bcsurvivor

There is a poem by Naomi Shahib Nye called “Kindness”.  The first line goes like this:  “Before you know kindness, you must first lose things, feel the future dissolve in a momentt…”  The whole poem is great and I would strongly encourage anyone to look it up and read it.  Here are my reflections on just those first few lines:

The future dissolves in a moment – an instant- when you hear those three little words “you have cancer”.  There is nothing else but that moment.  That very moment holds every; your past, your future, your hopes, your dreams, your fears, your regrets.  Because in that moment you come to truly know that the moments aren’t an endless string of pearls laid out before you for your pleasure.  The moment – even that moment – are only what you hold in your hand right now.  And how easily it can slip through your fingers and crash to the floor.  Sending up smoke and dust.  And then the air clears and there is nothing.  It is gone; there are no more moments.

And because of this – in that moment when you hear those words – your whole life is lived inside its tiny framework.  It – your life – did not measure up to what you had expected.  Your plans were so much larger than this.  But you also sense how big your life is.  It takes up all the space, trys to push the edges so that the moment can contain everything you ever wanted out of life.  It is both a fearful and freeing experience.  You have discovered that you are finite.  It frightens you because you now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that immortality is really just a fantasy.  And the realization of such opens you up to so much more.  Unfortunately you do not know that yet.  But you will.

Because after that moment passes, another one will come, fresh and ready to fill.  And if you’re lucky another one will come after that.  Each additional moment that comes your way now is a gift.  An immeasuraable gift because you were not sure that you were going to get it at all.  But quite measurable in other ways.  Now within the structure of the gift you’ve been given, you can see the wholeness and grandeur of it.  You begin to honor and revere the moments.  Your vision has cleared; things come into focus.  What you found is so much more than what you lost in that one terrifying moment.  Your real self – the one God intended you to be – emerges.  A butterfly out of a cocoon, a flower from a bud.  All your constructs about what life should be melt away and you start to see, with new eyes, the true essence of life.

And then you can begin to know what kindness really is.

If you had told me that one day I would embrace this journey into the dark world of breast caancer, I probably would have planted a swift hard kick to someplace in your midsection.  I would (and did) have thoughts such as:  “How dare you?  This is serious life threatening business.  What could possibly be good about it?”

But I have learned over the pasat 2 1/2 years since my diagnosis, that misery does love company.  Not in the traditional sense of misery breeding more misery, but that the connectiong with others who share your experiences, fears and all, leads to happiness in a way.  Maybe happiness is not the right word, although it can certainly morph into that.  Being with other cancer survivors has heightened my awareness of all the life that still exists around me.  I find that I am not as lonely knowing others are walking the same path.  I haave found joy and excitement relating my experiences with someone else.  Their eyes light up, the corners of their mouth change directions from down to up, relief pours over their face.  “Yes, yes”, they exclaim.  “I jave felt that exact same way.”  “I didn’t know – I thought I was the only one.”

I thought it was “just me” once, too.  Barraged with well wisher’s inane comments about “the silver lining” or “becoming stronger” or the ever-popular “there’s a reason for everything.”  I could scarcely contain my anger sometimes seeing that these professions of support came from people who had not a clue as to what I was going through.  So in my desparation to make some sense out of my circumstances I started to seek out others like me.  And I began to realize that this is a very special club I belonged to.  Yes, it is exclusive.  Who would want to volunteer to join?  But giving myself over to it’s membership, talking with countless sisters, I found wholeness and hope.  We could help each other, walk along side each other in the good times and bad, and all the annoying times in between.

The more I connected to this club, the more I felt compelled to lead the way.  To bring others into the fold and hold their hand while they took the steps along the path that I already passed.  Their gratitude was overwhelming.  The attachments grew stronger.  And lest you think this was completely altruistic on my part, let me assure you it is not.  I grew stronger, more content, flush withe the knowledge that I had something to offer these women.  And by lightening their load, I was lightening my own.  The green leaves became more lush, the blue sky more intense and the sun brighter.  I had found a purpose – a way out of my own suffering.  And this road led to healing, not only for the others I walked with, but for myself as well.

So maybe all those well wishers with their infuriating comments were right.  Good can come out of bad.  But what they don’t know (yet) if that you have to relly experience the bad in order to be able to savor the good.

Nia

OK, OK… I know I need to start doing this regularly.  It has been suggested to me by so many people.  I spend so much time writing my book that I don’t find the time to post.  And I can’t figure out how to share my book with everyone – it is getting to be too long.  I will think about that more – maybe just post some excerpts.  But for now, I am going to share a poem I wrote about my breast cancer expereince.  I have more than one, so maybe I will share them all with you eventually.  This one is entitled “If I Close My Eyes”, and I welcome feedback!

If I close my eyes what will I see?

Rainbows of colors?

Bright sunlight?

Blue skies?

If I close my eyes in this dark

Winter of my life

Can I see beyond the lurking

Menacing cells that threaten to destroy?

If I close my eyes, I can

Envision anything

Anything I want,

Anything I need

Anything I desire.

If I close my eyes and see

Light and love and

Words of healing

Robust red blood coursing

Through my veins?

Will this powerful rushing

Carry away the intruders

The fear

The sadness?

If I close my eyes, I can see

The smiling, twinkling eyes

Of those who love me

My husband, my children

My friends, my God?

If I close my eyes, will all

These things wich really

Make up the true essence of life

Overwhelm that

Which threatens it?

If I close my eyes, I can

Transfer the warm glow

Of love and life

Into my body

And obliterate the dark.

Hi everyone.  This is a new expereince for me (blogging), but so was breast cancer and I seem to have got that down.  Certainly writing a post won’t be as hard, especially since I am a writer.  Some background: 2 1/2 years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer (DCIS, invasive, no node involvement, ER/PR +).  I initially had a lumpectomy, followed by 6 cycles of Taxol and 35 rad treatments.  When my sister was diagnosed shortly after I was, a little (big, actually) bell went off in my head.  Our mother had had breast cancer, as did one of her cousins, so maybe this was genetic.  I did genetic counseling and on the advice of my genetic counselor and doctors, had bilateral mastectomies with TRAM flap reconstruction in June 2006.  I am currently taking Tamoxifen, which has caused me enough problems to warrant a hysterectomy/oopherectomy in 2 weeks.  I couldn’t even make it year without having to do something in regards to my breast cancer.  I am hoping this is the last thing.  What else can they take?  (Maybe I shouldn’t ask that question.)

Anyway, in the midst of this I have discovered that I am a good writer and am currently working on a book about my expereince.  I took some classes at our local community college to hone the craft (of writing) and my professor is mentoring me through this book process.  It is a daunting task, but very therapeutic.  Something I will talk more about in a later post:  the therapeutic aspects of writing through the breast cancer journey.  I actually lead a writing group for breast cancer patients.

This is my intro.  Looking forward to posting more later

Nia