nipped in the bud, devolve into chaotic online warfare. I watch the howling social media monkeys whip handfuls of excrement at the walls and at one another.

“This is not helping reduce my levels of toxicity,” I mumble to Sue.

She concurs. Enough of the negative nonsense – as I log off that page for the final time. Besides we have some real-world work to take care of.

There are errands to be run. The three of us (Sue, Louis the boomerang son, and me) get in the truck to return containers, cookware, and Tupperware to family, friends, and neighbours who have so generously prepared meals for us during my treatments. 

When one feels crappy – there is nothing like someone else’s cooking. No pressure to come up with a meal at the last minute – no mess to clean up – and the dishes are absolutely more delicious.

Between the gifts of food, the encouraging cards and notes, and the «f@ck cancer» paraphernalia… we are blessed.

“People seem much more personable… in person,” says Sue. “Than they do online, I mean.”

Louis (who like his older brother has since moved west) has a theory. “The Internet got more toxic when people began confusing their online selves with their real selves.”

Sue concurs. “When I see the face of another person – my first thought is to try to connect – to discover – I want to get to know the person.”

“Those sentiments aren’t as common online,” I reply. “Talk of rights seems to lead to even more division and partisanship.”

“The toxicity of victimhood is pervasive online. And there’s a form of it that aims at restoring both a moral order and a perceived loss of standing,” says the boy. “This can be frightening, because that’s when people justify the worst acts – when they claim to be fighting for a good.”

The discussion gets me thinking about what we owe others. Maybe talk of “rights” is inadequate in the face of today’s challenges – both online and real world. What if we could turn the entire framework upside down?

One of the great thinkers of the 20th century, Simone Weil, proposed a morality based on compassion – not on rights. A morality based upon our obligations. What we owe to others – not what they owe to us.

Our errands come to an end as we drop off the last of the thank you cards. On our way home we pass by some neighbours - an adorable young family out for their daily constitutional. Sue stops and inquires how they are holding up after so many months of home schooling, social restrictions, and general pandemic stress. She is genuine, sympathetic, and supportive.

We get home and warm a dish of fried chicken, gravy, and waffles that was prepared by friends. This ultimate comfort food warms both our bellies and our hearts.

And it hits me - that’s what we owe others. Compassion breeds compassion.

Our obligation is to close the circle - paying forward both the love we’ve received and the love we have yet to receive.