My first call to action upon waking on Mother’s Day was to reach over to my bedside table, gather the orange bottles of opiates, and put them away out of reach. It was a conscious decision to let go, a psychological statement that I didn’t need them anymore. I had relied on those pills to get me through intolerable nights of pain. As I placed them in a drawer in the bathroom, my sense of liberation from dependency was tinged with the fear of possibly needing them again.
I had strung together a few weeks, delighted by my capacity to accomplish what I could not fathom only a couple of months ago. I moved my parents into their new home, spending three full days proactively creating the next rendition of their sanctuary. I noticed that my pace in approaching life is much slower yet more meaningful, and with this approach, I managed to get more done in a day than when I used to run around like a headless chicken. Time bends when I’m synced in the moment.
My heart stalled in anticipation when the doctor called to discuss my most recent PET scan result. The test would indicate my biological response to the initial three months of treatment. I’ve noticed that I’m much more cautious about trusting my own experience now. Cancer has taught me that I am not the one in charge—that clinging to any rigid way of thinking or being will become a trap. In order to continue on this path, I must always leave room to pivot. If I cling too hard, I won’t be able to let go and flow with what is happening.
I had to repeat what she said to anchor the meaning. ‘One of my tumors shrunk by half?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it looks as though you are responding well to treatment.’ She continued to explain that the spread in my sternum, pec, lymph nodes, and chest wall had all shrunk in varying degrees. Additionally, she noted that the numerous suspicious spots in my liver and lungs appear to be inactive. ‘We certainly have to keep an eye on your liver and lungs, but all in all, this is good news,’ she said. Beyond the positive news, I nestled into the relief that I could trust the signals my body was giving me. It’s as if I’m also healing the part of myself that feels like I don’t know anything anymore.
Finding the middle way in response to life has proved to be effective in navigating all this. In respect to who I am, it’s important to still have a ‘w’holistic approach with an eagle eye expansive view. I’ve followed the doctors’ advice to forgo supplements, herbs, and protocols that stimulate my immune system while I acclimate to treatment. However, these powerful drugs I’m taking have potentially concerning long-term side effects that I want to address. Now, it’s time to adopt a collaborative approach to assist healing while promoting longevity.
The master herbalist I connected with has decades of experience using herbs and medicinal foods as powerful allies in cancer care. When we spoke, I immediately felt a connection. We both agreed on the importance of supporting my immune response while fortifying the function of my organs. She will also be prescribing ‘herbal chemo’ to seek and destroy cancer cells. I particularly appreciated her collaborative approach and her knowledge of pharmaceutical drugs used in oncology treatments. She confirmed that I should absolutely stay on my current treatment plan and strengthen its effectiveness with her protocol.
It’s important to me to be transparent with my oncology team and to receive their support. My herbalist would need regular blood testing to ensure that the herbs are beneficial, a process that my doctors may or may not initiate. As I continue to embrace vulnerability and reach out for assistance when needed, I’ve been overwhelmed by the heartfelt support from those around me. I’m discovering that the more I allow myself to be seen authentically, help finds its way to me in one way or another. Now, I find myself surrounded by a diverse circle of powerful allies – from the experienced professionals guiding my treatment to the unwavering love and support of my family and friends, and to the One listening to my prayers and showing me the way.
After the liberty of pain-free days, the return of what feels like electric jellyfish shocks bouncing around my sternum and breast is a hard pill to swallow. While pain is never welcomed, my intuition tells me that the herbal protocol is working because it feels like the cancer cells are agitated and on the run. It feels like they are contracting and wanting to escape from inside of me. The inflamed, angry cherry on the contour of my breast has opened up, weeping blood and contributing to the burning pain. From the loss of my hair to my lopsided swollen boob with a protruded discharging lump, my ego has been kept well in check. My sense of humour remains intact.
In the spirit of the middle way, I’m leaning on the knowledge of German New Medicine as it now serves as a kind of safety net for me. I’ve learned that the healing phase in any tissue is usually painful, swollen, and messy, much like how a wound heals. Even emotional healing often precedes a messy and painful period. I’m straddling between what I think is happening and who the fuck knows, while conscious of how easy it is to fall into the dark territory of fear. So… I continue to pray. Instead of morphine pills to manage the discomfort, I’m drinking herbal poppy concoctions which takes the edge off and assists me into sleep without the nasty side effects. Currently, this plan is manageable as I ride out this wave.
The Middle Way forges a path between the known and unknown. The practice of finding neutral ground and doing whatever it takes to stay there. It’s about finding balance between what my spirit yearns for and what my body needs. It’s about appreciating my vitality without pushing it too far into expectation, and about not assuming anything while respecting change. Understanding that there is no ‘right’ way to do anything, only opportunities to respond to life without pushing it away or clinging too hard.
LESSON: The Middle Way is the path of wisdom and compassion, the path of balance and harmony. It is the path that leads to the cessation of suffering.” – Buddha
LESSONS FROM MY LUMP 