When Resilience Shows Up

“Our anxiety does not come from thinking about the future, but from wanting to control it.”

Kahlil Gibran

This time, anxiety is absent. I am quite surprised by that. I take a little peek back, remembering the last time, when it took up permanent residence. This time, though, I am so different. Seventeen months between then and now have carved out a very changed landscape. Experience has become my mentor, time passed has become a gift that has carried a wealth of resilience that I will need now. Grace is deeply embedded in the present, planted in the past and emerging to do its particular work again.

Monday morning I had a CT scan that would mark the one-year milestone of my cancer journey which had begun in mid-August of 2020, in the heart of the pandemic. I had been free and clear and expected to be so again. Quite certain, in fact.

I smiled at the P.A. as she came into the exam room, but there was not a smile in return. I knew then, before the words were even uttered. I think she said “I have some bad news, unfortunately,” but who knows if those were her exact words. The cancer was back. One new mass had been detected. I could even recognize it as she showed me on the screen; its size is between a pea and a grape.

Time slowed down. My brain scrambled to grasp this unexpected reality, to let go of what I had been so sure was true. I had been so lucky to have been cancer free. How could this be happening? I was walking the undulating floor in the Fun House, trying to keep my footing.

The one thing I did not do was to panic. I grasped each thought that came tumbling in and tried to put this crazy puzzle together so that I could manage to walk out of that room and back into the big world without falling to my knees. By and large, I succeeded. At least the kneeling knees part.

I was able to manage both present and future just enough that I could safely drive myself home, plunk down in my cozy recliner, and begin to let this crazy, unexpected, unbelievable reality take root. I gave myself permission to fall apart for a bit.

Surprisingly, though, I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t project my thoughts into a dreaded future. I didn’t rail against my body. Instead, I promised it that I would again do my best to care for it and love it whatever lies ahead. I emailed my best friend and received exactly what I needed. I wrote my family and knew that they are there for me again.

Tuesday morning I had a biopsy. The last one I had, in 2020, I was terrified. This time, I was carried by such a deep calm that even when I got a chance glance at the very long needle, I did not fall apart. I am waiting calmly for news in a few days and will see the hematology team on Monday to find out what kind of lymphoma I have this time (there are 50 kinds…) and what choices are available to me this time for treatment.

I am calm, I am centered, I am focusing on my return to watercolor painting and the Daniel Smith professional watercolors that are just now dry enough to begin using.

---

“Start where you are, Use what you have, Do what you can.”

“Begin With Yes” blog

Knowing that suffering changes us, I have long wondered how cancer had changed me. Now I know. I have a resilience now that humbles me. I have a hope that is anchored in my experience and the faith that deepened radically over these past months. A quiet kind of hope that remembers and knows:

“For the Spirit helps us in our weakness…”

Romans 8:26a

And I’m very okay with that.