The Roller Coaster Ride

I’m at the point where I am beginning to realize what I actually signed up for. It reminds me of that feeling on a roller coaster ride, steadily ascending to its highest peak and dreading every second of it. At the top, in the brief pause, I am forced to face the terrifying reality that there is absolutely nothing I can do to change what is about to happen. There’s no turning back, no changing my mind, and no amount of fight will alter the course of the next few minutes. The only thing left to do is to surrender.

My right breast is taut from pressure on the inside. It’s a likeness of a perfect grapefruit—swollen, round, and oddly perky. Under different circumstances, it might have fuelled my vanity, but it’s due to the palm-sized tumour underneath. Now visibly larger than its twin, it throbs and sends sharp, electric messages to surrounding areas.

I’ve had to adapt to this new reality. I’ve become a left-hearted hugger, a back sleeper, and I keep my right elbow at the ready to shield my throbbing breast from any kind of impact. I am adjusting to new ways to support my healing and sleeping as much as I need.

This mass resembles a slowly shifting continent, inching its way toward my armpit. Its relentless pull restricts the mobility of my shoulder and diminishes the strength in my arm. Everything I hold dear about myself finds expression through my hands. It’s not what I say but the authenticity of my hands that allows me to connect with people on the deepest level. As both an artist and masseuse, my hands serve as the language through which I communicate.

Though I should be celebrating the promising signs of healing that I’ve come to understand, it’s innate human nature to react to pain with fear and resistance. I am uncertain if the mass will eventually erupt to the surface or if it will become dormant after raising a ruckus. I remain to be my own test subject.

In recent weeks, the pain has intensified significantly. Every time I pressed my fingers to catch a hook in the tissue of the person I was massaging, I would feel a painful echo reverberating in my breast. It became a disruptive distraction to what is otherwise a practice of serenity and prayer.

This week, I finally arrived at the point where I had to release my massage practice. The decision left me grappling with the aftermath—my self-worth plummeted and landed on questions like : “Who am I if I can’t massage anymore? What if I can’t paint anymore? Who am I if I can’t use my hands?”

When the heart falls out of harmony, it recruits the mind to conjure up the worst-case scenarios. We do this in an attempt to prepare ourselves, even though most of these scenarios never materialize. It’s a convoluted way of trying to find comfort in situations beyond our control. While we’re entangled in these thoughts, life continues to move forward, often slipping by unnoticed. We miss the gifts of what each moment can bring us even though it may be uncomfortable.

The irony is that I’ve been praying for this to happen. I’ve been asking for my “biological program” to reach its completion. I’ve learned from German New Medicine that cells heal best in a warm, liquid environment. Healing brings swelling, heat, and yes, pain. It’s the body’s way of signalling us to rest, to refrain from using that part so it can mend itself. This is why we often reach the peak of discomfort, also known as a healing crisis, before the body can return to homeostasis.

Against my better judgment, my well-being is compromised by toggling between my worst fears and my faith in what I’ve learned in the last four years of this healing journey. Nevertheless, I continue to remind myself to extend forgiveness to the part of me that still falls prey to these “what-ifs.” The only way is through it. I always have the choice to embrace pain and the unknown with surrender and faith, trusting in my body’s innate ability to heal. There is always the right time to remember when I forget.

I’m grateful to be reminded of the opportunities within every obstacle. Now that I’m not massaging, I have more time for my creative projects that had been shelved. This newfound time allows me to nurture and listen to what my body needs. I’m embracing this journey, wherever it may lead me, much like taking a deep breath at the peak of a rollercoaster ride—relaxing and surrendering to the wild ride ahead.

LESSON: RELAX AND SURRENDER.