Facebook let me know that today was a big anniversary: one year from the official diagnosis. I decided to go back and read some of those early entries in the blog. The entries interested me much less than the comments on them. The writing has been a great blessing to me, and I’m sure it has helped me to integrate this experience as I went along. I definitely feel in good shape “moving forward” and not as stuck as I felt two months ago at Christmas time.
More important, however, has been community. The presence of friends and family from Day One has been extraordinary.
Having cancer is one of those experiences for which there is a very clearly delineated “before” and “after.” I suppose it is true mostly of trauma– but also of dramatic success (ask J.K. Rowling about “before Harry Potter” for instance). After divorce, or cancer, the loss of a child or a dear loved one, the person is never the same.
Yesterday, living in this unseasonably warm February week, I went out to the uncovered cold frame to scatter some seeds for greens. I was surprised, after clearing the dead leaves from the surface and ready to go at it with a shovel, that the dirt was still frozen a couple inches down. It was February!
On my way to the garden, I thought again that I am not the same person I was a year ago. It is not cancer necessarily– chemotherapy really does leave one diminished. I plan on recovering much more, and feel well already, but it is clear to me I’ll never be the same. I’m just not as “sharp” as I was. It is harder to switch from task to task and be effective.
On this anniversary it is rainy but unseasonably warm. I worked editing Steve’s new company website and making appointments and investigating some work possibilities. I did not get to the taxes or my writing project.
I also corresponded with a friend I’ve made in this past year, another ovarian cancer survivor. She might be headed into a medical trial, and she gave me the broad strokes, so of course I had to spend some time reading up on it and contemplating how it fits into the story of ovarian cancer. She told me that first they have to find her original tumor, which is required to be stored for ten years, so they can biopsy it. She said it is in “the bowels” of some institution. I love that metaphor! I had to think a bit about the Frankenstein (or Kafka) possibilities of that image. Also, where are my tumors?
As a storyteller, I realize how quickly we learn things about life– how all these pieces and details fit to make a whole, like Jenga in reverse. This year has been quite an education, and it continues. Perhaps most surprising is that it is not at all the story I expected. I hope that I convey here on the blog the hopefulness people with cancer live with now, but also the specific way in which cancer removes fear– which is surprising– and allows us to see, and face, all of life.
I am very taken with the idea of “before” and “after.” I use BCE and CE and several of my students objected that they preferred BC and AD in dating events in history. This led me to consider timelines of all kinds, and turning points in history–the Jewish calendar, the Muslim calendar sees all human history as before and after Muhammed’s flight to Medina. I asked myself how deeply I believe the Christ is the turning point of human history, and what might be the turning point of my own history–as you have done with your experience of cancer. Then I went to the funeral of one of the students’ moms, and there were two displays of photos labeled “BK” and “AK.” It took me awhile to decipher the annotations–Before Kids, and After Kids. Was this how this woman drew her own timeline? It made me realize how we subconsciously and innocently insert ourselves into others’ timelines, as this girl did, imagining that her arrival in the world was the turning point of her mom’s life. What you write of in this post seems so profound to me.
That is so interesting about the girl and her mother! I’m sure kids coming into your life is a profound marker. But you’re right– people also have a fascination with what their parents were like “before me.” Maybe more a marker for the kids– pre-existence and post-existence! Also good reflection on the Common Era/Before Christ idea, although I don’t think students or anyone but scholars probably think about what those letters mean. Thanks for this comment!
Susan, having “been there, done that,” my experience was NOT to look back but concentrate on the future. And, as with you, my support groups were most important to me – even more so than doctors, nurses, counselors. Yes, sometimes I do think of that January 12. 1989 “event” but always try to keep it solely on the back burner. Just forge ahead now and count your blessings each day.
Thanks, Dolores. I think trying to organize my thoughts to possibly write about it (like a brief spiritual memoir or memoir organized by landscapes) is why I’m reading back. I have a fair bit of “critical distance.” It doesn’t make me anxious. And yes, I am definitely forging forward. Thank you!
The worst Fear is FEAR IT SELF