Together with Sharon Bray – teacher and author of two books on writing and health – CKN welcomes you to our new Writing Series where Sharon helps readers tap into the healing power of writing during difficult times. As Sharon puts it, “Your stories matter. You are your stories. Our stories shape us and act as the lens through which we see the world. It’s through story that we make sense of our lives, reclaim our voices, and learn our words can touch others’ hearts.” Follow along with this bi-monthly series with Sharon and please send us your stories….they matter to us.
by Sharon Bray, Ed.D
Siri, that monotonous virtual voice of iPhone assistance, has proven to be unreliable. Where I dreamed of asking for directions to my desired destination and then be guided by her unflappable female voice through the streets and freeways of my city, assured of making the correct exit and turns to arrive without getting lost, I have been offered, more times than not, directions to places not even in Toronto, like a city in Oklahoma or somewhere north of Algonquin Park. Siri remains entirely unflappable but I, on the other hand, end up talking back like a crazy woman to that impersonal Siri voice as if there’s a real being, miniaturized of course, living in my iPhone. I confess that more than a few expletives have been uttered in Siri’s direction.
How, I wonder, did I ever get from point A to point B in the years I was consulting with organizations scattered all over greater Toronto or the multitude of new technology firms in Silicon Valley? I recall having street maps and written directions dictated over the telephone by clients. I did just fine with those directions, writing them down before I got in the car, but I was thrilled when Google first introduced online maps with turn-by-turn directions. I made occasional wrong turns from time to time as the early maps were refined and corrected, but when I got lost, I’d simply stop and ask for help. Once in a great while, I arrived late, but I always got to where I intended to go, all without any assistance from a GPS or Siri guiding me to my destination.
We’ve become seekers of directions on just about anything in life. We live in a world that abounds with instructions, whether you’re seeking to find out how to cook a certain vegetable or fish, find directions to a place you haven’t been before, assemble furniture, fill out necessary forms and documents, or deal with health and emotional complaints. Not only will you likely find dozens of sites and articles on any topic by perusing the web, but Amazon’s bookshelves contain titles for every aspect of life–and illness. The preponderance of self-help books on the market represents an industry worth over $10 billion annually according to the article, “The Problem with the Self Help Industry,” appearing in a 2011 issue of The Huffington Post. Whether you seek to initiate change or you’re forced to change your life due to unexpected illness, hardship or loss, there’s likely a book, podcast or DVD out there that guide you in a step-by-step explanation on how to do it. Dr. Jim Taylor, author of the article states, “… Contrary to the assertions of just about every self-help book that has ever been written, change takes incredible commitment, time, energy and effort. Someone might be able to show you the way, but you have to make the journey yourself.” Making the journey yourself, in many ways, also applies to the cancer journey.
Teva Harrison’s book, In-Between Days (Anasi, 2016), a graphic memoir about living with terminal cancer is worth a read for anyone living with–and learning to navigate through–cancer. She writes, “When I was first diagnosed, I made all these frantic lifestyle changes, as if I could turn back time, undo my bad luck. I think a lot of us do that…I was frantic, driven by panic…” As her cancer has progressed, however, her treatment has also changed, and she has come to terms with her reality of living with advanced and terminal cancer, writing, “If we manage to stabilize it, it’s only stable for an indeterminate while…it’s only a matter of time before it finds a way around the barricades and begins to grow again…” Harrison’s journey requires she adapt to and navigate her life through constant change, yet even in the face of a terminal and progressive illness, she looks for ways to enjoy what she can. “I mean, the cancer is here, and I have a life to live. And sometimes living well includes eating something made with sugar or having a glass of wine with dinner. I’m not going to be hard on myself. I’m going to enjoy every minute I can.”
Harrison describes the importance of friends, family members, and medical professionals and specialists who continue to help her with the reality of her illness, complexities of treatment, support and care. But the changes in her life from “before” cancer to “after” cancer are those she has learned to come to terms with in her own way.
There are also sometimes costs to our post-cancer lives: bodily after-effects of treatment or surgeries that may last for years or force us to come to terms with a permanently altered body. According to the Cancer Council of Australia, “Studies on people who have survived cancer are limited compared with studies about preventing cancer… research does suggest that a healthy lifestyle can stop or slow the development of many cancers… It also shows that some people who have had cancer may be at an increased risk of other health problems, such as heart disease, lung problems or diabetes.”
I considered myself lucky when I was diagnosed and treated for a very early stage of breast cancer eighteen years ago. I followed the doctors’ treatment plan to the letter: two lumpectomies, tamoxifen, and seven weeks of daily radiation to my left breast. I learned much later there were unexpected costs not fully understood or anticipated at the time. Although the changes are not visible, I live with a body permanently altered by cancer and serious illness.
Eight years after my treatment, I collapsed on the pavement while walking my dog and was diagnosed with heart failure. My doctors have told me it’s highly likely the radiation I had following my lumpectomies may have damaged my heart. After the diagnosis, I was in a state of shock for weeks. Heart failure is a condition that does not improve, although medication, diet and exercise can help to slow the inevitable decline in heart functioning. My treatment plan is routinely reviewed, and it changes from time to time as my condition requires. My intent is to live as long as possible despite this condition, but initially my diagnosis challenged my self-perception and expectations for a “normal” life. Thankfully, I have an extraordinary cardiologist and with continued research and treatment innovation, there may be more hope for heart failure patients.
Yet despite excellent treatment, the increased knowledge and information available, I have moments when my worry and fears surface. At those times, I stop searching for new research studies and avoid the invitations to online support groups so that I do not weigh my days down preoccupied by worry or fear. I focus, instead, on the work and activities I love–besides, as Gilda Radner, former SNL member who died of metastatic cancer, famously said, “It’s always something.” I have excellent medical care, but ultimately, it’s up to me to find the best way for me to personally navigate the reality of living with a body forever altered by illness.
In the poem, “There’s Not a Book On How To Do This,” cancer survivor Sharon Doyle reminds us of the challenge of discovering our own way through cancer and other serious illness as she sketches the composition of her fall garden after her cancer treatment has ended.
There’s not a book on how to do this,
but there is an emphasis on composition.
The trucks that slug by under our window
hold trombones, mirrors, dictionaries.
It’s not my fault they invade
the calm of trees like cancer. I
don’t have cancer anymore…
…I rarely remember the
uterus I don’t have. One of my sons said,
“You were done with it right away, right, Mom?”
I guessed so…
(In: The Cancer Poetry Project, v. 1, 2001, Karin Miller, Ed.)
“There’s not a book on how to do this…” Think about it. Whether cancer, heart disease, divorce, the loss of a loved one, job loss—any major life challenge—we don’t have the luxury of a GPS or even an instruction booklet to help us navigate through our life’s upheavals, fears, or grief. Yes, we have others’ advice. We have the comfort of friends and family, of physicians and helping professionals, but ultimately, the journey is ours to navigate, the road full of unexpected twists and turns, conundrums and set-backs. We begin composing a new life with each step we take—one that honors where we’ve been but also embraces what we have discovered about ourselves and our lives in our journey.
Doyle’s loving gifts from her family, the birdsong and flowers, are symbolic of the support that gave her courage and hope as she made her way back to health. In the final stanza, though, the reader may smile as she describes her unique way to celebrate her recovery and her life after cancer:
I left vacant fourteen
trellis lightscapes for
As you write, reflect on your own life journeys and life during and after cancer treatment.
- What helped you navigate the rough waters of such profound and unexpected change?
- What internal compass—your beliefs, aspirations, or faith—played a part in helping you rediscover hope and embrace a new life?
- Based on your experience, what advice or suggestions might you offer someone just beginning the journey through cancer?
Let us hear from you! CKN will select and publish your responses to the suggested writing prompts from Sharon. Send them to Karen Irwin. 500 word limit.
Sharon Bray, Ed.D., is the author of two books on writing and health: A Healing Journey: Writing Together through Breast Cancer and When Words Heal: Writing Through Cancer. Her blog site, www.writingthroughcancer.com, features weekly reflective essays and writing prompts for anyone writing out of illness, pain or life struggle. She leads a number of expressive writing workshops for cancer survivors and teaches creative nonfiction and transformational writing for UCLA extension Writers’ Program. She earned her doctorate from the University of Toronto.