National Cancer Awareness month is February. Hard not to be aware. Who among us has not been touched by cancer – invading our own bodies or those whom we love and adore?
Ever since my father-in-law was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer almost 25 years ago, I have been searching my brain trying to come up with some good things you can say about cancer. And, surprisingly, doing that very stressful stretch of time, I did find a few good things to say about cancer.
Having a family member with cancer increases your tolerance for waiting – for it is truly a waiting game. You wait for pathology reports to come back. You wait to see if the chemotherapy works. You wait to see if the patient has a good day, a bad day, a rough or easy day. You wait for signs of improvement or signs of decline. Wait. Wait. Wait.
Having a family member with cancer allows you to see how your spouse views his new responsibilities in regards to his parents. “Helping my parents through this crisis and taking an active part in the decision-making process allows me the privilege of giving back to my parents just a little of what they so generously gave me,” my husband tells me one night.
Having a family member with cancer allows you to see people you love but don’t usually get to spend much time with. Cousins, siblings, friends, children and nieces and nephews travel far distances to spend quality time with my father-in-law.
His take; he is going through treatment. And when the treatment is over, he will be better.
I’m not so complacent or trusting. I find myself doing all kinds of compulsive things to control my anxiety over the outcome.
I clean – anything and everything in sight. Dust encrusted window sills are scrubbed with a vengeance. Beds are pulled out and dust balls are viciously vacuumed into the sweeper. Canisters, knick-knacks, and pictures all get a swipe of my cloth.
I organize. I write down on my calendar every obligation I have in the coming months and feel an inner push to get everything synchronized and in working order. Long neglected eye glasses and rings go in for repair. Couches are professionally cleaned. The repair man is called for the washer and oven. My environment needs to be well oiled and running smoothly.
I cook – but not from a package and not from a box. Mashed potatoes from real potatoes – cole slaw from fat round balls of cabbage – cakes from Swanson cake flour. I set aside time to make bread – to knead the dough over and over again – to be lulled by the repetitive movements into momentary peace.
I create. I re-arrange furniture, re-mat pictures, plan a needlepoint pillow, plot out another flower bed, design a holiday card, go through my closet and innovatively put together outfits in a new way.
And over the years, I mindfully look for more good things to say about cancer. Which was a worthy endeavor – since three months later we buried my father-in-law and decades later, I’d lose my mom to pancreatic cancer too.
And the one lasting lesson I gleaned in retrospect: Live each experience to the fullest.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor