Reflections on My Year of Healing
Today, May 15, is Clay's 7th birthday. It is, in a sense, a birthday for me, as well. One year ago today is when I first heard the words that would change my life forever.... "You have breast cancer." Actually, Dr. D didn't use those exact words. I can see her now, standing by the ultrasound screen, pointing at a large spot on the image of my right breast saying something to the effect of, "This is definitely cancer that we are dealing with." She was so certain in her delivery of this news that I never doubted for a second while we awaited the biopsy results that she was correct in her diagnosis. And she was.
Wow. It's hard to believe it has been a year when I can remember the details of that day as if it were yesterday. So much has happened. So much has changed. I have changed. Sure, I have two fewer breasts than I did at this time last year and about 1/100th of the hair. (I also have hot flashes I never had before, as I was just reminded. Woo! I also have chemo brain big time!) The biggest changes, however, are not the ones you can see with your eyes (or that cause the flushing or forgetfulness.) The real transformation occurred not within my body but within my spirit. That day symbolizes a rebirth for me, an awakening to life. That day marked the beginning of my year of healing.
Last year when I created the name of the blog, I think I was referring solely to the physical aspects of healing I was about to undergo, as I knew the treatments would be nearly a year in duration. What I didn't know and couldn't really even begin to comprehend was all of the other forms of healing that would occur. I also now understand that my year of healing was just the beginning of a lifelong journey of healing, an opportunity for continued growth and awareness. I deliberately picked pink as the background color for the blog. "How appropriate," I thought, never knowing how sick of pink I would become!
My beloved yoga instructor, Joy, interviewed me for a newsletter several months after my diagnosis, and I remember her asking something along the lines of, "One year from now when this is all behind you, what do you want your life to be like?" I remember my response being something like, "I don't want to forget the lessons learned from this experience and the overwhelming sense of gratitude for just being alive."
Early on, my brother, John, asked a similar question . "When this is all over, do you think that you will just consider it to be a part of your past that you dealt with and that you will resume your normal life, or do you think that you will be forever changed by it and live your life differently moving forward?" At the time, I answered that while some people probably couldn't wait to get their old lives back, I didn't want life to ever go back to "normal." I was already beginning to experience the gifts that come from staring death in the face and telling it to go take a hike.
I have asked myself the question, "If someone could wave a magic wand and make it so I never had cancer, but at the same time, the lessons learned from the experience would also disappear, would I want the wand waved?" That's a tough question, but in all honesty, I think I would have to say "no, thank you" to that offer. I could, however, put the wand to good use for some other purposes... and I wouldn't ask for much... a villa in Tuscany, a live in massage therapist (actually one in Tuscany and one in Toano), and hair. Otherwise, life is good, and I am so satisfied!
At the time I began the blog, I couldn't even begin to imagine where I would be one year later, but I do remember having total faith that I would not only survive, but that I would be entirely healed of the disease. And I have been. Just by virtue of its name, I don't think I intended to maintain the blog beyond one year. I have been giving serious thought to discontinuing my ramblings as my first year of healing draws to an end this evening. Afterall, I am now only updating it every couple of weeks. Nonetheless, I believe there is still value for me certainly, and perhaps for others, in continuing it. As I embark upon my new mission to save lives by educating women about breast cancer, I may be able to use the blog as a tool in that endeavor. Besides, the fact of the matter is, I still have a lot left to say! I have to tell you about all of the lessons I learned. I would say more tonight, but it is late, and one of the lessons I learned is to take care of your body and it will take care of you!
Wow. It's hard to believe it has been a year when I can remember the details of that day as if it were yesterday. So much has happened. So much has changed. I have changed. Sure, I have two fewer breasts than I did at this time last year and about 1/100th of the hair. (I also have hot flashes I never had before, as I was just reminded. Woo! I also have chemo brain big time!) The biggest changes, however, are not the ones you can see with your eyes (or that cause the flushing or forgetfulness.) The real transformation occurred not within my body but within my spirit. That day symbolizes a rebirth for me, an awakening to life. That day marked the beginning of my year of healing.
Last year when I created the name of the blog, I think I was referring solely to the physical aspects of healing I was about to undergo, as I knew the treatments would be nearly a year in duration. What I didn't know and couldn't really even begin to comprehend was all of the other forms of healing that would occur. I also now understand that my year of healing was just the beginning of a lifelong journey of healing, an opportunity for continued growth and awareness. I deliberately picked pink as the background color for the blog. "How appropriate," I thought, never knowing how sick of pink I would become!
My beloved yoga instructor, Joy, interviewed me for a newsletter several months after my diagnosis, and I remember her asking something along the lines of, "One year from now when this is all behind you, what do you want your life to be like?" I remember my response being something like, "I don't want to forget the lessons learned from this experience and the overwhelming sense of gratitude for just being alive."
Early on, my brother, John, asked a similar question . "When this is all over, do you think that you will just consider it to be a part of your past that you dealt with and that you will resume your normal life, or do you think that you will be forever changed by it and live your life differently moving forward?" At the time, I answered that while some people probably couldn't wait to get their old lives back, I didn't want life to ever go back to "normal." I was already beginning to experience the gifts that come from staring death in the face and telling it to go take a hike.
I have asked myself the question, "If someone could wave a magic wand and make it so I never had cancer, but at the same time, the lessons learned from the experience would also disappear, would I want the wand waved?" That's a tough question, but in all honesty, I think I would have to say "no, thank you" to that offer. I could, however, put the wand to good use for some other purposes... and I wouldn't ask for much... a villa in Tuscany, a live in massage therapist (actually one in Tuscany and one in Toano), and hair. Otherwise, life is good, and I am so satisfied!
At the time I began the blog, I couldn't even begin to imagine where I would be one year later, but I do remember having total faith that I would not only survive, but that I would be entirely healed of the disease. And I have been. Just by virtue of its name, I don't think I intended to maintain the blog beyond one year. I have been giving serious thought to discontinuing my ramblings as my first year of healing draws to an end this evening. Afterall, I am now only updating it every couple of weeks. Nonetheless, I believe there is still value for me certainly, and perhaps for others, in continuing it. As I embark upon my new mission to save lives by educating women about breast cancer, I may be able to use the blog as a tool in that endeavor. Besides, the fact of the matter is, I still have a lot left to say! I have to tell you about all of the lessons I learned. I would say more tonight, but it is late, and one of the lessons I learned is to take care of your body and it will take care of you!
posted by Mary @ 9:10 PM
5 Comments:
At 10:30 AM,
Anonymous said…
Very well said, Mary Beth. What a year for you!
It is always difficult for me to express my thoughts when the subject of I would skip the cancer part if I could do it over again comes up. Now of course, that is impossible, but speaking hypothetically, I would concur with you and say "no thanks". It is not that I, or anyone else, is glad to get cancer. But at the time, I decided that since I had it, Hodgkin lymphoma in my case, I was going to make the best of it and learn from it. I was hopeful that it would make me a stronger and better person. I think that you embraced cancer with the same attitude, judging from all your posts.
So while it sounds weird, and I doubt that anyone who has not gone through something like this can really understand, I am glad for what having, and surviving, cancer has taught me. I am not glad for the disease, but I am grateful for so many things as a result of it. Surviving cancer, and what one goes through to get to that point, becomes part of who we are, and it impossible for me to imagine myself now without this. Of course, being a survivor and finished with all this for good (knock on wood) makes it easier to see all the good things that can come from something like this.
When the guy with that magic wand gives you the villa in Tuscany, would you be up for guests? :)
Art
At 10:56 AM,
Planet Subaru Blogger said…
Your entry reminds me of an article in the New Yorker by someone who had lost a spouse to cancer. He wrote:
"Getting cancer is he "realization of our worst nightmare....But you don't get to choose, and it is possible at least to understand what Ernest Becker meant when he said something like 'To live fully is to live with an awareness iof the rumble of terror that
underlies everything.' or to begin to understand the line in "King
Lear--Ripeness is All.' You might have chose to become ripe less dramatically or dangerously but you can still savor the ripeness."
At 4:00 PM,
Anonymous said…
Hi Mary Beth,
I hadn't read your blog in quite a few months (I had to start with "Answering the Call"...and as usual I found it informative, moving and very funny in spots. I always imagine your pic that we received at work (you're in a hat)so many months ago...I can almost"hear" your voice, though I've never met you.
I was not surprised by the incident with the Today show doc...she's aired other highly controversial "opinions" that I take issue with...but that's another e-mail...:-)...
As far as ending your blob....no way, not yet. We're not ready....Not before the hair grows back. :-)
Take Good Care.
At 7:17 PM,
Anonymous said…
Mary,
I admire the way you have shared your experience with us readers. What you do during times of trial is a true testiment to your character. You are brave, giving and much more. I would enjoy reading your book if you decide to write one. I am proud of you.
Love,
Bryan
At 11:00 PM,
LCC Katy said…
hey there,
the calendar is amazing thank you the pictures are so beautyful. I am glad you are reaching out to people and share your experience. I lost my best friend to (ovarian) cancer this year and she battled it for 5 years but had she been able to get healthcare and preventional tests they could have caught it earlier and she would most likely still be here she had just turned 40 when she passed. I think the more people talk about it the more people will go and get check ups
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