Nothing was the same

My two reads this month, have been very different books.

The first, nothing was the same, a memoir by Kay Redfield Jamison, chronicles the time during which her husband Richard was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer and his death.

There are many strands woven through this story; while there is intense pain and unbearable grief, the brightest and strongest strand is love. Love, combined with Richard’s humour.  While his many friends in the scientific and medical community rallied to the cause and searched for the best treatment available, in the final wash-up, it was the inevitable ending for Richard, as it is for many people.   

Richard’s story, as told by Kay, stands outside many mainstream cancer memoirs on two counts. Kay Redfield Jamison also deals with bi-polar, as an inescapable part of her life, thus adding another dimension to the story. For many people with cancer diagnosis there is no support army with inside knowledge on their side. The insight into the examination of every angle, by Richard’s colleagues, not just in the USA but also in Europe as the illness progressed, was illuminating. When any of the support army learned of some new work or investigation happening in the research field, every avenue was exhausted before turning elsewhere.

This book with its lyrical prose, is a wonderful insight into the courage required to face the healing process and how to arrive at that point.  

From time to time, when reading a book, I find a chapter, a paragraph or a few lines that, for whatever reason, stay with me long after I have finished reading the book.

At the beginning of Part Two is a quote, attributed to Richard Davenport-Hines, a well-known historian.

Medical etiquette called for a physician to call for two glasses of champagne and to drink them silently with his patient when that patient was a medical man who had just passed any hope of recovery.  The meaning of champagne was understood: the need of awkward words obviated.

This was a practice dating back to the turn of the twentieth century in Germany and Russia and was seen as a stirrup cup on the journey out of this life. Maybe it could be re-introduced into contemporary society and not just for medical people; maybe it could help ease the blow for non-medical people.

The other book was Rock, Scissors, Paper, a world away from the subject matter of the previous book.

While I had heard about the Rock Paper Scissors game, I had no real idea about what it all meant.  If indeed it meant anything. I am about as informed after reading the book, as I was beforehand. Totally clueless. In fact, before I was half way through I was skimming through the pages and decided my time would be better spent reading another book from the long, long, list of books still to be read.

 Not long after I cast the book aside I was amused as one of the men at the QVMkt fish stall, where I buy my fish, made the hand signs when we had a minor debate about the price of fish.  I laughed.  He certainly knew more about Rock Paper Scissors and how to put it into practice than I did.