I was told I had cancer on a blue day in November. In novels, it was far too gorgeous a day for tragedy. My cabbage roses were still in full bloom, bees rumbled by the window panes, lazy with pollen, a cordial chirping of the squirrels over the magnolia tree.
In a single moment, the world I knew dropped away from me, leaving me on a far and distant planet, where there was no oxygen, and nothing made sense anymore.
There are chapters in your life that wallop you and tear you up and bring you stinging tears, one that invites you to step into the other side of the curtains, the one that divides those of us who must face decisions sooner rather than later.
Now, what I am looking for is just a day to make sense of the sorrow and not let cancer wound my family. But after almost a decade of battling the Big C in the only way I know, I live one day at a time and continue with life — based on faith alone.
My last checkup was supposed to be a quick scene, a satisfying interlude that HMO, a prepaid health plan (whose protocol legislated the length of time that a doctor would spend with the patient visit), ruled.
There was a soft knock on the door and the oncologist entered. She greeted me and then spent a few minutes sitting quietly and reading the lab results and X-rays I had brought with me. Then she leaned towards me and said, “Tell me, why you’ve come.”
I looked into her face and saw a genuine concern. I began telling her all the things I was experiencing from the most commonplace and finally to that strange feelings, that often awaken me from my sleep. My voice shook as I started telling her that in my illness, I discovered a basic truth. There are only two kinds of people in this whole world, those who are alive and those who are afraid — and one of the attending doctors had ordered that I can’t be afraid for the next four weeks, as I undergo more comprehensive tests.
I had to think of a second response after fear. Can Carl Jung, founder of psychoanalysis, give me an answer? Can you re think when you’re filled with resentment, self-pity and a sense of victimhood? There is that word I have never found.
She continued to look at the list and I began to review my life. Looking at the many important relations, experiences as I could remember, thinking of the people I love one at a time, realizing that while I was certain that I may have disappointed and even hurt people in the course of my life, I could not remember deliberately causing pain or harm to anyone or hating anyone.
I didn’t forget to mention that I had that special blessing of someone to love. Life’s elegance that far exceeds anything we might devise, and all the sickness, pain, love, loss and triumph only deepened my capacity for compassion and kindness. I have even learned to forgive those that had mercilessly hurt me, even if it lowered my standards.
Eventually I said, “But why doctor do I suffer unseen and alone?,” and then I just cried. My eyes stung with tears! I felt profoundly diminished, different and even ashamed, my heart a storm of loss.
It took me nine or ten minutes to tell my whole story. The doctor said nothing to interrupt and just listened closely. When I finished, she asked a few questions that showed me she had heard and fully understood. Then she reached for my hand and told me that she realized how hard things were. She validated my concerns. She reminded me that my lab studies had ruled out any true life-threatening possibilities. My affliction assured and declared more clearly when they did a surgical solution, radiation and chemotherapy.
In the meantime, back to my Heart Companion, as I relayed the events, looked at me and smiled.
“We will wait together,” he assured me.
He had no diagnosis, unlike the others, what he offered me was his caring and companionship, his willingness to face the unknown with me. He assured me I had no expiration date.
In those moments, he had lifted the loneliness that had separated me from others and my own strength, in some way that I did not understand then. This made all the difference.
Someone else knew. Someone else cared. And because of these, I found I had the greater courage to deal with what ever was going to happen, even gratitude…until tomorrow comes.
