On Beethoven's Ninth

What is it about certain works that simply enthrall you from the inside out? I hear the word genius bandied about a lot for Beethoven's Ninth, but I have no way to quantify that. I simply don't know enough about music or have the vocabulary to discuss the way say Jacob or Rebecca Loudon do. What I can say is that even though I closed my eyes a few times last night, I never fell asleep, never left my station for another world known as dream or silence. I think I was more impressed with last night's performance than the one I heard in Boston so many years ago. Maybe it is because I am older? Because I have lived and experienced so much since then? I don't know. What I do know is that I "felt" Beethoven's symphony, felt it inside of me. The second movement actually seemed a challenge of sorts, made my mind race with so many possibilities it almost hurt. And the final movement, despite all of its gloria and the voices lifting everything in the room, saddened me immensely. All I could think about is how we as human beings are so base, so terrible. Despite the finale being a testament to man and his/her relationship to the divine, what I heard was something so hopeful it only pointed to our complete lack of desire to become better. Of course, this is likely all in my mind. But I felt great sadness after that performance, felt as if we as a people had failed miserably. But maybe Beethoven's music understands that. Maybe he, himself, understood our lives are about failure and that to live means to take one's failures in one's arms and nurture them, forgive them, accept them. Clearly, I am overly contemplative right now.

For every person I have helped cure themselves of cancer, there are many who have succumbed to it. I was struck yesterday, while seeing a new patient, how much of the consult is simply me listening to and absorbing their fears and grief. In that moment, so many patients seem to feel as if a part of them has died by receiving the diagnosis of cancer. I have little to say other than how we will treat it, what our hopes are for the outcomes, details about scheduling etc. But people hear little of this. In fact, most patients hear about 30% of what we talk about. This is why I am always so grateful when a friend or family member comes with them. What is the transaction between patient and oncologist? I still don't know. In follow-up visits, we seem to have a relationship, something tangible at play. There is joy and there is sadness at times, but the new patient? What do we share in that hour to 90 minutes?

I have been asked many times if I share my sexual orientation with my patients, my love of poetry, etc. Well, I think this is why I don't. At least I don't with new patients or patients receiving treatment. It is, in essence, irrelevant. In that situation, I am irrelevant. No amount of discussion of me and my goals is even remotely helpful to them. It is, essentially, all about them. And I believe that is the way it should be. One of my follow-up patients yesterday, saw my engagement ring and said, "Oh, that's new!" I laughed. And then this big burly guy said, "It is good find happiness with another person." I was struck by the fact he said another person and not a woman. I said little and he then said: "How long have you been with him?" When I looked surprised he said, "Sorry if I am making assumptions." I tried to laugh but he knew I was uncomfortable. He went on to say: "My sister is the one who was convinced you are gay. I guess I was wrong. Sorry." It was then I said, "No, your sister is right. We have been together five years." He then looked pleased as punch and said, "I am glad you have someone. Life is hard enough. It is harder when you deny yourself love because others don't approve." I was so shocked at this statement from him that all I could say was that I would be seeing him again in 6 months.

Yes, I am contemplative today. Yes, my little mind is in overdrive. What the vast populace of America still doesn't get is that being gay isn't about sex. This man, this burly trucker of a man, got it. It is about love. I can have sex with women. I did for many years before realizing (or better yet, admitting to myself) that I was gay. The key here though is not sex. I can have sex with the same woman for all eternity, but I simply cannot feel love for her. I don't know why my brain is wired that way. It just is. With all this ridiculous political storm around same-sex marriage, people have overlooked this one fact. It isn't about sex. It is about love. And although I know some will say it can be unlearned or relearned, I don't believe that is true. Lord knows, I tried for years to unlearn, to be "normal." It is only in the past 5 years that I see something I didn't see for all my life before. I AM normal. Virtually everything I worry about, feel joy about, feel sadness about, are things straight people feel the same ways about. I am far more like my father and brother because of our common background than I am to other gay men. And this makes sense to me. Being gay doesn't make you and other gay men suddenly similar. It has never been about sex. But I fear for the foreseeable future, it will be spun this way. We will continue arguing over the morality of sex. Beethoven is right. Our goal is unity, is respect for each other, is love. My sadness arises because we still live in a world where love cannot be held up as something beautiful and necessary, but as a moral act. I will stop now knowing full well most of this post makes no sense.