Cancer as a Flowing River
I’ve spent 4 years now drifting on the river.
Most of the time I can be seen floating on the smooth glass-like surface,
gliding by the ever changing landscape.
Sometimes I get snagged by a log
hidden so discreetly beneath the surface.
But I’ve been on this river for awhile now.
I know to look out for them….
the logs and hidden debris.
Sometimes the depth and pace of the river frightens me;
fear that the current will pull me away from known lands,
sending me hurling towards the abyss.
And then I look back and remember I am a strong swimmer.
Strong no matter the river level or swiftness of the current force.
In honor of this anniversary I returned to where I first entered the river.
I went back and read through
(from the beginning)
my sorely neglected blog.
In doing so I traveled back to those places along the river;
sat in those waiting room chairs.
Ohhhhhh the many waiting room chairs.
Acutely aware of the metacognition at play.
As I sat uneasily in that first chair,
2 days prior to my official cancer diagnosis,
I remember wondering about the stories and lives of the others in the waiting room.
I wondered what story they conjured up about me -
A young woman sitting alone in the Breast Services waiting area.
I can easily bring myself back there.
The multiple sets of mammograms taken that day.
Texting updates back and forth between myself, my older sister, and mother.
My half dying phone
(thanks to a hole-in-the-ground toilet in a Shanghai park - A story for another day.)
Trying to articulate the facts of the matter and my perplexed thoughts & emotions.
I remember laying on the oddly comfortable exam table looking at the screen,
guiding the tech to the lump I felt.
I remember feeling proud of how calm I was
up until the tech called for the Radiologist.
It still wasn’t until I signed the biopsy consent papers that it hit me.
Dread and fear crept in as I unsuccessfully attempted to choke back tears.
Unsure of what lay ahead of me
I let the cancer word pop into my thoughts.
But only for a moment.
I needed to focus on the task in front of me -
an immediate biopsy procedure.
So I quickly popped the cancer thought bubble.
I don’t remember much of the time
spent on the river between biopsy and results.
Instead I visualize reaching for scratch paper in my car
as I hear the words “invasive carcinoma”
PERIOD.
Easily reliving the internal turmoil and grief I felt.
Wanting to crawl back into the womb I came from,
I called my mother.
This was not what I had planned.
This was not even close to being okay.
In fact this was all wrong.
I desperately wanted off the river.
I relive this story each year and each year it reads slightly different.
The same event.
Same set of facts.
But with a different perspective from a year older version of myself.
I think of cancer every day.
More often about how it has transformed me
And yet also how it hasn’t changed me.
Less about the fear of reoccurrence.
More about how this river has been a catalyst.
How this river can continue to be a catalyst
if I let it.
I may not be able to master the river.
This mighty powerful river.
But maybe that has never been the goal.
Instead I learn from the currents,
gathering knowledge & skills from my journey,
to help keep my head above.
And...
just like I said before...
I’ve become a good swimmer.