Good Things from Cancer #2
We’re all going to die, we all know it. As Mary Oliver puts it in her poem, The Summer Day, ”Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”
Hell yes, Mary, yes.
The poem then asks: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do/with your one wild and precious life?”
That is just the kind of question I’ve
always loved to ask. And answer. When it comes to intentions and plans, I’m your woman. Show me a goal-setting technique, a manifestation method, a treasure map and it won’t be long before I’ll be off - like a frisky dog after a rabbit - with a to-do list.
Six months ago, before my diagnosis, I had my usual make-it-happen playsheet in its place in the bottom drawer of my desk. I take it out to look at it now. Written on yellow paper during a holiday in New York, it includes items like: “Start new novel”; “Expand Font (my business) and hire an assistant”; “Begin A Blog”; ”Sell house and divide life between Dublin and San Francisco” — each broken down into smaller steps, and decorated with doodles, photos and illustrations, as I like to do.
But, of course, life doesn’t always give us what we think we want. Getting sick has led me to let go of some of those intentions, while getting on with others and putting others on hold until after my treatment is done.
The real change, though, lies in the quality of answers I’d now give to Oliver’s question. Now I’d say things like: “Love my husband”; “Watch over my kids”; “See friends and family”; “Enjoy my writing”; “Nurture my health”; “Foster my awareness”; “Savour every moment”. Less doing, more being.
Does that sound tame? It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like Oliver says: wild and precious. The things that matter in my life now matter more than ever — and nothing else matters much at all.
I still love plans and to-dos but cancer has heightened my awareness of what I’ve always known. That everything dies and that, meantime, this is it.
This is my wild and precious, my dear and beautiful, life.
I’ve never given this a try, but I think it’s about time I do.
[...] Orna Rose wrote about good things she’s gained from cancer. [...]
[...] second link comes from Orna Ross that brings us Good Things I’ve Gained from Having Cancer #2 posted at Orna Ross. Everyone that has had cancer or have a relative with cancer can relate to the [...]
Hi Orna, I’m on the same Blog carnival as you and as I scrolled down the page I saw yours and wanted to read it. I’m new to this Blogging thing and so this is all an adventure for me.In fact, everything is an adventure to me! I too had Cancer- Breast Cancer, going on 7 years ago now. I also lost my 20 year old son on the same day. I used writing to help me heal, as well as main stream medicine(surgery and chemo) and complimentary medicines. It was all a very powerful experience, and if you write then I’d recommend you use it to work through your experiences.there is a lot of evidence out there that supports the idea that certain kinds of writing can boost the immune system. I created an on-line writing course for the College I was working for at the time, using the research I’d done. The results were overwhelming and humbling.
You are absolutely right. The important parts of your life get highlighted when you face death. You realise that connecting with family and opening your heart is on the top of the ‘to do’ List. Once you have dealt with your challenge, as I know you will, you’ll get on with your list.
I am now living in England (I’m an Aussie)in the process of manufacturing a personal development game that I created in the year after I got over chemo. I’ve been here 2 years, even though I only planned to stay 4 months.
I’m over the ‘danger period’ now, but I never take my life for granted. I’m grateful for every new day, every healthy moment. I was always a ‘doer’ and into personal development, so not a lot has changed in the nature of my life. But its that experiential element that cancer brings that changes you for ever. Quality of Life might be a good word for it.
I wish you well on your journey. Write to me if you want or check out my Blog on this carnival http://www.thejourneywoman.info/
Love Nhys
[...] presents Good Things I?ve Gained from Having Cancer #2 posted at Orna Ross, saying, “cancer can have [...]
[...] presents Good Things I?ve Gained from Having Cancer #2 posted at Orna Ross, saying, “cancer can have [...]
[...] presents Good Things I?ve Gained from Having Cancer #2 posted at Orna Ross, saying, “staying postive through [...]
Thank you for for your submission to the advice for women from women blog carnival.
[...] presents Good Things I’ve Gained from Having Cancer #2 posted at Orna [...]
Welcome back, Robin. I have no idea what happened to the comments that “disappeared” and I’m very sorry to hear it. Thanks as always for your enthusiasm and good wishes.
Dearest Orna with a heart like a clear mountain stream. You are so indelibly beautiful.
I came here to see you and see if you might have left comments in response to mine that I’d left on two previous posts but my comments aren’t even there. I don’t know what happened but they obviously were lost in cyber space. So I shall start with this post.
I feel so alive right now JUST BEING here. I always feel loved the moment the page opens. And there you are. I FEEL you. And it feels real and good and kind. I feel like I know you…as if I’ve always known you and always will. I know that may sound odd, some would think it even inappropriate, but I don’t think you’ll feel that way. I know you won’t. I just can’t get over the LOVE that flows into me when I come here.
I was reading this post and smiled over how you used to be making your lists and getting organized for projects. And then I read your words:
“The real change, though, lies in the quality of answers I’d give to Oliver’s question. Now I’d say things like: “Love my husband”; “Watch over my kids”; “See friends and family”; “Enjoy my writing”; “Nurture my health”; “Foster my awareness”; “Savour every moment”.
“Does that sound tame? It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like Oliver says: wild and precious. The things that matter in my life now matter more than ever — and nothing else matters much at all.”
Oh my gosh, I know exactly how you feel. For all kinds of reasons of my own, coming close to death twice in my life, combined with suffering and so many things throughout my 54 years of life, I too feel like this. And it is NOT tame. Not even close to tame. It is free and wild and joyous. It is so REAL and PRECIOUS and VITAL….nothing else matters. Nothing. Although I am doing my book and other work, and everyone says the book IS ME. You are one of the few people who understands when I say, “No. The book, the blogging, the work, all the rest are NOT ME. I am ME. My Husband, my friends, my family, Nature, the trees, the sky, the sun, the Earth, the rain, the love I share with others, like you, and receive from others, like you and the people in my life….THAT is ME. Fame, fortune, things, fancy house, car, clothes, doings, and goings and accomplishments are worth nothing without the REAL ME. As you say nothing matters.
Dear beautiful soul, this is such a vital message you send into the world. It is “THE” message. To LIVE right now. To LOVE and be loved. To FEEL the world around me. To KNOW Nature. To let go of the petty things that do not matter. Let go. Let go. If I sent one message into the world it would be the one you so eloquently share here.
I FEEL you. I HEAR your voice in my heart and it’s sweet beauty makes me weep (I feel so seen and loved), I LOVE you, my life is changed because of who you CHOOSE to be.
You are always in my thoughts and prayers.
Never doubt it.
Love,
Robin
@ Kathleen, thanks so much for this — I do hope to be one of those people who go on to live for many years in full awareness that “every moment matters”. We caught it early, my prognosis is good and I am optimistic. It is wonderful to hear of people like your sister. Thank you again.
Orna, So sorry you’re sick. My sister had breast cancer when she was 30–it’s getting close to 20 years ago now. She survived and while the pain and suffering were terrible (I hope modern medicine has improved in the past two decades), it changed her life in exactly the ways you listed above. And afterward it changed her personality.
You do not sound timid, but my sister always was. Sometimes it held her back. After surviving breast cancer, nothing daunts her. Sometimes if someone’s trying to boss her around, she’ll even say outloud: Don’t think you can scare me. Breast cancer’s scary and chemotherapy’s scary and I beat them both ages ago.
It’s an awful trial, and yes, while we’re all going to die, I will wish and keep wishing that you survive this, and die many, many years later of something else.
My sister’s story is far from unique. Cancer survivors are the best people I know: optimistic, steadfast, and really funny. Every moment matters and those who’ve sent cancer into remission rarely lose sight of the important things.
That doesn’t make it easier for you now, I know. But posting it here, quoting Mary Oliver, and reordering your list have practically convinced me that in a year or so, you’ll be reconsidering that earlier list, but with new-found powers.
Thanks Rosemary and welcome to the site. I really appreciate the good wishes.
Sorry this is happening to you, Orna, but I hope that you’ll come through the treatment well and have a long and even happier life. lots of love xx
@ Derek — I thought you knew! Not that it makes any difference, really.
@ Alberto – welcome to the site and thank you for telling this story – what an extraordinary and emotive experience for you. And you’re absolutely right, of course — one doesn’t need to be ill at all to become aware, of death, of the value of life, or of any other truths. There are multiple pathways to such awareness and what a pity we so often need shock or distress, suffering or illness to take us there.
As to making sense of your dramatic experience, it doesn’t surprise me that you have been unable to get it out of your mind, or indeed that your beliefs and prayers were reflected back to you in this life-to-death moment. Thank you again for sharing your experience here.
I was in a bar for a coffee a few weeks ago when a guy about 30 falls dead on the ground. Actually, I entered the bar about one minute after he dropped. It took a bit to realize he wasn’t a drunkard but a man who just suffered a cardiac arrest. Once got it, I performed cardio-pulmonary resuscitation on him, amidst his vomit and people screaming. The guy died suffocated by a snack coupled with his own vomit. The ambulance arrived 7 minutes later, and they took over 10 minutes to intubate him. He was 30.
Now, this only means, arguably, that death can visit us at any time, in the less expected situations.
In your case I wouldn’t think that you would not overcome this disease and win this battle. Yet what I mean is that if we think of dying, that’s something that can arrive at any moment, also without any disease whatsoever, at every age.
You can imagine the parents of this young man, who, as I learned, were informed of their son’s death after 8 hours, at about 9pm, basically at dinner time, while wondering why he wasn’t home yet. Hallo sir we have to inform you thaty your son died in a bar chocked by a snack arguably, with his chest naked amidst vomit screaming people and guys trying to massage and ventilate him…
I remember that once the ambulance arrived i alredy knew he was dead. I started parying for him, mentally. Three our father. Now, the strange thing indeed happens at this point. It never happened before to me, neither to perform BLS on a dead person or what I am reporting now.
I felt the pressure of the air on my right side as if different. I wondered what the heck it could be. I had then the impression of something pushing, sort of. I remember I thought it seemed like an incoming message, like something trying to eleicit one’s attention. So I tried to listen and to my truly truly truly great surprise with my right ear (only it, the left ear seemed inert) I heard -ahem, well- sort of a voice. It said:
“Now I am VERY well.
I thank you for what you have done.
But now, I am dead”.
Oh.
I got up and I went away.
I just can’t forget it.
Maybe you can make sense out of it more than I have been able to be puzzled by it.
good luck
Alberto
…..
I had no idea….