Many
people use fighting words when it comes to cancer. “I battled
cancer.” “My mother lost her fight with cancer.”
For
many, The Warrior Path is essential to their journey, and I honour
that. When I had cancer, I felt a strong aversion to using the
language of war. I chose a different path that I felt worked for
me, and want to share another possible way of being fierce in the
face of illness.
In
2012 a blood test to investigate pains in my lower back and unusual
vaginal bleeding determined my kidneys were in distress and I was
anemic to a level that required blood transfusion.
I
was hospitalized, and upon further investigation it was determined I
had invasive cervical cancer. Flooded with shock, rage, and fear, I
was tempted to fight it tooth and nail. But something in me said,
"Breathe".
I
went through a procedure in which a tube was placed into each kidney
for drainage, since my ureters were dangerously narrowed by the
cancer which riddled my pelvis. After my kidneys were drained
and stable, the tubes were replaced by stents in my ureters. Those
stents were hell.
I
began six weeks of chemo along with daily radiation. I received
three treatments of Brachytherapy, a process involving radiation
directly to the tumors. I didn’t see these fierce medicines
as weapons against my cancer, rather I chose to embrace them as
friends that would help me reboot my system to be open to healthier
patterns. I blessed them with such gratitude for their availability at this point in time, as well as the magnificent doctors who had the skills to apply them.
Unmanageable
pain was the worst part of the experience for me. There was no real
life, as I was either out of my head on drugs or frightening my
children with the sound of my moaning.
So
did I want to fight cancer at times? You bet I did. I had
moments of rage and panic, which breed the "fight or flight" impetus. With
cancer that advanced I was terrified of dying and leaving my husband
and four children. I believed I would never feel better, that
my “good” days were entirely behind me, and that this existence
was all that was left.
I
was bitter that cancer was in my cervix. I was a doula, a
veritable cervix fairy, and here was mine obliterated by disease. I
would have taken cancer anywhere else in my body far less personally. But as a wise friend said, "Of COURSE it's in your cervix! This is how you will make meaning of this journey."
A
few months after treatment, which had showed promising results, I was
admitted to the hospital again in renal failure, vomiting my face off
and feeling like there were bugs crawling all over my skin. Three
doctors stood at my bedside telling me that an MRI showed a mass near
my lower spine, and that if this wasn't metastasized cancer, it would
be a miracle.
I
checked myself out of the hospital with re-inserted kidney tubes. I
schlepped them around attached to some not-so-sexy looking urine
collection bags I wore strapped to my legs. As awful as this sounds,
I was grateful for the tubes, as life feels much better with
functioning kidneys.
The
doctors wanted me to stay in the hospital to get an immediate PET
scan to determine the extent of the cancer. I told them I’d
get the PET scan in six weeks as an out-patient, as I wanted to take
some time to enjoy feeling stable. Nobody argued, as there were
no medical heroics to be had.
Clear
headed and with nothing to lose, I wanted to go deeply within and
explore how I was going to live my precious available moments. I
wanted to be with the friends who made me laugh. I wanted to do
things I didn't normally do for fear of being judged, like explore
more esoteric healing practices. I wanted to express overflowing love and blessings to all those who sent me thoughts and prayers for healing, and who supported me in doing the things that nourished my wellness. I needed to come hurtling out my suffocating spiritual closet into a place of freedom for my soul's expression without caring if people didn't understand me.
I
wanted to teach another doula training, but this time include the spiritual aspects of the work. I had always shied away from teaching from that place of spiritual authenticity because I thought people wouldn't want to learn from me, judging me as being earthy/crunchy woo woo, which frankly is not great for a professional doula's reputation. I scheduled a course and taught it in Toronto the way I wanted, including ceremony and deep soul nourishment for my beloved students. It remains one of the most powerful gatherings I've
ever been part of.
I
drank Cosmos with friends and walked around my beloved city, eating
whatever I wanted. I enjoyed my family fully. I focused on life, not
the lurking mass. I participated in a Sweat Lodge with a spiritual
community in New York state without apologizing to the non-crunchy
folks in my life, and revelled in the joy of feeling fully myself.
On
that pivotal trip to Sweat Lodge, I learned from a friend about an
amazing school in New York City called One Spirit Interfaith Seminary. Its program focused not upon promoting any religious dogma, but upon serving as a presence of peace and healing in the
world on people's own terms. Despite my diagnosis, I applied to this two year
seminary program in order to become an interspiritual minister,
trusting the internal “YES” that guided me. I chose to love life again, no matter what.
I
noticed that relinquishing my bitterness about cancer and choosing to
live fearlessly made me feel better physically and emotionally. I
did the things that were meaningful to me without caring what people
thought. I kissed my fears of living my real dreams goodbye,
realizing that the fears I carried were simply the awesome parts of
me I had never claimed.
I
discovered that a chapter in the story of my cancer was about a part
of me that had grown wild. I had gotten so caught up in being
the mother/wife/doula I thought I SHOULD be, I denied the woman I
truly was, and she was demanding to be witnessed in all her passion and ferocity. Fighting
cancer meant fighting myself, and that just didn’t make sense in my
narrative.
I
have never been religious, but I realized I was still struggling
with my concept of "god". Through insights that came from
working diligently to heal what I felt was a toxic, disempowering
relationship with a disassociated higher power “out there”, I
learned to trust what emerged from the higher power within.
I finally went for that PET scan. When I saw my oncologist a week later
he said, “It appears you have no evidence of disease.” Do I
think my approach provided a magical cure? No. I think I
had a lot of good luck on my side. But I do believe making peace
with cancer left me feeling serene and with the ability to cope with
whatever life threw at me. Had I discovered cancer was still there and advancing, I would not have thought I "lost" any "fight". I don't see cancer as some foe trying to conquer people. Illness and death are not failures.
Three
years later, I remain cancer-free, living a life dedicated to helping
people have awesome birth experiences, training doulas to have
healthy, thriving practices, and providing spiritual support to folks
as a minister.
Many
people fight cancer and win. Fantastic! That is their
story, and I deeply honour it. My intuition spoke to me of working
differently with cancer, and learning the lessons it had to teach me.
I like to think it worked for me. Everyone who sets their
foot to the path of healing must decide their own approach, and
infuse it with their own belief.
May
your motherwit, that innate intuitive knowing, be a strong partner in
your healing.
Lesley
Lesley
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