Writing Through Cancer

Loss.  It’s something that seems to dog you at every turn when you are dealing with cancer.  It’s a persistent shadow, sorrow that accompanies the awareness of how your life is changed, and not in ways you wished for or anticipated.  Larry Smith, poet and cancer survivor expresses the sense of loss in his poem, “What You Realize When Cancer Comes:”

You will not live forever—No,
you will not, for a ceiling of clouds
hovers in the sky.

You are not as brave
as you once thought.
Sounds of death
echo in your chest.

You feel the bite of pain,
the taste of it running
through you.

Following the telling to friends
comes a silence of
felt goodbyes. You come to know
the welling of tears…

Loss is a predominant theme in the beginning weeks of my “Writing Through Cancer”workshops.  A few years ago, I began a session with a short warm, inviting the group to write about anything on their minds for a few minutes.  When I asked who wished to read aloud, one young woman quickly volunteered.

“I’m angry about losing my hair,” she began.  “It’s been my signature, long and full…”  She looked up from her notebook.  Her eyes were red and teary.  Several women nodded sympathetically, while I recalled my own embarrassment, when, as a teenager, I sported a bald head after neurosurgery, covering it with scarves as I returned to school, feeling unattractive and vulnerable and praying no one would laugh at me.

It grew back, of course, and so did the young woman’s, becoming full and long over time.  But the feelings of loss are synonymous with cancer, and the losses involve much more than hair.

In a recent workshop, I invited the participants to write about the losses experienced because of cancer.  Besides hair, the losses included breasts and other body parts, the sense of self each once felt; even friends, along with dreams, hopes, and loved ones.  As the list of losses grew, it seemed cancer was like living in a barren landscape of overwhelming loss, hopelessness and grief.

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth…

(From “Kindness”, by Naomi Shihab-Nye in The Words Under The Words ©1994)

“Feel the future dissolve in a moment…”  A diagnosis of cancer undoes us at first, like being tossed into a maelstrom of fear and loss.  The very word can temporarily rob us of hope and joy, replacing them with fear and sorrow.  Gradually, as treatment and recovery progress, something else happens.  We find things:  new strength, new self-understanding, and new awareness of the world around us.

Your children are stronger
than you thought and
closer to your skin.

The beauty of animals
birds on telephone lines,
dogs who look into your eyes,
all bring you peace…

Songs can move you now, so that
you want to hold onto the words
like the hands of children.

Your own hands look good to you.
old and familiar
as water…

(From:  A River Remains:  Poems, by Larry Smith, 2006)

After my group members read the lists of losses aloud to one another, we didn’t stop there.  I invited them to write again, this time asking,  “What have you found?”

Would it surprise you to know that the list of meaningful things discovered or found overshadowed the losses?  Their lists included new friends, faith, even strength they didn’t know they had, greater love with spouses, clarity about what truly matters in their lives, new dreams, a sense of freedom and awakening and, as one person put it, “the realization that I am not my body.” All the losses were coupled with new discoveries, new knowledge, self-insight and understanding, new facets of themselves to explore and cherish.  Cancer, as someone remarked in an earlier session, can be a great teacher.

This is not a dress rehearsal…today is the only guarantee that you get… think of life as a terminal illness, because if you do, you will live it with joy and passion, as it ought to be lived.

–Anna Quindlen

We all suffer losses throughout our lives.  It’s not just those of us who’ve experienced cancer that discover the gift of each day we’re given.  Life, as Anna Quindlen suggests, is like living with a terminal illness.   We must learn to balance our losses with new discoveries, new joy, and a passion for each day we live.  As William Stafford described in the poem, “The Gift:”

It’s a balance, the taking and passing along,
the composting of where you’ve been and how people
and weather treated you.  It’s a country where
you already are, bringing where you have been.

(From: My Name is William Tell, 1992)

Create your balance sheet this week.  On one side of the page, list the losses in your life since cancer; on the other, list the gains.  Write about not only the things you’ve lost since cancer, but now, write about what you’ve gained.  Which do you want to emphasize in your life?