I’ve noticed how the word “cancer” can immediately evoke fear and distress in some people when I’ve been asked about my diagnosis. Isn’t it interesting how 5 letters can trigger such a strong reaction. What is a letter or a word anyway? A dream once gave me insight into the answer to this question that I will never forget. I was deeply hurt by something someone close to me had done and was crawling further and further down a darkening rabbit hole, repeating over and over the situation in my mind. Then, one night, in a dream, the way I was talking to myself appeared written across the sky in sky writing. In the dream, the words began to break apart into letters, dissipate, fall to the earth and into a wheelbarrow where a little man wheeled the white fluffy contents away.
I woke from the dream with my eyes wide with wonder. What a message from my unconscious. I was invited to abandon this self-depleting story. But even more importantly, this inner wisdom was encouraging me to examine the underlying nature of letters, words, thoughts and the stories I tell myself. I had given this energy-draining story so much time and attention and now it seems it had no more substance than sky writing.
I was reminded that a thought is just a thought. It arises, experiences a split second in awareness, then “poof!” it disappears. The dream revealed that letters, words, thoughts and stories are transient and insubstantial. They only have the power I choose to give them. That choice is always mine.
Although the future is unwritten for all of us, the diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer is associated with a shortened lifespan, but the words themselves, “metastatic breast cancer” have only the power to influence my daily life that I choose to give them. And, daily, I’m in charge of that one.
I read that the average female body is comprised of 28 trillion cells, that is 28,000,000,000,000 cells. Sounds and looks like a lot to me! I have no idea how many cancer cells are in my body, but I know, in this moment, there are trillions more healthy, normal cells or I would not be able to write this essay. And some of those healthy cells are working with my treatment to cleanse my body of disease and potential for disease. This is not to deny that the cancer cells are dangerous and life-threatening. It’s to put them in perspective in this moment. They are not the only game in town. I am still able to take joy in the hummingbirds feeding at my bird feeder, as one is right now. I can appreciate the sunlight on the clouds at dusk, enjoy a sip of my favorite brand of chai tea and delight in putting on a fleece-lined corduroy shirt on a cold winter morning. I can still savor the warmth in my heart that arises in the company of family and friends, and zoom with family on the east coast, sharing stories and reminding them I love them. And I am still able to knit sweaters for the newest member of our family, my great-nephew, Leo. I am living my life, perhaps in a slower lane, and I am learning to enjoy that part too.
I also reflect on the millions of researchers, clinicians and patients who have participated in laboratory and clinical trials to advance the treatment of metastatic breast cancer to what it is today. Honestly, my eyes well up with tears of gratitude as I think of them. We have never met, yet it is only because of their efforts that I am here. I can best show my appreciation and honor them, the risks they took, their sacrifices and dedication to their work by giving my attention and energy not to the words “metastatic breast cancer” but to the gift of life itself, unfolding within and around me, here and now, moment by moment.