Saturday, March 12, 2022

The Beauty of the Process

 If you saw my last blogpost, you’ll recall seeing this SoulCollage® card:



 

To recap, I made this card to help me overcome my fear of the statistics around my cancer diagnosis.  I have struggled to come to terms with the methods and nature of the western medical establishment in which the disease is treated rather than the person.  But this is just backstory, as you’ll see.

 

Here’s one of the beauties of SoulCollage® - while the process of making these collaged cards is very simple and a lot of fun, whether done alone or in community, it also can generate far greater insight than you might expect. There are basically two ways of making cards: have an idea of something you want to make, something you’d like to include in your deck, and look for images to capture that; or just pull images that you’re drawn to and see what evolves.  I always thought that the second method yields the most surprises.  Often, you don’t understand the import of what you have made until after (sometimes long after) you’ve made it.  But with this most recent collage, which was clearly created with a specific intention, the same kind of surprised awareness arose well after the fact.

 

Let me explain. The young woman’s image at the top of the card was cut off a photograph of her rock climbing.  I wanted a picture of a woman overcoming some difficulty, and this picture seemed ideal.  And so, I placed her practically climbing over the doctors who formed the lower background. On one level, this clearly achieved what I intended.  Mission accomplished. 

 

I selected the photo of the field of sunflowers for the lower background because it was full of life and new growth. As the sunflower is the chosen image of life and hope for sarcoma patients, it embodies even deeper symbolism. (And this was before the invasion of Ukraine and all the resulting sunflower images, but another synchronicity, for sure.)

 

The doctors are in their operating room, peering down at the little figure on the bottom left – me: small, bald, and fatigued from their ministrations.  April was the month I was diagnosed, and so I included the calendar page along with numbers representing the awful statistics concerning this disease. 

 

I will say I did feel some strength and resolve after completing the card.  But it didn’t end there.

 

A few days later, I sat with the card again, and another realization leaped into my mind and practically bowled me over.  Truly, the woman is no longer a rock climber.  I succeeded, as SoulCollage® inspires us to do, in giving the image an entirely new context.  She is now picking flowers in a field.  She is leaning over to pluck one.  Oh. My. God.  She is Persephone!  Of course she is!  And the medical establishment sits in the underworld beneath her.  Well, I have obviously been on an underworld journey.  And yet, the little me in the corner holds a big bouquet of sunflowers.  She will arise.  I have.

 

But is Persephone about to be pulled down like when she first picked the flower?  Or is She in this field during one of her subsequent annual ascents?  The card does not say, but in SoulCollage® we let the image speak.  What the woman said when I first made the card and before I understood Her significance was, “I am one who has been at the will of the medical system, for good and for ill.  I am one who has climbed out of the mindset that I have to be one of their statistics. I am one who chooses life and who refuses to be intimidated by their statistics.”  So, knowing this, I can be assured that we are viewing one of Persephone’s returns in the Spring.  She and I have already been down there.  There will be other descents.  But not now. 

 

And what about the central doctor?  Is he then Hades?  That’s a tricky question.  We can never approve of Hades’ actions in abducting Her, but is He evil?  What a terrible job He was assigned!  I can’t blame Him for not wanting to bear it alone.  Sadly, in the ancient times of the myth’s origins, Greek marriages were often conducted in this manner, or at least without the women being consulted, yet alone giving consent.  I do not condone his methods, even so.  But it is also true that through this awful act, Hades made Her a powerful queen. Her life and purpose drastically changed, and who can say whether this was a good thing or bad?

 

But back to the doctor – he did save my life (and I truly love my surgeon who called me “my miracle patient” and who, interestingly, was born in Greece). He, unlike Hades for Persephone, was not the cause of my troubles.  But he did drastically change my life.  Then he, they, western medicine, left me in this place.  My surgeon gave me the chance. If I want to be truly healed, I must use what they can offer but also take it into my own hands. I’m the one who can harvest the sunflower.

 

I have always tried to imagine Persephone’s story forward, beyond what we’re told in the myth.  It is up to Her to choose how to proceed.  Hades offers Her tremendous power in all the realms. I like to believe She took it on.

 

What the card does not show, and so perhaps I need to make another one, is that there is community.  I may often feel alone, and in many ways my suffering and path are all my own, but as the sunflowers grow together, connected, in the field, I am not alone.


Saturday, February 26, 2022

Update and a Poem

 Usually, after my every-three-months scan comes up clear (and I’ve done this often enough now to be able to say “usually”), I breathe a sigh of relief and happily face a few months of reprieve.  This time, however, I had a different response.  Don’t get me wrong – I am truly grateful and can even say thrilled at the results.  Many are not so fortunate.  But the worry did not completely abate.  Partly it is because my primary oncologist told me that he wants to continue scanning every three months for three years (from my surgery), instead of the two that I had anticipated.  That isn’t the worst thing in the world, and I can only hope that I make it three years in remission.  And I do understand that it is good to catch things early.  He just reminded me that my rare cancer recurs frequently, and that my specific version was aggressive.  This isn’t one of those “make it for five years and you’re pretty much home free” types of cancer.  This kind (leiomyosarcoma) is a “you’re never home free” variety.  I don’t think I’ve heard a single story of “one-and-done,” although that doesn’t mean that it has never happened.  I suspect anyone who may have made it into that camp dropped out of the support group, and we just don’t hear about them.  I do know of some twenty-year survivors.  But the statistics aren’t good.  You don’t want to know the five-year survival rate.  Let’s just say, it isn’t great.

 

In addition, I had a melanoma cut out of my leg last month.  My dermatologist says it was early stage, and she got clean margins.  I assumed I was done with it, but when I went to my local oncologist after my recent scan, she told me to watch out for swollen glands and lumps in my groin, which would indicate the melanoma having spread to lymph nodes.  Sigh…One more damned thing to worry about.

 

As Annie Lamott says, “Life is just too goddamn lifey sometimes.”

 

Despite my gratitude for it having saved my life, when I’m immersed in the medical world, I all too easily fall into fear of the statistics.  I know the docs don’t really intend to scare you (at least not the ones I’ve dealt with), and I realize they have seen all the worst-case scenarios played out.  And I suppose it’s better that they do inform you, unlike the old days when the truth was so often hidden from patients.  But our emotional responses are not really their concern (and yes, there are still so many ways western medicine sucks). 

 

If I allow myself to live in the grip of the statistics monster, I don’t know how to have a decent life with whatever time I have left.  And right now my life is way more than decent, despite cancer, the pandemic, climate collapse and political chaos.  I have a loving family, a good home, healthy food, poems to write, communities to be part of, and that medical care that I’m complaining about.  And I don’t live in a war zone.

 

So, after dealing with all the doctors in their stark white, intimidating and impersonal exam rooms, I have to spend a few days shaking off the fears and the statistics.  It’s not easy.  I wish I were the kind of person who can more easily shrug things off and move on.  Before I had a life-threatening diagnosis, I didn’t have a clue about what life is like for those who have.  Now I know.  Let’s just say, it’s a lot to come to terms with and I hope you never have the experience.  I’m not writing this so you will feel sorry for me.  You have your own bag of worries to carry around.  But writing is something I do to help me let go of the fear.  I debated about sending it to you, but I decided that it could help (me, if not you) to give you a glimpse into my world, into my lifey life.  I don’t know about you, but I do appreciate hearing about what is really, truly going on in my friends’ lives and struggles.  Maybe you do, too.  No point in hiding, is there?

 

I do feel determined to not let these situations run me.  I would dearly love to turn my attention outward and away from myself.   

 

Here’s the poem that is part of my banishing the statistics demons:

 

Victimized by Statistics

 

The news is good,

I tell myself.

Free and clear for

three more months.

Then I enter

one of those horrid

little white rooms

where I am only

another statistic

waiting to tally.

My relief drains away

under the palpating

hands, and I shrink into

an uneasy and smaller

version of myself.

True, they royally grant

me my reprieve, but

along with it comes

instructions to be

vigilant and wary.

As if I needed

one more dose

of fear. As if

there is paltry hope

beyond their statistics.

As if it is of no concern

that once again

I feel like a

ticking time bomb.

 

 

After writing this, I decided to take one more step in healing this situation.  so, I made a SoulCollage® card that is about moving beyond being a victim of the statistics.  Here it is:




 

  Sorry for the repetition for those who read this on CaringBridge.


Thursday, February 17, 2022

A New Poem: Auspicious


My heart stutters,

skips beats,

thumps hard

in the night,

each random

incident an

unsettling shock.

So, I take my heart

out to the sky

and the birds.

We fly in unison,

a murmuration,

then perch atop

a tall pine.

Here we have an

expansive view, a

vista of unparalleled

perspective.

From out of the ethers

flies an awareness

like a divination -

My heart, most wise

and trustworthy, is

struggling to beat

in rhythm with

the heartbeat

of the world.

It would be foolish

not to see this

as auspicious.

It would be reckless

to discount the gifts

of avian intelligence

and to ignore the way

the hearts of birds

pulse together

and in rhythm with

the heartbeat

of the world.


SoulCollage® card: Auspicious

Sunday, November 21, 2021

A New Poem: Look Beyond the Trees

 This is one of a number of sky poems I've written in the last few years.

 

The sky is

my touchstone.

What lies beyond

the trees and

the white bird’s flight

is the origin

of oracles.

Sailing clouds.

Pink dawns.

Red sunsets.

The sun

breaking through

the clouds –

or not.

Mist obscuring

the hills –

or not.

Nights with constellations,

nights with the moon –

or not.

Lifting my head,

I am related

and reoriented.

Any time.

Any place.

Message received.




By the way, Blogger changed how people can subscribe to its blogs. If you subscribed to my blog before, I doubt you're receiving emails that I posted. If you wish to get them (out side of Facebook posts), please subscribe again.

Saturday, October 9, 2021

Crazy Hair

When it first came back, the top front was the last to appear.  The little caps I had worn for nine months – red, lavender, blue, black - stayed on my head, keeping me warm, but more so hiding what to my mind was ugliness and the sign of my disease.  

The pounds came back, too, slowly, just as the hair did.


When the caps came off, people complimented me on my appearance and asked if I would keep my hair short.  Now, I have hated having short hair ever since high school when my unskilled or clueless hairdresser said, “You’ll never have long hair.  It’s too wavy and unruly.”  A tall girl, I felt my short wavy hair was not only unattractive, but also made me look pin-headed.  And so, in college, despite the pronouncement, I grew my hair almost to my waist.  Hippie hair was long hair, and I wanted it.  The weight of it pulled out the frizz and the curl.

 

After that, when I got rid of the long hair, what I got was "big hair." It wasn’t until mid-life that I learned about a method for cutting curly hair that left me without a big, frizzy head, and with receiving frequent compliments for my luxurious, controlled waves.

 

After two sessions of chemo, I had to have my family snip off my locks.  My daughter-in-law stepped in to help.  After I got tired of seeing short hairs all over the place, I asked my son to shave my head.  Bald.  Months and months of baldness.  Some women pull off bald heads with dignity and flair.  I was not one of them, especially with my newly gaunt face and tired eyes.

 

Chemo can be soul-killing in addition to being cancer-killing.

 

But for now, at least, that time is over.  My hair continues to grow, curlier than before, and wilder.  I don’t know what will happen with it, just as I don’t know what else my poor beleaguered body will have to deal with.  There’s not much I can do with crazy hair now, except appreciate having it and watching it grow.

 

The things we take for granted… It’s hair!  On my head!  And other places, too!





Sunday, September 19, 2021

A New Poem: Patterns

 We are so fortunate to be in Hawaii long enough to get into a rhythm of daily life.  Such a gift to be here, and doing very little!

We settle in.

Morning rituals:

his walks, my writing,

daily divinations,

small offerings to

earth and sky.

Afternoon tea.

Sunsets.

Evening movies.

These are the patterns

we develop and

rest into, the rhythms

of the day.

There is comfort

in the consistency,

even knowing that

safety is nonsense.

Still, there is value

in the comfort of repetition,

as long as we do not

take any of it for granted,

as long as we know that

the security offered

by patterns is a treasure

of this moment only.



Tuesday, September 7, 2021

 We're in Hawaii, very close to Kealakekua Bay.  Much gratitude to our friends who sent us here.  This new poem is called A Beginning.

The dolphin pod swims into the bay

in the early morning.

A rainbow arcs across

the dawning sky.

The ocean is calm,

the air heavy.

This is a time of transition,

a liminal time in a liminal place.

It Is not meant for you

to be comfortable.

It is not for you only

to take and receive.

Offerings must be made.

Only an exchange is worthy

of the seeker.

Where the clouds touch the sea,

where the fire meets the water,

where the rocks climb to the heavens,

there you will find

what you are looking for.

There you will be made whole,

there, when you give yourself

away.