Chicken Soup for the Cancer Survivor's Soul

by Jack Canfield

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And I’m so sore, it hurts me to even move. Especially my elbow—here, where I’ve been leaning on it.”

  Ah, I thought. Just the break I’d been waiting for. I reached in my bag for a doughnut-shaped piece of foam rubber.

  “Here,” I said, “rest your elbow in this.”

  Accepting the soft cushion gratefully, she smiled. For the first time since our meeting, the veil of fear that clouded her pretty blue eyes lifted.

  “I really do understand how you’re feeling,” I repeated. “But there’s no reason why, with time and effort, you can’t be just as useful, productive, whole and happy a person as you were before your operation. I know how unbelievable that may sound at the moment, but it’s true. And that’s why I want you to feel free to talk.”

  From then on, our visit was easy. Question followed question, and soon we were engaged in lively conversation. Together we worked on the prescribed simple therapeutic exercises. She followed with interest as I walked my fingers up the wall and grinned ironically when I told her we referred to that one as “Climbing the Wall.” Before we knew it, 45 minutes had flown by and it was time for me to leave.

  “Now remember,” I said, playfully wagging my finger. “Next time we meet, I want to hear you’ve been climbing the walls!”

  She actually laughed out loud.

  And in that sound was sheer joy and relief—for both of us. Her laughter seemed to travel back in time to soothe my own pain of eight years ago when I, like she, had so desperately needed someone to talk to. In a sudden flash of insight, I better understood the wonder of God’s working in our lives; how He, in His own time and ultimate wisdom, can use the most hopeless and tragic human conditions for eventual good.

  It had stopped raining, and yellow sunlight streamed in through the open blinds. As I gathered my bag and coat, I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t recall when I’d ever been happier.

  Doris Knight

  * You can contact Reach to Recovery by writing to Reach to Recovery, c/o American Cancer Society, 1599 Clifton Road North East, Atlanta, GA 30329, or by calling 800-ACS–2345.

  Reach to Recovery

  In 1979, I was a 37-year-old single mother of an 11-year–old girl and an 8-year-old boy. I was an executive secretary for the president of an office systems company. As I dressed for work one morning, I hooked my bra in the front, moved it around and my left hand brushed under my left breast, detecting a lump.

  I was unaware of breast cancer; there was none in my family or among my acquaintances. Perhaps because my father had passed away six months earlier from lymphoma, I immediately contacted my gynecologist. Neither he nor the surgeon he referred me to was suspicious of cancer, but suggested a biopsy. We were all very surprised when indeed the lump was malignant. In 1979, a modified radical mastectomy was my only option, and within four days I had the surgery.

  While in the hospital, I was visited by a volunteer from the American Cancer Society’s Reach to Recovery program. She walked in and said, “Hi, I’m from Reach to Recovery and I’ve had the same surgery you just had.” I can’t express the feeling of hope and relief I had just seeing how lovely, healthy and happy she looked! I knew at that time that I wanted to participate in that program someday.

  I can’t say for certain why I bounced back so quickly, but I know the tremendous support from family and friends was a huge part of it. I often wonder if the bone-deep pain I experienced—was still experiencing—with the end of an 11-year marriage could have actually helped; cancer seemed to pale compared with the imminent divorce. But the necessary attention to my lovely children and helping my incredible mother recover from the recent loss of my father encouraged me to recover from the surgery and rebuild my life.

  Two years later I became reacquainted with my first boyfriend, who had moved to Nevada when we were in high school. We had a long-distance telephone relationship for a few weeks, during which he mentioned a proposed visit. But I had not told him about the mastectomy. His mother had died of ovarian cancer, and I wasn’t sure how he would feel. I figured I’d better tell him, and he would never have to make the trip.

  So I just said, “By the way, one thing I failed to tell you was that I had breast cancer and a mastectomy a couple of years ago.”

  There was a silence on the phone. Then I heard, “How about your teeth—any bridgework I should know about?” Ross and I were married six months later on a friend’s ranch in rural Nevada.

  We discussed the possibility of a recurrence so were somewhat prepared 18 months later when I discovered a lump in my remaining breast. I was offered a lumpectomy but opted for another mastectomy for many reasons including cosmetic—now I could be any size I wanted! Again I was blessed with no positive nodes and an easy recovery. I must admit I was pretty angry this time. I’d been taking good care of myself, I was very happy, and my life seemed to be going well. Luckily, I had lots of activities and involvement to keep me busy. I also had taken over the Reach to Recovery program in Reno, which helped my own recovery.

  I’ve enjoyed 14 years as a Reach to Recovery volunteer, unit coordinator, and currently Nevada division coordinator. It is so satisfying to visit newly diagnosed breast cancer patients and provide a positive picture for them! Although I did not choose to have reconstructive surgery, I am aware of how important this procedure is to some. I was pleased to testify before the Nevada Legislature in 1983 in support of a pending bill that mandated that insurance companies that cover mastectomies also cover reconstruction. The bill passed. I helped the National Breast Cancer Coalition and am proud of the progress that has been made in research funding as a result of its efforts. Currently I speak to groups advocating early detection—clinical exams, self-exam and mammograms. In November 1994, I participated in a city-wide campaign called “Buddy Check,” which encourages women to get a buddy and remind each other to do their breast self-exam each month. It has received a positive response, and I continue to represent the program through the media and personal presentations.

  Three years after my second mastectomy, I was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia and underwent 15 months of aggressive chemotherapy and radiation, which certainly got my attention! I believe I experienced every emotion and side effect possible—a real roller coaster: Not a hair on my body for over a year, unbelievable weakness and fatigue, nausea and mouth sores, emotional highs and lows—but definitely more good days than bad; more “ups” than “downs.” I think the successful experiences with breast cancer set me up for expecting good results, and I am pleased to be in my ninth year of remission! The three cancer experiences inspired me to return to college and get a degree in Human Development and Family Studies—a B.S. at 50! Now I am on call for cancer patients at a large medical center that involves me with the patients and their families. I also co-facilitate a weekly cancer support group in the hospital, provide personal consultations, and coordinate the “I Can Cope” program for the American Cancer Society. I feel very strongly that cancer patients need to see people who have “been there” and offer survivors, family members and those in treatment an opportunity to explore all the ideas, tools, theories, resources—whatever it takes to heal.

  I am so thankful that I am here to enjoy life with a husband who has not let me down for a minute throughout the past 14 years. I was thrilled to be here to see both of my children graduate from college and to plan my daughter’s June 1995 wedding! My son just got engaged and will be married next summer. My cancer experiences taught my children that cancer need not be a death sentence, and they also learned some things about facing adversity and winning. It is tough to ever be depressed, as I feel life has been very good to me.

  What advice would I give someone facing the cancer challenge? Everyone is so different and each situation so unique, I can only say what works for me:

  1. Have a genuine and close partnership with your physician(s) that includes getting as much information and education as you wish;

  2.
Trust that whatever therapy (chemo, radiation or both) will work;

  3. Let your body dictate your level of activity—don’t push; on “good” days, do something fun and/or meaningful;

  4. Visualize yourself healthy, strong and vital, and bring up this image in your mind several times a day and before you go to sleep;

  5. Allow people to do things for you—it is the best gift you can give them at a time when they feel helpless;

  6. Make a list of all the things you want to do and places you want to see before you die and review it regularly;

  7. Get in touch with whatever spirituality is meaningful to you and make it a partner for healing;

  8. Keep that cliché, “positive attitude,” as much as possible, but don’t become its prisoner—it’s okay (and normal) to have some bad days, to cry and scream, “It’s not fair!” Trust that these feelings will pass;

  9. Join a support group and try coping mechanisms and stress reduction techniques that others suggest. Then continue dropping in on the group after recovery to offer inspiration for others;

  10. Slow down and appreciate the wondrous details and miracles happening from moment to moment.

  I think I love the work I do because of the incredible inspiration I am privileged to encounter every day with cancer patients. There is an aura of courage and strength that permeates the oncology unit and continues throughout the support group. I feel it in telephone conversations as well as in the warm hugs patients, families and friends exchange regularly—as if somehow the strength and love are highly contagious and healing. Would I recommend that everyone get a little dose of cancer in order to feel this way? Heavens, no!I do believe, however, that my life would not be as precious and meaningful had the cancer experience not happened to me.

  Sally deLipkau

  Taking Charge

  I was a 57-year-old real estate developer in 1984 when I was diagnosed with late-stage lymphoma, cancer of the lymphatic system. My doctor told me my chances of recovery were slim. I remember that I spent the days immediately following the diagnosis talking about suicide. I often burst into tears. I had given up and I was sure I was going to die soon. Although I had family and friends, I felt alone. I wouldn’t let them be with me. They couldn’t understand—they didn’t have cancer. They weren’t doomed to die.

  But Marsha, my wife, urged me to try The Wellness Community. Although I was depressed and could hardly walk, and was still sure I was going to die, I went. I met all kinds of people who were fighting for recovery who didn’t seem nearly as depressed as I was. I joined a group, started doing direct visualization, changed my diet, began learning about cancer, took back control of many areas of my life, and started acting like a human being again... and wonderful things started happening. The crying spells vanished. I started enjoying life for the first time in many months, and my physical condition started improving. Today, almost 12 years later, I am still without symptoms. Up until two years ago, I was back at work full-time. Now I’m retired, but still take good care of myself. I am absolutely convinced that my participation in my fight for recovery played an invaluable role in that recovery. I don’t believe I would have survived if I had not received wonderful medical treatment, and if I had not taken the actions I did to help myself get well. Without either, I was a goner.

  Phil

  A Special Mission

  Little did I dream in April of 1986 how much a “cluster of microcalcifications” could alter my life. Whether it was God’s will, bad luck, the fates or a strong genetic predisposition (my mother, two aunts and sister have also coped with breast cancer), my life was greatly affected by that first diagnosis.

  I am Sister Sue Tracy, O.P. (Order of Preachers), a 55–year-old Polish-American, Grand Rapids Dominican Sister. Detroit is my original home, but my 36 convent years have provided me with many “homes” along the way. Ministries have included junior-and senior-high teaching, vocation directing for my religious congregation, parish ministry throughout northern Michigan, and now hospital chaplaincy. Since 1989, I have served as pastoral care director at Mercy Hospital in Toledo—much more a joy than a job.

  A special focus of my hospital ministry has been contact with other persons coping with cancer as well as their families. Interacting with so many resilient people has been one of the beautiful side effects of cancer. On my 50th birthday in 1990, I became an American Cancer Society Cansurmount volunteer and added the Lucas County Unit to my “homes”—truly a place of comfort and challenge.

  In January 1993 cancer revisited. Three things emerged: (1) I wanted God to be glorified come what may; (2) I wanted to learn the life lessons inherent in this breast cancer recurrence; and (3) I wanted to remain in charge, networking with the doctors not as a victim but as a partner. I felt very much responsible for my part in the healing process.

  My American Cancer Society contacts have been a vital part of the holistic healing experience since May of 1986. Reach to Recovery was the first contact that enhanced my shaky hope; I Can Cope served as a powerful means of lessening my dreadful fear of chemotherapy; Look Good . . . Feel Better was a two-hour gift of joyful connecting with other women as we all left toting a gold mine of free makeup. This year in June, I had the privilege of sharing My Cancer Herstory at the American Cancer Society state headquarters in Dublin, Ohio. For the past eight years, the American Cancer Society has been a valued companion in my cancer journey.

  No, I would not have freely chosen cancer a first or second time. However, today I proclaim I would not trade all I have learned, lived, laughed and loved because of it. I do not consider myself just a cancer survivor with genuine respect for that commonly used term. I see myself as a cancer thriver. My basic attitude is gratitude. I know there is no guarantee this won’t happen again, but I don’t live just holding my breath. I treasure life. With a careful diet, moderate exercise, positive attitude and daily prayer, I keep trucking along. I believe God has bestowed a special mission to be present and supportive of fellow travelers on the cancer journey. So midst the ups, downs and in–betweens, I feel richly blessed.

  Sister Sue Tracy, O.P.

  7

  ON INSIGHTS

  AND LESSONS

  Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.

  Helen Keller

  Lessons Cancer Taught Me

  What an experience having cancer is. My whole life will be different for as long as I live. And, yes, I am one of those who wants to live to be a hundred. An exceptional nurse at the hospital told me to “live each day to the max.” Do you know what the max turned out to be? Once I was up and around again after two surgeries in five weeks time. It was hanging up laundry in the sun with a cat rubbing against my leg.

  Caryn Summers, R.N.

  I am a habitually busy single woman, which is why I customarily deferred health-related matters until they reached the “crisis” stage. So it was after several months that I consulted an internist to examine a swollen gland under my ear that persisted rather than dissolved with time. After his examination, the doctor suggested that I not “bother it” if it didn’t bother me. I took his advice explicitly, and he treated me for other minor complaints over a three-year period. One day I called him for a referral to a dermatologist. My hands and feet had been itching for several weeks. My doctor then suggested that I come into his office, and he conceded that he would refer me to a dermatologist if he indeed could not treat me for the itching. On that visit, I reminded him of my persistently swollen gland. He seemed shocked that he had not heard about it before. I then suggested that he check his notes from my first visit three years prior. There it was! And several weeks later, I was in surgery to have a malignant parotid gland removed. Other tumors were discovered in my chest and in back of my nose. My diagnosis was lymphoma. My prognosis was a 40 percent chance of surviving five years.

  My first reaction was confusion. I wondered, “What am I to do now?” I pondered the choices. I could brood, as I’ve seen so many people do.
I could be resentful with people around me, be angry at God, be alienated and isolated in my dilemma—I’ve seen that too. I’ve heard about some fatalistic reactions where patients decided they had to “die with something,” and went along passively to their demise. There were many other ways I considered responding; but I made what I call the “interactive” choice. I chose to participate in the decisions affecting the remainder of my life— however long that may be. It was a good decision!

  I began reading and learning about my illness. I read about the survival rate of cancer patients who fit my demographic profile. I read about clinical trials in experimental treatment for my disease. I read about the variety of chemical therapies that had been used to treat my disease, and the side effects associated with them. I consulted a nurse who treated cancer patients and who worked with oncologists. I read everything the American Cancer Society had in print about my disease. In the two weeks that elapsed between surgery and my first radiation treatment, I was ready to make informed choices about my treatment. The first lesson I learned is: Make informed choices. Difficult times are much easier to endure when they result from one’s own choice.

  Before every decision was final, I asked, “What are the options?” and then, “What are the consequences of those options?” The doctors were exasperated—at first, but eventually they expected me to have the last word. Each choice I made was a difficult one. For example, I could have waited another year with no treatment and hoped that the surgery removed it all. I could have completed a program of radiation therapy and hoped that the radiation would dissolve all the tumors. Or I could have radiation and several courses of chemotherapy, and added to that a bone marrow harvest (if and when the cancer was arrested). I chose the comprehensive treatment (radiation, chemotherapy and bone marrow harvest—in addition to the surgery). I have not regretted it. The second lesson cancer taught me is: Don’t avoid hard choices. We’re tougher than we think.