My father told me just now, "We're almost out of eggs."

"I can go to my aunt's tomorrow and ask for some", I replied. "She tells me to take some every time I visit."

"Do you think it's alright to do that?"

"To accept help when people offer it? Yes, it is. That's what you and mother should've done, instead of trying to do everything yourselves."

I started using ChatGPT as a therapy tool some time ago. It's not without caveats, and it can even be very dangerous, so I use it with scepticism. Sometimes, I find myself not even reading replies — so it's closer to journaling than anything. Most of the time, I just tell it stories without asking for any feedback. I had this idea that I should give it as much information as possible so it could draw some insights from them. I told it about my childhood, about my nonexistent relationship with my older brother, about falling out with the friend I cared most about — stories I'd call "personality defining." Then I told it about what's bothering me at the moment — burnout, depression, anxiety, etc. Finally, after months of using it, I asked: "Of all the problems I've told you about, solving which one would improve my life the most?" The answer surprised me. It said, Your deepest attitude might be: "I have to handle everything on my own and don't rely on anyone."

I think I know where that comes from. My parents never asked anyone for help. And when my mother was diagnosed with cancer more than a year ago, she asked me not to tell my brother. "He and his wife will launch a rescue operation and I don't need that." When some family members became aware of the diagnosis, they offered help. My cousin, for example, had battled cancer herself. But my parents refused. They were treated at the regional cancer center. My mother had surgery, got some tests done regularly. I assumed that everything was under control. I got busy with my own life, education, and didn't visit my parents for two months. That was until I got a phone call from another cousin of mine: "If you don't go see your mom, you may not see her ever again." My brother got the same phone call, so he and his wife travelled 2000 kilometers to get here — the last time they had visited was eleven years earlier. Well, it got so bad that my mother was practically in a vegetative state. I didn't see it myself, but the cancerous growth on her leg was enormous. The wound had opened up and it was bleeding. And my father wasn't even doing anything about it. "We have an appointment next week", he said. So, as predicted, my brother and his wife lauched a rescue operation. They literally pulled my mother back from the brink of death. They got her to an appointment at a hospital in Moscow. And apparently, doctors at the regional oncology hospital had done every single thing wrong. They surgically removed the melanoma, which they shouldn't have touched, literally launching the cancer to spread throughout the entire body. They didn't give her any medication for a while. And when they did chemo, they chose the wrong type of medication — her melanoma with that specific gene mutation shoud've been treated with a specific kind of medication.

We had to buy the new medication, and it wasn't cheap. It should've been provided by the state, but it had to be approved first, and we couldn't afford to wait. Still, my parents didn't ask for help. A coworker of theirs then launched a crowd funding campaign and we were able to raise enough money to afford one month of treatment. After my mother's condition improved — and this medication worked like magic, reducing the tumors by half in just a few weeks — she wrote on her social media page:

I've never received anything for nothing. I considered it somewhat wrong. I thought everyone should achieve everything with hard work. I offered help, donated to crowdfunding campaigns, to coworkers, to sick kids, and then I found myself in a situation where I needed help myself. I refused it for a long time. I believed in universal healthcare and I got treated for free. I got treated according to existing protocols. And I can't say anything bad about any of the doctors — they themselves are very limited. (This part pissed my sister-in-law off so much, considering those doctors only made everything worse — if they had done their job properly, she would literally have been cured months before) Now I know I have my own small army of miracle workers who did a big thing and gifted me hope; the hope that everything is going to be alright — at least for some time.

We had some progress with the new cancer treatment. There were some serious side effects, but we tried to solve every problem as it came. We were hopeful. One of the problems was iron-deficiency anemia, so she had to be put in the hospital for a few days. And an oncologist at the regional oncology hospital told her not to take her cancer medication, as it could interfere with the iron IV drip. Doctors at the Moscow hospital had another opinion, but she didn't listen. She didn't take her cancer treatment for eight days, which led to the cancer spreading. There were new metastases in several of her vital organs, including her brain. She can't even move now.

My brother and his wife came yesterday. They had another talk with the oncologist in Moscow. According to tests, she had about one month left to live. They asked me not to tell anyone in the family, including my parents, and to pretend that everything is fine.

So, yeah. Ultimately, I think that refusing help is what led to this. And maybe ChatGPT was onto something about me too.