I Am Linda

Cancer is Lonely

Regardless of the support I have and the good wishes, good thoughts and prayers I'm receiving from people in my life, I have discovered that going through something like this is a very lonely propositon.

No matter how much people want to help, the bottom line is that I must go through it alone.  They can be there to give me a hug, to hold me when I cry, to tell me everything is going to be OK, but in the quiet of my own mind, I am the only one who silently considers what this means to me. 

I look at my dogs and wonder if I will out live them and if not, who will take care of them.  I look at my home and wonder if I will see the day it truly reflects who I am.  I look at my dreams and wonder if they will ever come true.  I look at the road before me - the treatments, the follow-up and the lifestyle changes to be made - and I know that no one will go through them for me.  Others may hold our hands or cradle us to give us comfort, but like birth and death, cancer is a road we travel alone.

L

P.S. Be sure to check out www.brownnosingonline.com to follow my Brown-Nosing 101 progress.

Well developed, well nourished....

While in the middle of a follow-up appointment my surgeon gets a knock on the door and a nurse tells him that Hospice is on the phone.  He looks at me and asks if it is OK if he steps out to take the call.  I've just learned that I have breast cancer and yet the needs of someone in hospice trumps my concerns at this point without so much as a moment's consideration.  I say, "Absolutely", and he leaves the room.

My partner wanders over to the my file that has been left open and begins to read.  "Well nourished, well developed female presents with suspicious area on right breast .....".  He chuckles.  I smile and think to myself, no....I am Linda. 

I certainly understand the clinical speak that needs to be in my file, but at that very moment the sense of who I am - much more than a body presenting with a condition - was so overwhelming that the weight of that revelation seemed too much to bear.  Right then and there I could hold all of my hopes and dreams in the palm of my hand and slowly, ever so slowly, I could see them slipping away through my tightly clenched fingers.

Literally, in an instant, everything in my world changed and yet as I held those hopes and dreams it was also instantly apparent that I had to let them go in order to truly grasp what it meant to be alive at this moment. 

AT THIS MOMENT.  The most notable thing that has changed in my life as a result of this diagnosis is my incredibly heightened ability to live in the moment.  What I've gone through over the past month is my own personal equivalent of shock and awe.  To look ahead is scary, so to manage the fear I stay here in the present moment, in the NOW.

Life feels different here. Every sense is heightened.  Food tastes different.  I can feel my fingers on the keys as I type.  I am aware of the sounds around me and the sensations in my body.  Colors are brighter.  I can smell the ink on the papers next to me.  Everything is different.

Linda

P.S.  For more breast cancer insights and to read about my other project, Brown-Nosing 101, be sure to check out my Brown-Nosing 101 blog.