When I was going through treatment for breast cancer, I expected it to be a One and Done thing: Once it was over, I'd be done thinking about it! I’d suffer through the pains and indignities (and OH! the indignities!) of treatment, then put it behind me. Never speak of it again. Never think of it again. I was a writer, not a cancer patient or survivor. That’s what I wanted my life to be about: Creativity. Not potentially life-ending illness.
Then I joined the Sistership Dragon Boat team. While the point of the team -- as I’ve mentioned before -- is to condition ourselves to paddle competitively, we are a team of survivors. The topic of cancer does come up now and then.
Like when
we were waiting to board our plane home from the Nanaimo Dragon Boat festival.
A few of my teammates were discussing a television show about a volleyball (or
was it soccer) team who took to cannibalism after their plane crashed.
When deciding who should be eaten first on our team, I raised my hand as a joke. I
added, however, to “avoid the right breast. It won’t taste right.” Rather than
be horrified or embarrassed or uncomfortable, my teammates met my gallows humour with
raucous laughter. That’s the beauty of being surrounded by “your people.”
I
never wanted cancer to be my community. Sometimes, though, we don’t get to choose who gets
us. Sometimes we have to settle for being glad we fit somewhere, especially when we fit so
well. So, I wanted to give back to “my people.” But what could I offer? Well, I
decided I could offer my precious creativity.
When I was going through treatment, I had a tough time finding anyone who told me it was okay not to look on the bright side. I could try to make it easier for others to find such a person.
I
wrote an article about why it was hard for me to embrace the positive thinking
that is so often exclusively promoted in breast cancer treatment. To my great
joy, the Globe and Mail published it in their First Person column:
My
dragon boat teammates who read it were amazing! So encouraging and supportive -- even the
ladies I could have sworn were “bright-siders.”
But what completely touched me was that absolute strangers tracked me down to thank me. They were facing or had faced their own diagnosis and treatment, and felt that my essay put their feelings into words at a time that they needed it.
It was exactly what I had wanted when writing the article… and I had no clue how good it would feel to get it.
My heart is so full!
Thank
YOU, lady strangers!
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