I was diagnosed with breast cancer in October—invasive ductal carcinoma. The fact that the diagnosis happened on October 1st at the beginning of Breast Cancer Awareness Month is an irony not lost on me. This is my second breast cancer diagnosis. I was first diagnosed in 2009 when I was in my forties. Our two youngest children were still in middle school and high school at that time. Seventeen years later, we have grandchildren who are those ages.
Our children have lost all four grandparents to the disease. It’s a hard, difficult story in our family. The fact that my grandchildren’s memories of me now include cancer grieves me as a grandmother in places I never knew existed.
The small mass was discovered during a routine mammogram on the opposite side of my previous cancer. At this point, we believe the cancer has been caught early. At the end of October, I opted for a bi-lateral mastectomy. I told my surgeon, “Give me the best chance for living into my eighties with never having to face breast cancer again.” This decision is right for me. I will have a multiple-week recovery at home. Tests done after surgery will determine what further treatment is needed.
I began my author career writing about cancer when I wrote “Under a Desert Sky,” the story of my cancer journey, along with the cancer diagnoses of my mom and dad. I became a Voice of Hope for the American Cancer Society (ACS) and spoke often at cancer events and fundraisers. Although I still volunteer at ACS with Relay For Life, I had hoped my cancer-living and cancer-writing days were behind me.
Unfortunately, they are not.
I restarted this blog to write about hiking. I need to point out the obvious. Hiking the Arizona Trail has, of course, been put on hold.
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Since this wild ride began, I have spent many, not-yet-mornings sitting on the back porch, contemplating the night sky. I have turned to poetry, something I found helpful with my previous diagnosis. There is something healing about wrestling with limited words and concrete imagery in a season of So. Many. Words. So. Many. Emotions.
Waiting for the Pathology Report
In a continual celestial chase,
Orion and Scorpius
never share the same night sky,
one rises when the other sets,
an unending pursuit
across the heavens.
My questions
fill the 2:00 a.m. darkness
chasing away all thoughts of sleep,
one worry sets, another rises,
an unending pursuit
across my bedroom ceiling,
my peace of mind,
the prey.
And I am borrowing my own words from the book, Under a Desert Sky, in chapter four:
Star Namer
World Spinner
when the depth of my fear overwhelms me,
help me remember
that if You can count the number of stars
and be on a first-name basis
with each one,
then You are Big Enough,
You are Big Enough.
And a Haiku:
A Haiku for my weekly Thursday posts!
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I am undecided how much I will process this cancer in the public space. We have delayed making a general announcement to give ourselves and our family time to process. For those who have known, they have surrounded us with love and support, for which we are grateful.
Since this is a hiking blog, please keep scrolling for lists of all the nature sightings we saw in sections 28 and 29 of the AZT. If you are new here, Kevin and I are hiking the 800-mile Arizona Trail in bits and pieces. We’ve completed about 70 miles, and yes, we started in the middle of the route.
You can find detailed stories of those sections by clicking here.
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For me, the lists below are more than line items of plants and animals on the Arizona Trail. They are little bits of wonder and beauty found while out experiencing life.
“When the world is struggling or when we are exhausted,
we are invited to the holy conversation of noticing.” -Sarah Bessey
On the night before surgery, when I could not sleep, I got up and opened my journal. I documented my fears and feelings. I began listing the hard things I have experienced in my past. I wrote about facing a hard diagnosis and the possibility of a long, exhausting treatment ahead. I ended with these words, “I have done hard things before. This is one more hard thing.”
A spiritual practice that has helped me go through hard things is to be a relentless noticer of God’s goodness and beauty, often discovered in common interruptions. My current landscape has changed, but my focus remains tuned to these holy moments, these ordinary altars.
The kindness of a nurse who held my hand. A timely text message. A gift of a soft blanket during recovery. A husband who tends to my most basic needs. Children and friends who check on me. A box of herbal tea. A book of poetry. People who pray for me. And my family.
Neuroscience shows that when we focus on the good in life, our brains rewire to look for even more. What we repeatedly notice, the brain gets better at finding.
K.J. Ramsey writes in The Lord is My Courage: Stepping Through the Shadows of Fear Toward the Voice of Love, “It’s as though our choices can bushwhack a path into the wilderness of a new way of being, and the repetition of those choices and habits clears the land into a trail. Eventually, repetition of practices and habits paves the path, so that we can walk down it even when our feet hurt or there’s heavy fog blocking the way.”
We are over here bushwhacking a path through the wilderness into new territory.
How about you? Where are your feet taking you?
Please know, there is so much beauty where you stand. Where we stand.
This. I believe.
You will continue to find me writing a newsletter each month over at Wonder*FULL.
Until we return to the trail.
We are hopeful.
With dusty feet.
Click here for a list of all other Arizona Trail stories.
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Link to my first book, Under a Desert Sky. You can also order it from other places that sell books. It’s not just a book about cancer but includes many stories of hiking in Arizona, of finding hope and beauty in desert places.
