When I was in the initial stages of receiving this diagnosis, when it was still new and life-consuming, yet still hidden and known only by me and my husband, a friend had called to chat and catch up. We were both having simultaneous “that reminds me of [friend]” in our separate lives and after I sent her a text one day, she responded with a call saying, “We need to catch up!” So we caught up on the day to day of our lives, the kids, work, etc. She let me know that an author we both admire, Elizabeth Berg, would be speaking locally. She was going and I should join if I could make it. My friend had been reading Berg for years. I’d only just discovered her a few years earlier and inconsistently read her. Every book I read though, always stayed with me. There was always something I took from her work that I didn’t expect to find. Hidden lessons, new perspectives, powerful moments, all seemed to appear and directly related to some aspect of my life that I didn’t even realize needed guidance. Of course, the day Berg was speaking was one of those how-many-things-can-we-fit-into-24-hours days. I couldn’t make it.
While I was in the conversation with this friend, I had my first, but not even close to last, internal struggle with wanting to tell her about my cancer because she was dear to me, but not wanting to say anything because it made it real, but wanting to say something because I felt like I was flat out lying if not, but not wanting to say anything because saying it made it real and required it to be talked about, but wanting to say something because at some point she’d know that I didn’t tell her, but not wanting say anything because it was such a huge bomb to drop into what was an otherwise pleasant conversation.
This type of internal struggle with “telling people about my cancer” has popped up time and time and time again. And it never seems to get easier. “Oh, hi [son’s friend’s mom who I really enjoy]! How was your summer? Oh me, yes, had a lot of fun. Went camping, read some books, got cancer! And you?” And then there are the times I don’t say anything. And it never has anything to do with the person (and for those people, I do hope there are no hard feelings, it had everything to do with me in that moment). Instead, it has to do with the fact that I just didn’t want to think about cancer or I just wasn’t feeling strong that day and didn’t want to lie about feeling strong or cry because, on that day, I couldn’t find any positivity.
So, on this day, in this conversation with my friend, I decided to try out sharing my news for the first time. It came out something like, “Hey, I’ve got some heavy news to share and I haven’t told anyone yet and I don’t know how I’m going to do with saying it, but I have decided that I’m going to start telling people and would like you to know. I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer.” And then the conversation proceeded and was amazing and supportive and after we hung up, I cried but I also exhaled. I shared my story and I received support in return.
I am forever thankful for that first conversation and for the fact that I decided to “go public,” even if at times I failed people or friendships in how I shared about my cancer. The support I received has, truly, been life changing.
A few months later, while recovering from my mastectomy, this friend stopped by to visit and have lunch. Along with delicious salads, she brought along a few of her copies of Berg’s books. The timing was perfect because I had just finished a different book the day before. The selection she brought, however, was even better. You see, earlier that summer, back when the diagnosis was still raw, after that “first” cancer conversation with her, I had grabbed a few Berg books from the library. My emotions then were still so fragile, so varied, so unsettled. And everything I viewed was seen through cancer-colored glasses. It was like those pictures that people post on social media with words written on them. Watching my kids jump in the pool with “I have cancer” scribbled at the bottom. Paying the bills on a Wednesday night with “There’s a cancer growing in me” stamped at the top. I had tried reading a Berg book and decided that I just couldn’t finish it. Which is actually something that I have NEVER done! I’ve never not finished a (fiction) book I’ve started, even if I hate it. I always just have to see it through, see what I end up discovering. But, while reading this Berg book, I was getting soooo angry with this character, this wealthy 42 year old female divorcee who was so saaad because she was getting a divorce, who could afford to get back at her husband by buying place settings at Tiffany’s, who was so disgruntled that she’d have to get a jobbbb. I was like, “Screw you, lady. You should go get a mammogram and STFU!” So I closed [slammed] the book, put it in the library bag, and with a sense of righteousness, returned that book, UNFINISHED, to the after hours library bin. Take that!
Well, wouldn’t you know it, that book was in the bag my friend brought. And just a few days earlier I had been thinking about that character, wondering whatever happened to her, and had made a note to check it out from the library again. (It was inevitable. The book couldn’t sit there on the shelves unfinished by me.) So I found the part [in the pathetic woman’s life] I left off on and started reading. And kept reading. And started thinking. And started seeing. This [ahem, now, transitioning] woman was dealt a blow in life she didn’t expect and hadn’t prepared for and now she was forced to deal with it while caring for her son, managing her home, maturing in her early 40s, and maintaining a role in her social circles and community. Suddenly, this woman’s transformation had a bit of a different appeal to me than it had a few months prior. She was still slightly pathetic in some of her actions (dude, Martha Stewart is not where it’s at), but she was finding her strength when she was weak, finding her voice when she felt silenced, and allowing change to cause growth. Good ol’ Berg. She got me again.
It happens in the strangest of places, if you look at it right.
If You Look At It Right 