How do we get there from here?

Almost everything I thought I knew about cancer, and illness in general, turns out to have been very different from the reality of living with a disease. It’s way worse in some ways and more ok in others.

On the nuts and bolts side, what makes it tricky is that cancer isn’t neat and tidy; and doesn’t seem to fall into the trajectory of diagnosis, treatment, recovery. Cancer, like every other crappy thing in life, reveals the complexity of its devastation incrementally.

For me, the diagnosis phase of this experience has been pretty protracted. I would say energetically, this phase began when I went for the mammogram a month ago. Since that time the layers of my illness have been revealed (or not) with subsequent tests, retests and scans. All of this gathering of information though is vital in order to understand the scope of what is happening with my body. We need to know: what, where, how much.

This is what my surgeon reminded me of this week when she ordered that I have another biopsy on the 2 newbie tumors and the shifty-eyed lymph node. That will happen next Wednesday.

She didn’t seem at all concerned though about the 2 new tumors. They’re in the same area as the others and they’re all small, all under 2 cm. The lymph node didn’t seem to rattle her too much either, they don’t like to see that, she said, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that the cancer has taken the express train to other areas of my body. Having the cancer on the local train means I have a little time to get to the treatment phase.

I believe though, that there are limitations on just treating the tumor.

Although very different, this experience reminds me a little of pregnancy and birth. There is the physical side of growing a baby and then there is the work of pregnancy. That one question every woman has and must answer for herself. It’s that mysterious process of calming fears, finding yourself, and preparing to have your life inexplicably changed in an instant. I’ve seen this process in myself and many other women. This type of preparation is critical to the mother’s wellbeing throughout the childbearing year. It puts her in the driver’s seat of the experience, no matter the type of pregnancy and birth she has.

I’ve found myself returning to this idea many times in the past few weeks. Asking myself, if everything in life acts as a teacher, what is my cancer here to teach me? What is the work of this cancer? And why in this particular form and not another?

When I said I love the "pop in" cancer isn’t exactly who I had in mind would swing by. But, that’s who came. Someone yesterday shared with me that since cancer is here I could consider inviting my cancer in for tea. Have it sit, stay for a chat, see why it’s come over. This idea was shocking, but somehow makes perfect sense. Am I so afraid, that I can’t hear, even for a few minutes, what my cancer has to teach me? Or what my body is trying to say?

And this journey feels no different from a long, difficult run. (Which, incidentally for me is around 5 miles, don’t laugh people, I’m 40 over here.) When a run gets tough I don’t fight the pain or lack of air. I lean into it a little, see it there and then intentionally relax at the pain point. If I try to push it away, or get tense/angry/critical, the run is over.

BUT, if I can see the pain and/or be ok with a little gasping for air, I usually break through to the other side. That’s where the magic happens. My breath becomes even and the volume on the pain goes way, way down. My body moves like the perfect machine that it is. I feel like I’m flying. I free myself and in that moment I can do anything.

For me, the cancer conversation has to be broader than cells and mutation and genes and radiation. Much, much broader. It has to encompass figuring out the work of this disease. My body is trying to tell me something, teach me something. I won’t fight her on this one, I am going to listen. I trust that she will give me all the information I need to know in order to heal.

And when the pain points present themselves, whether those are physical or emotional, I won’t fight those either, I will lean in. I will surrender. I will let go in the deepest way possible so the magic can happen and I can fly.