Peace From Broken Pieces: How to Get Through What You're Going Through

by Vanzant, Iyanla

  Just when we thought we had resolved the issues that threatened the organization, the financial grip grew even tighter. My business manager was concerned that Gemmia and I did not have health coverage, and he insisted that he would get us covered even if it meant I had to cut another position. He surrendered half of his own salary to pay the monthly fees. We were all committed to Inner Visions and the programs we had created. We would do whatever was necessary to keep it afloat. We worked out a new deal with the IRS, which meant we were struggling, but we had faith. That is, until we were all blindsided by a blow that had nothing to do with money. It had to do with me. And it was all about Gemmia.

  If rain doesn’t fall, corn doesn’t grow.

  — Yoruba Proverb

  CHAPTER 13

  THINGS FALL APART

  When things start to fall apart, they fall apart fast. The downward spiral feels like it happens overnight, even if it takes years.

  In late summer 2002, Gemmia discovered a huge lump on her side. It didn’t hurt, but she was concerned. Her doctor said that the blood tests were inconclusive and ordered more.

  At that same time, my publisher requested my overdue manuscript. I had been writing, but with all of the upheaval in my life, the ideas simply weren’t flowing. For some strange reason, my creative process never seems to line up with my contractual due dates. I decided to send Oluwa and my brother’s son to summer camp so I could have space and time alone to finish my manuscript.

  I spent days typing things that made no sense, because I couldn’t settle my mind down. When Gemmia went to the gynecologist, they found a large mass but couldn’t determine if it was on her ovary or her uterus. They sent her for a sonogram. I promised to meet her at the clinic, but got turned around in downtown Washington and couldn’t find the place. By the time I arrived, she was heading home. I could hear it in her voice—either she was very upset with me or she really didn’t feel well. In either case, the report had not been good. The mass was so large they couldn’t see it on the screen. They couldn’t tell if it was a tumor or a cyst. She would need an MRI.

  She was going home to lie down. No, she didn’t need anything. Niamoja was with Muhsinah, who had become her next-door neighbor. The MRI was scheduled for the following week.

  I had just boarded an Amtrak train on my way to New York City to join Tom Joyner and his morning crew, who were hosting a commemoration of the World Trade Center tragedy. For once in my life, I wasn’t late for the train. I had just sat down when my cell phone rang. It was Erika, Gemmia’s best friend. Gemmia seemed to be in a great deal of pain. When Erika gave Gemmia the telephone, she didn’t sound good, but she said she thought it might be gas. She said she would be okay and I should go to New York.

  Something just didn’t feel right to me. I had 11 minutes before the train left. I debated for a few minutes and then called Muhsinah. She said she had just walked in and would go next door and check on her. There were seven minutes left. I called Gemmia’s house. Almasi answered the telephone.

  “What are you doing there?”

  “Gemmia called me and said she wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Why would she call you and tell me she is okay? How is she?”

  “I’m not sure, but she seems to be in a great deal of pain.”

  “Okay. I’m coming.”

  “She doesn’t want you to come. I’m making her some tea right now. If it’s gas, it should move out. You go. We’ll be fine.”

  I had three minutes before the train left the station. Tom was expecting me; he had announced that I would be there. The last thing I needed was to be a no-show at a major national event—but you know what? Life happens. I called Erika.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Akmal is here. He is with her now.”

  Akmal was a close personal friend and a traditional Chinese medical doctor and acupuncturist. Gemmia had been seeing him since she first found the lump. If Gemmia had called Almasi and Akmal, she must be in a pretty bad way.

  “Do I need to come?”

  “Well, if it were my daughter, I would be here.”

  I jumped off the train with one minute to spare. Speeding back to Gemmia’s house, I called my doctor friend of 15 years, Dr. Carol Mussenden, one of the best African American female OB /GYN doctors in the city. She encouraged me to bring Gemmia to her affiliated hospital in Virgina. I was to call her when I arrived. I was closer to Virginia than I was to Gemmia’s house, so I called and told Akmal to bring her there.

  I arrived first and waited. When Gemmia came through the door, she was doubled over in pain and barely able to walk. She couldn’t sit down and she couldn’t lie down. The pain was just that severe. Medical people! Why do they have to ask so many stupid questions before they decide to help you? No, she wasn’t pregnant. No, she didn’t use drugs. No. No. No. She didn’t drink. She didn’t smoke. She didn’t even own a Tylenol. Please can you give her something for the pain? That meant they had to start an IV. That meant giving her a needle. Gemmia had a serious needle phobia. She hated them! But today, she was at least willing. Of course she got the nurse who poked and prodded trying to find a vein. I coached her to breathe and look away. When she started to scream, I screamed. That meant that Gemmia had to be stuck again.

  It took hours for them to take her to get an MRI. When they did, the room was freezing and the technician was clearly annoyed. He needed Gemmia to lay flat but she couldn’t. It was too painful. I called Dr. Mussenden. She ordered another dose of the lovely pain meds, and everything went smoothly after that. Two agonizing hours later, the doctor on call looked at the film, then looked at us.

  “We are going to have to admit her.”

  “Why?”

  “You should wait and talk to your doctor.”

  “Why?”

  “The nurse will be right over to give you her room assignment.”

  “Can you please tell me what is going on? I am her mother.”

  Gemmia was in and out of consciousness. When the nurse finally showed up, I asked her what meds she was on. She looked at the chart and told me morphine. Morphine! Why was she on morphine? This woman didn’t own an aspirin.

  By the time they rolled Gemmia into the hospital room, she was out cold. I had left Muhsinah and Akmal downstairs, promising to retrieve them as soon as I knew where we were going. Gemmia was coming around just as Dr. Mussenden arrived. They kissed and hugged. Dr. Mussenden told Gemmia that she wanted her to rest for the night and she would order some tests in the morning. She motioned me out of the room.

  “This does not look good, but she is young and strong.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’re not even sure. There is a mass and it is large. What we cannot determine is its origin. We can’t tell if it is growing onto the uterus or emanating from the uterus or some other organ. Her blood work indicates that there a carcinoma present, but we can’t determine its exact origins.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we still have a long way to go.”

  My heart was racing and my head was spinning. I was ready to pass out right there in the hallway. Dr. Mussenden must have noticed me swooning.

  “Now, you calm down, or you will end up in the bed right next to her.”

  “I will calm down when someone can tell me that my child is going to be all right.”

  “Well, what I know is that all things are possible with God. She will probably sleep through the night. I’m ordering a battery of tests for the morning. I also have to bring in an oncologist so that we can get this thing nailed down. Don’t worry. I will make sure she is taken care of.”

  I went back into the room. Gemmia was still asleep. I stroked her head and kissed her face. I could feel the ocean of fearful tears rising in my body. I am not sure if I said it aloud or silently, but the words were very clear: God, please don’t let my child die. Please! I left to find the elevator. I had to find Muhsinah and Akmal. I pressed the elevator button at least 50 times before the d
oor opened. As I was about to step in, Muhsinah stepped out. I took one look at her and collapsed into her arms. We sat on the window ledge as I told her the doctor’s report. It was cancer. A tumor. When the elevator bell rang again, Akmal emerged. Muhsinah relayed the facts. He felt sure that once we knew where it was located, we would know what to do.

  Before she left, Dr. Mussenden again told me that Gemmia would probably sleep through the night. I should go home and get some rest. I had mixed feelings about leaving her alone in the hospital, but Akmal said they had given her so much morphine, she didn’t know where she was. At 2:45 A.M., we all left the hospital. When I arrived home, I told my housekeeper what was going on and asked if he could stay to get Oluwa off to school. Erika offered to make sure that Niamoja got off to school. We decided it would be best to say that mommy had to stay in the hospital to have some tests. I took a shower, lay down, and headed back at 5:30 A.M. I wanted to be there when she woke up.

  Hospital days start very early. By the time I arrived at 7:10 A.M., they had already started Gemmia’s blood work. I didn’t want to give her details, but I did let her know that either the ovaries or the uterus were involved. She did not want surgery. She wanted to have more children—two boys. How had this happened? What did they want to do to her? I had no answers.

  By noon, we had been through every department in the hospital and had seen no fewer than six different doctors. By 6 p.m., we both had questions and no one was giving us any information. It was 8:30 P.M. when Dr. Mussenden came into the room. She pulled up a chair and told me to sit down. I crawled into the bed with Gemmia and held her in my arms.

  The tumor was growing from her colon. It had covered one of her ovaries. There was a good chance she would lose them both, and possibly the uterus too. Both Gemmia and I moaned a deep “Oh my God!” They needed to run more tests, Dr. Mussenden went on. We should know about the surgery in the next day or so. Once that was done, Gemmia would probably need chemotherapy, but no radiation. She had seen worse cases, so we were not to lose faith or hope. This was a great hospital, and she was calling in the best people she knew. Did we have any questions? We were both stunned into silence. We were just grateful she was there. She said she would see us in the morning.

  I called Almasi first. She wouldn’t overreact and could get the word out to the team quickly. When I called Erika, she fell apart. I called my husband and told him I would need his help with Oluwa. He was getting ready to be testy until I told him why. He said he had a few meetings but he would work it out. I was not to worry. We were always good together in a crisis. Next, I contacted Damon and Nisa. Once all the appropriate people had been notified, I turned to face Gemmia. She looked ashen.

  “What are you thinking?

  “I am just wondering if I am going to die.”

  “Wrong thought. A better thought is I will not die. Hold on to that thought.”

  “Are you coaching me?”

  “No. I mean yes. I don’t know.”

  “Well, good; coach me, and come here and kiss me.”

  I’m not sure who cried first but we both did. We cried for a very long time. We were crying when the nurse came in to give Gemmia her pain medication. Crying when she came back to take her temperature. Gemmia cried until she vomited. I stopped crying so that I could clean her up. Once we stopped crying, we both vowed to never do that again. Gemmia got very quiet.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I am just thinking about what am I going to tell Niamoja.”

  With that, we both burst into tears again.

  The next four days were torture. Every doctor had a different opinion. One thought her lungs were involved; another thought that the cancer had originated in her ovaries and spread to the colon. Some doctors were very nice and helpful, answering all of our questions. Others, well, they were doctors. They spoke a language that we did not understand. Each day, different members of the team came to stay with Gemmia so that I could go home for a few hours. Gemmia spoke to Niamoja every day, assuring her that everything was okay but that she had to have an operation. It wasn’t a test, it was something bigger, but she would be home real soon.

  The issue with the surgery was whether to remove the entire colon, which meant that Gemmia would have a bag on the outside of her body to catch her fecal matter, or to remove just the affected part of the colon along with the ovaries. Gemmia did not want a bag. She was too young. She was really distressed about losing her ovaries, but all of our energy practitioners, Ebun, Yawfah, and AdaRa, assured her that as long as she had her uterus, she could have children. Gemmia no longer seemed to be worried about dying. Rather, she was concerned about how she was going to live. I taught her everything I new about EFT and we did it together everyday, affirming that she would live without being specific about how or where.

  We met the surgeon the day before the surgery. He was lovely. Gemmia told him exactly what she wanted and what she did not want. He promised to do his best, but also assured her that he was going to do whatever it took to make sure she would survive and have a normal life, even if that meant she had to wear a colostomy bag. On his way out of the room, I followed him. I grabbed his hand and told him who Gemmia was for me. She was not only my daughter, she was my best friend. I told him that I was holding him personally responsible for her and that he better not screw this up. He told me he would do his best. I yanked his arm to stop his stride. I looked him dead in the eyes and said:

  “Your best is not good enough. I want you to pretend that you are performing that surgery on your own mother or daughter or someone who means the world to you. I don’t want your best! I want your God-given, unfailing excellence. Are we clear?”

  He stared at me for a few seconds before he responded.

  “I wish I had had a mother like you. Yes, we are clear. I will give her everything I have.”

  Seventeen of us followed the gurney into the surgical suite. When the doors of the operating room swung shut, I fell to my knees. Two nurses helped me up and out to the waiting room. We didn’t hear anything for two hours. Then Dr. Mussenden came out to report that so far, they had removed the tumor, her ovaries, and her appendix. They were waiting for the pathology report to decide the next step. I knew I had to pray. I needed to tap into the GPS, God’s Protective System so that I would not lose my mind. That’s the good thing about having a GPS, when you are totally lost, it can and will point you in the right direction. If you can get still enough, long enough to ask for clarity and direction, your internal GPS will kick in, if only to keep you calm enough long enough to find your way.

  Another two and a half hours passed. They had to remove several inches of her colon. There were some seedlings in her stomach. The chemotherapy should take care of them. They would bring her into the recovery room in a few minutes. I had just experienced the longest four and half hours of my life and my GPS had guided me through the process.

  Gemmia was eating solid foods within three days. Her blood work looked good. She stayed in the hospital for a week, and when she left, I took her home to my house. There is nothing like sleeping in your mother’s bed when you don’t feel good. But Gemmia had so many questions that the doctors could not answer. “Why?” “When did it start?” “How could this happen to a semi-vegetarian?” “Did she still have cancer?” “Was she going to be all right?”

  Armed with Gemmia’s official diagnosis—Familial Adenomatous Polyposis, a rare form of colon cancer that is hereditary, though we couldn’t find any cases of the disease in her family history—I started scouring the Internet. Bad move! The information overload quickly left me overwhelmed. I started to share what I found with Gemmia, but she was too weak and, frankly, too frightened to care. She needed a recovery plan now. More than that, she needed to be in her own space. After a week in my house and my bed, I took Gemmia home. Niamoja was delighted. She liked my house, but she missed her room and all of her toys.

  Gemmia had been home about a week when she shared her recovery plan with me. Sh
e did not want chemotherapy. She wanted to try some natural methods first. And that is exactly what we did. We started with the acupuncturist and hyperbaric oxygen therapy. Acupuncture, one of the main forms of treatment in traditional Chinese medicine, involves the use of thin needles that are inserted in the body at specific points to adjust the body’s energy flow. It was a real challenge for someone who was so afraid of needles! The oxygen therapy, designed to increase oxygen saturation in tissues where the saturation levels are too low due to illness or injury, was easier. Gemmia would sit in an oxygen chamber for 30 minutes, twice a week. It gave her a lot of energy, and we hoped it would destroy any remaining cancer cells.

  For the first three weeks, I did my best to get Gemmia to all of her appointments. Viviana and Muhsinah lived close enough to check on her when I was running errands or trying to write. Ebun, and Yawfah gave us a juicing protocol, which meant that each day, one of us had to prepare fresh fruit and vegetable juices for her. I did all of the shopping and the bill paying. The coffers at Inner Visions were all but dry. Almasi and Helen were the only staff left, and they did their best to keep everything afloat. The rest of the staff had been terminated, and the faculty taught for almost nothing. Because most natural treatments are not covered by health-care benefits, Gemmia and I were both draining our savings accounts. Hers dried up first. I cashed in all of my investments and used the money to keep her household and mine above water.

  The next three months dragged on forever. I watched Gemmia go up and down, from feeling great to hardly being able to get out of the bed. I was running back and forth between her house and my house almost daily. I asked another staff member from Inner Visions Rev. John and Muhsinah to support me in making her daily juice, because I was once again late in delivering my manuscript. When I was at Gemmia’s house, I could not write. When I was home, I didn’t write. When I wasn’t on the computer researching some new treatment, I was on the telephone talking to someone about the same thing. Gemmia didn’t want to hear anything about other forms of treatment, but I needed to know.