I’m oddly “out of synch” with my body this session of my chemo infusion. I’m experiencing a variety of physical effects but can’t relate them to specific causes. I feel my body reacting but I don’t know what, precisely, it is reacting to (aside from the “generic cause”: chemo)<\/i>. Rather than let this incongruity take me\u00a0hostage,\u00a0I’m choosing instead to occupy my mind\u00a0in a mental linguistic exploration. Though I’m no linguist<\/span> it seems to me likely that such a digression will be more interesting\u00a0than submitting to an inchoate\u00a0anxiety creeping over me.<\/p>\n Here’s the subject of my digression. It’s about a frequently-repeated injunction of my Father’s. I\u00a0don’t wish to\u00a0paint him as an exclusively forward-thinking child-psychologist, but I remember my Dad’s correcting\/guiding me throughout childhood and adolescence by what were\u00a0mainly positive<\/u> statements (something that would meet with the approval, I daresay, of today’s expert psychologists). Following are a couple examples:<\/p>\n (1) I would complain, “I can’t figure out this homework!”<\/p>\n My Dad would look over and say, cheerfully, “Of course,\u00a0we<\/strong>\u00a0can!” Let’s look at the problem. ‘Locomotive A’ leaves the station at 12:07 and reaches a speed of 85mph. ‘Locomotive B’ leaves an opposite station at 03:12….. \u00a0…What do we know about these\u00a0locomotives? \u00a0What do we know about their speed? \u00a0How long is the trip….?”\u00a0Eventually “we” worked out the problem of where, along the track, both trains passed each other.<\/p>\n Deducing the correct mathematical answer had never been been my Dad’s primary objective. The underlying lesson my Dad wanted to convey was a deeper life lesson: i.e., that it most certainly was possible<\/em> for me to “figure it out”; any problem; any time; simply by applying the God-given mental tools I already possessed… myself.<\/p>\n (2) I was often invited to tag along with my Dad when\u2014in the evenings after supper\u2014he went off to his second job, a machine shop he had established with a friend. (Looking back, I realize that my Dad was providing my Mom with\u00a0a substantial\u00a0gift: getting me out her hair so she could have\u00a0an evening of quiet with my younger Sister). But that’s another matter.<\/p>\n At my Dad’s Machine Shop, I might\u00a0be set to work on a drill press. I’d complain, “I can’t drill a hole in this steel plate!”<\/p>\n My Dad\u00a0would reply, “Of course you can. It’s easy if you let the drill do the work of cutting into the plate. If you pull on the handle, trying to force it, you’ll…” \u00a0SNAP!… \u00a0“Hmmm”, he’d observe, “It sounds\u00a0as if you may have been pulling on the handle too hard. The drill bit has snapped. \u00a0Let me show you\u00a0how to replace\u00a0a broken drill bit on a drill press…”<\/p>\n Life lessons are beneficial and important. I have remembered the lesson, of “Yes, I can!” all my life, even though I’ve long ago forgotten, for example, how to solve quadratic equations. (Today I now know where I can quickly find out how to solve them, should\u00a0I ever find myself needing to do so.)<\/p>\n The one statement of encouragement my Dad used, that might be considered negative<\/i>, at least\u00a0grammatically, was a\u00a0phrase he regularly repeated to me, in all kinds of circumstances. It was the admonition, “Nie daj si\u0119!<\/em>”<\/p>\n I understood it colloquially at the time. “Nie daj si\u0119<\/em>”\u00a0translates to “Don’t give up!” or “Don’t give in!” Today I know from experience that translations are never exact. “Don’t give up!” is not precise. Neither is “Don’t give in!”<\/p>\n While noticing\u00a0this imprecision, I couldn’t help realizing that the operative verb, daj<\/i> is a surprising word. It is\u00a0reliably translated\u00a0to give<\/i>… as if “giving” was somehow related to “surrender” or “capitulation”. In addition, the English left implicit, what the Polish makes explicit: the subject of the action. In English, the subject is understood, as in “Don’t [you] give up.” In Polish it is explicit: “Don’t give up yourself.”<\/p>\n All this made me curious. What did my Dad\u00a0mean to convey? What did it\u00a0really mean?<\/p>\n To give up<\/b><\/u>\u00a0(or to use its synonym “to capitulate”) carries a notion of self-defeat. In the specific context of my cancer, to “give up” would mean I had lost my\u00a0will to participate in overcoming what is a lethal danger to my life. It means that I acknowledge the overwhelming superiority of my adversary, cancer, and that I have\u00a0admitted the futility\u00a0of continuing to defend myself against my illness.<\/p>\n I forget precisely where we first heard the distinction made, but Monica and I have spoken of the transition of nomenclature in the case of my cancer. Once, in our lifetimes, my cancer was described as a “terminal illness.” Today, it is more frequently described as a “chronic disease.” To “give up”<\/b>\u00a0confronting a terminal illness<\/span>\u00a0can be viewed as “coming to terms with reality”. Whereas to choose no longer to fight against merely\u00a0a chronic disease<\/span>\u00a0is surely to surrender oneself\u00a0to a tragic and sorrowful defeatism.<\/p>\n To give <\/u>in<\/u><\/b> (or to use another synonym, “to surrender”)\u00a0puts the emphasis on the aggressor. In the present context, my cancer would be viewed as having completely dominated our confrontation, and that I have concluded there\u00a0is no use pursuing\u00a0the battle. “Giving in” acknowledges my cancer’s inherent power over me. The phrase reveals that I have actually empowered my illness and\u2014at the same time\u2014have diminished\u00a0myself.<\/p>\n These two interpretations of Nie daj si\u0119<\/i>\u00a0(“to give up” and “to give in”) may alone be sufficient justification for my Dad to have constantly advised me to avoid either. But, translated in this way, either of these interpretations reduces his\u00a0admonition to a mere rallying battle cry. Neither\u00a0of these translations tackle the mystery of the word \u00a0daj<\/i>, “to give”. Neither interpretation addresses what the Polish makes the explicit subject of the admonition\u00a0si\u0119<\/i>, (which translates as “yourself”). Left implicit, in English, the subject of the admonition is left ambiguous “don’t [you] give up”. Made explicit, in Polish, the admonition is personal and much more significant in two ways.<\/p>\n Nie daj si\u0119<\/b><\/i><\/u> makes no doubt that what my Dad was emphasizing was my fundamental integrity. (Not [you] implied; but “yourself” specifically.) My Dad had served with distinction in the Second World War. He knew there were times when it was strategic and life-saving to admit to the superiority of the enemy in a given battle. It was tactical to be realistic about one’s dwindling resources and futile to fight from a particular position, when retreating and losing a single position in order to bolster\u00a0another, might improve the overall chances of “winning the war”.<\/p>\n Parrying, withdrawing, bolstering, joining the battle from another vantage. Those were permitted. What was never permitted was to surrender myself, <\/i>my inner integrity.<\/p>\n Nie daj si\u0119<\/em>\u00a0was the\u00a0one admonition of my Dad’s that I recall him repeating often.\u00a0He wanted to underscore that I<\/i>\u00a0myself<\/i> was the subject of his admonition\u00a0because I myself<\/em>\u00a0as the subject\u00a0explains\u00a0the deeper implication\u00a0of the verb,\u00a0daj,<\/i>“to give“<\/i>.<\/p>\n Giving<\/i> requires an active subject. “Don’t [you]\u00a0give up” or “Don’t [you]\u00a0give in” neutralizes and ambiguates the subject. In turn, it\u00a0objectifies the action. The admonition is understood as addressing an activity<\/i> like surrendering, capitulating or losing. When the subject is made explicit, it is me, making the decision. The question is reframed as: “When can I surrender?” My Dad’s answer is “Never to the point when it\u00a0involves placing my\u00a0integrity in the balance. Never.” Nie daj si\u0119! <\/i>Never surrender your integrity, your own self.<\/p>\n At this point, I must ask my non-Christian readers some forbearance.<\/p>\n The central tenet of Christian faith is Jesus’ gift of salvation. There are several intertwined implications theologians have been careful to explicate. First, the only way Jesus Christ\u00a0could have given<\/i> His life in expiation for mankind’s transgressions is if He was\u00a0a free and unencumbered actor. Jesus must be identical to us, with no spec of the divine in his DNA any different than ours. Third, Jesus\u00a0must have complete free will to choose to participate in his passion and death. (Today some scientists seek to question free will at all. Such deconstructionist approaches invariably lead to dead ends.)<\/p>\n For Jesus’ sacrifice to be a sufficiently and satisfactorily complete gift, Jesus must do precisely\u00a0what my Dad’s admonition forbids. He must freely give over\u00a0His entire and complete\u00a0Self… but\u2014in Jesus’\u00a0case\u2014not to a perceived adversary, but to\u00a0His life’s only goal: “Father, not my will, but Thy will be done.”<\/p>\n This understanding gives a deeper meaning to my Dad’s injunction. Because it answers the natural human retort to a negative. “Nie daj si\u0119?\u00a0<\/em>Never? Are there no exceptions at all?” And the answer is revealed to be: “Only when you follow the example Jesus has given us to follow. Only when we can say, with Him, ‘Father, not my will, but Thy will be done.'” If I can do that, my ordeal with cancer can be transformed from an enduring<\/span>, to a giving<\/span>. And that makes all the difference.<\/p>\n Blessings,<\/p>\n Chet<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In a future reflection, I would like\u00a0to propose answers to some heretical questions that have been rummaging in my head, of late. “Is it possible for me ever to perceive\u00a0that my cancer is, itself, a gift? Can I\u00a0ever be sincerely grateful for this gift? What might\u00a0that<\/i> mean to me and those around me?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Summary I’m oddly “out of synch” with my body this session of my chemo infusion. I’m experiencing a variety of …<\/p>\nDetail<\/h2>\n