There is profound grace when we are able to respond to life in ways previously unimaginable. Within this newfound awareness and understanding, the vantage point from which I operate shifts to a new perspective.
In my personal journey, the Holy Instant, as described in A Course in Miracles, has consistently unfolded in ways beyond my assumptions or imagination. It arrives in divine timing, clicking so perfectly, when least expected, and I’m finally able to exhale completely. It’s like a surprise opening of a portal, revealing an entirely new way that echoes the faith I put into it.
There is no greater sense of security than receiving confirmation that I’m not operating alone. Miracles happen when this powerful force co-creates with us in both mysterious and unpredictable ways, and, most importantly, when we become aware of its workings. It’s an instant when we see how we’ve been stuck and what it takes to be free. This revelation always comes in ways we could not have fathomed due to the confines of our minds and past experiences. That is why it is Holy — because it has the ability to transmute fear into clarity which proceeds with the kind of peace that trumps everything else.
This is what I experienced after I finally let go. My healing journey in essence, has orbited around my self awareness and the lack of it. My struggles always seem to precede resistance, and the support or shift in awareness occurs when I am ready to let go of something.
The last bout of supreme struggle originated from a conversation with my husband. Over the past couple of months, we had been haunted by the implications of the seriousness of my condition. We took turns having meltdowns, and it was particularly challenging when we wallowed in the mess together.
It’s another day where cancer has hijacked the lead role of my life. My husband is sitting at the foot of the bed as we are about to have a conversation that can go any which way. I had strung together previous days consumed by frantic internet searches. I needed an alternative, any other way than the direction I’m headed. He is choosing his words carefully, but they are shaky behind his emotional plea. Suddenly, I am violently annoyed that he is crying as he asks me to consider chemo. ‘Stop crying!’ I snapped.
In that precise moment, something miraculous occurred. I could observe my behaviour from a distance, recognizing how my reaction to his request stirred the fear I couldn’t or wouldn’t confront. It made me angry and cruel. Acknowledging this allowed me to stop reacting so I could truly listen to my husband. As he spoke, I felt the iron door of my firm “no” starting to creak open. The annoyance dissipated, replaced only by love for this man who has steadfastly stood by me throughout this unpredictable healing journey. What he was saying began to make sense to me, marking the greatest miracle of all.
I believed that surrendering my breast was the necessary sacrifice for my healing. It took years to get there, but when I finally did, ironically that option was not made available and suddenly my situation spun out of control. Despite the chaos, I’ve uncovered the truth that I would much rather be disfigured than have chemo in my body. This is why I have suffered tremendously as my options began to narrow pointing towards chemo.
Where did this rigid aversion come from? When I delved deeper, I recognized what was longing and ready to be healed. It became clear to me that my experience with chemotherapy constituted a profound trauma that demanded a sober and thorough examination. The aversion to confront it served as a clue, indicating the necessity of revisiting this painful chapter—not by the person it happened to, but by the person who now has the choice to perceive it differently.
I’ll never forget feeling her terror in my bones as I held her. My beloved friend was certain that the chemo was going to kill her. The strength and convictions that carried me through my own healing journey shattered as we fell into the abyss of terror together. In that moment, my psyche marked that experience with a formidable sign: ‘Do Not Approach – Extremely Dangerous, and Certain Death!!’ Her death cemented that signpost so I would not forget.
Understanding the root of my fear gave me the ability to surrender it to the Holy Spirit. If it hadn’t been for that initially charged conversation with my husband, during which I woke up to my reactivity, I would have missed the opening of the portal. Now, I’m presented with the opportunity to perceive it as her unique experience, distinct from mine and from the experiences of many who have been saved by chemotherapy.
I ceased my frantic, desperate search for external answers and turned towards a new ‘yes’ within myself. It took less than 24 hours for the response to my “yes” to come via phone call on a Friday evening. I was surprised that the surgeon who denied my mastectomy was on the other end of the line.
The first time I faced this surgeon, my prepared questions dissolved into sobs. I tearfully revealed a history of trauma with male medical figures. “I’m so sorry, I must be making you very uncomfortable right now,” he empathetically said. He has kind eyes behind his mask and somehow I was able to bridge the gap so I could hear him say that I needed “systemic treatment”.
Over the phone, he tells me that he’d reviewed my recent biopsy report and discussed my case at a panel with other doctors. Present was my soon to be oncologist whom I’ve discovered to my relief is a female doctor. Could she have possibly taken my case influenced by what my surgeon knew about me? I can interpret this as nothing or as a result of the Holy Spirit’s work in my life.
The biopsy confirmed Ductal Carcinoma, now in the intermediate to advanced metastatic category. Hormone receptor positive, it thrives on estrogen and progesterone but is HER2 negative. I’m told that this is considered a less aggressive form of cancer compared to others, but i’m too nervous about what he’s about to say for it to register.
Bracing myself for the anticipated treatment plan, the surgeon surprised me with unexpected news from the circle of doctors. It caught me off guard because their recommendation was not the expected chemo or radiation; instead, they proposed starting with hormone therapy.
When hormone therapy was suggested to me in the past, I looked at all the potential side affects and declined treatment. After navigating through all the recent challenges, facing and accepting what seemed inevitable, and preparing to let go, a completely unexpected option surfaced, altering my reality.
I had firmly believed that chemo was the only logical next step, especially when the surgeon ruled out radiation as a viable option for me. After accepting chemo and the challenges I was willing to face, hormone therapy is a step that I know I can take. My hard “no” from my past has metamorphosed into a “yes” only made possible by the things that happened in-between.
The surgeon didn’t have to call me on a Fri. evening to share what was discussed. He could have left me in suspense for another three weeks, fretting about my upcoming meeting with the oncologist and what it would entail. My case could have easily fallen through the cracks; instead, a dedicated group of doctors took it upon themselves to devise a gentler plan then I expected.
I choose to interpret this as a timely intervention by the Holy Spirit, working through those I least expected. This is how my faith continues to keep me afloat, even when I feel like the sea will swallow me up. I’m being guided to recognize the ways that are not serving me, in ways I could not possibly navigate alone.
LESSON: THE WORK OF THE HOLY SPIRIT CAN NOT BE ASSUMED. IT LIGHTS UP THE PLACES THAT ARE YEARNING TO BE SEEN.
A.I. art by my mama Sonia Aichi. To me, she depicts the kind of peace proceeding a Holy Instant.
LESSONS FROM MY LUMP 