First Lesson/Last Lesson

Today, I began my day in my new office. It's the first time I've returned since the diagnosis. Partly, because I've been busy and partly because each time I returned the new arrangement of furniture would plunge me back into the moment of diagnosis. And it would take my breath away.


My office is too beautiful, my brother-in-law worked too hard on it, and my dog loves it too much, not to return. This morning I burned a candle and played Vivaldi. I worked with the door open. I think the spirit of that moment is leaving here.


I've been in pain. Not just the physical discomfort of the various procedures but the psychic pain of anger and disappointment. Sunday night I hit a low and was surprised to find myself still there on Monday morning, even after a decent night's sleep. I began working at 5 am, grumbling at my bad lot when a thought entered my mind. "What if you let it all go?" 


Breast cancer and the treatment it requires is definitely bigger than me. It certainly feels that way right now. Last night I was standing in my kitchen playing Sorry with my son when I became aware that my heart was pounding in my chest. I was just standing there. I certainly have a relationship with anxiety but not that kind. I imagine the unknown of what treatment will feel like, plus the demands of my daughter's graduation and her party, are combining to deliver me a whollop of fear. I feel  vulnerable and I think that this is the real heart of the matter. It's so incredibly uncomfortable to become acquainted with how truly vulnerable we all are. I understand that it is part of the human condition but I'll say it here: I hate it. I hate that they intubated me without my permission when they installed the port. I hate that I found a snap glued to my torso last night and I have no idea how it got there or who put it there. I hate that I am the owner of this body but I can't seem to find the owner's manual. I can hate it all but I can't change it. Perhaps in time I can still hate it and learn to accept it.


My sister and I were talking and I was trying to describe how I'm beginning to be aware of this new adventure in vulnerability. We both tried to attach words to it and came up a little short. I think most of us are novices when it comes to vulnerability and if you aren't, it's because life has forced the lesson upon you. I expect as with all hardship, it will reveal valuable learning. But I'm in the ouch-phase of developing this new muscle. It hurts and it doesn't make sense and yet I have faith it will at some point.


So once the idea popped into my head, I actually did, on a few levels, let it all go. And I felt and feel a lot better. Thursday is my first chemo treatment. It will come and so will the side effects.  It will be what it will be. I can choose to let go of this fear because I have a higher power. This means I have somebody or something to help me when I need it.  I believe there will be many lessons to this adventure and  accepting how truly vulnerable I am, we all are, will probably be the first lesson as well as the last one.


I have about 5 favorite poems and this is one of them:

First Lesson

Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you. Spread
your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls. A dead-
man's float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe
me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

Philip Booth