I sometimes think back about my cancer journey like it was a movie. Rather than a plucky rom-com like The Proposal, it’s tougher and grittier like The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.
The Good: I am a cancer survivor. I had a treatable cancer with a relatively easy surgery and short treatment plan. That I was diagnosed was a miracle born of coincidences for which I am eternally grateful and humbled by.
The Bad: I had to have surgery and treatment where I had allergic reactions, side effects and irreparable damage to my salivary glands. I also must be on medication and follow-up for the rest of my life.
The Ugly: I have a scar on my neck; though small and well-done still noticeable enough that people ask me about it.
In the context of my movie metaphor, I am tough and gritty Clint Eastwood kicking cancer’s butt and taking names. This vision makes me happy and lights me up when I think back to that dark time of diagnosis and treatment. Because the truth is the experience was terrifying and I wasn’t some courageous, tough-as-nails, cowboy-warrior. I was a young, new mom vulnerable and frightened beyond belief. In the midst of it, I felt like I was stuck in the wilderness at night, without a map, supplies or a flashlight. And while I was surrounded by friends and family who loved me, had access to excellent medical care, the psychological terror that comes with a cancer diagnosis was at times suffocating and each night while I waited for that first body scan that would tell me my cancer was gone, the wilderness would come.
And out of necessity, I began to get to know my own terror. I found comfort in a poem by Rumi:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks
I invited that panic in and asked it to dinner. I would feel the terror and I would practice an exercise I learned from Shinzen Young where I began labeling the feelings as they arose, learning to notice them without reacting to them. Until I began to notice the darkness receding. Until I noticed my fear of impending nightfall and the wilderness it would bring lessening. Until I noticed a small voice in the back of my heart murmuring, “You’ve got this”.
We all know it is darkest before the dawn. And if you are in the midst of your own wilderness, please hear me now, “you’ve got this”. Even if it is dark, you can’t see and you’re scared: get quiet and listen, “you've got this". This part of the journey is so hard. You are fighting for your life and facing an uncertain future. And sometimes the most you can hope for is a little grace to find you in the dark.
There are moments of transcendence in this journey and you may not find them in the good, but rather in the bad or the ugly. I was reminded of this just today when my son was lying in my lap. He pointed to my neck and said, “Mommy’s neck boo-boo”. I replied and said, “Yes, that’s mommy’s boo-boo.” And he said, “I’ll kiss it and make it better”. And you know what? He totally did.
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