struggling with work responsibilities and wanting to spend as much time as I can with Earl. So it’s been a real roller coaster. Probably this group would understand that it is both the best time of our lives and the worst time of our lives.”
Pat smiles at Earl. “In this weekend, I’m looking for the strength and skills that will take me through the future, no matter what that brings.”
Nancy is next. A forty-year-old mother of teenagers, a nurse with a full bright face and brown caring eyes, her voice begins to tremble as she tells her story. She motions to the thin white-haired lady sitting beside her. “I’m here in support of my Mom. Cancer has touched our lives a number of times. My father had metastatic prostate cancer. My mother had breast cancer and now she has peritoneal cancer. Right now, I’m overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. My husband has just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s as well.” With this she begins to cry quietly. Her mother reaches over and pats her on the shoulder. Nancy tries to continue. “I’m feeling…”, but she just continues to cry.
I let out an audible sigh and support her show of emotion. “It’s OK to cry. Just stay with it”
People are listening closely and I can sense a feeling of great caring in the room. Nancy finishes with, “I’m hoping to gain strength this weekend for the journey ahead. I want to help the people I work with, and my family.”
Nancy’s mother takes the microphone. She is a perky and positive person. “The hardest thing for me is the guilt that I have given this difficulty to my three daughters and son. They have all accepted it. And so we are moving on. I am very busy and enjoying life. My chemo is over now. I sailed through that.” She runs her hand through her short curly hair, and then says with a laugh, “Now I have curls.” She wants to make Nancy feel better.
The group laughs as they continue to waver between touching their own pain and trying to stay positive. Several people already have tears in their eyes and I encourage everyone to share the boxes of tissues found under their chairs.
The next person to speak, a stocky middle-aged French Canadian woman with short hair, rests back easily in her chair. She’s confident, outgoing, and willing to express the truth as she sees it. Three years ago she was diagnosed with a rare type of cancer called carcinoid. There’s still anger in her voice when she says she was sent away from the emergency room and dismissed by her gynecologists three times before being diagnosed. She admits, “Being angry is one of the things coming up right now. I’ve had surgery and two bouts of chemo and right now I’m on vacation.” She smiles broadly at the group showing the humour that resurfaces through her introduction.
“The worst part is the anger, the stress, the effect on my husband, who is a double amputee. And the uncertainty.” She almost cries through her words. “Cancer is a blessing in a way but it’s also a curse. I find I can cope well most of the time, but at night I’m having a hard time. I’m glad I’m getting in touch with my feelings because I can use humour as a deflective device.”
She finishes by foreshadowing the work we’ll do this weekend. “We’re going to be looking at things that I’ve tried not to look at too much. I understand the more you try to control your thinking, the more you become obsessive. So I want to enjoy myself and work with those thoughts in the background.”
I thank her and reinforce that we welcome all emotions this weekend, including her anger.
The next woman is in her fifties and has been on treatment for multiple myeloma, an incurable type of blood cancer. Her face is pudgy from years of treatment with steroids. She shares with the group her reaction to being told over a decade ago that she had eighteen months to live. “I waited. And I waited. And waited. And I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.” She’s calm and smiles broadly at the group. “I’ve learned to accept it and live my life from day to day. I realize the next flu season could take me away.” Her manner is light and refreshing. “I just enjoy my life.”
Kathryn is a 37-year-old real estate agent. Her smile is infectious, and the group energy instantly lightens. She is quick to express her frustration at having stage three colon cancer. “I had a bowel resection last June which I hated. I really don’t like hospitals. I thought I would take a week off after the operation and then go back to work. Ha! Ha!” People recognize that Kathryn is laughing at her own naiveté and laugh along as she giggles.
She continues in a serious voice. “It took me a real long time to recover from that. I couldn’t get my energy back. I’m a single mom with three kids and this has devastated me financially. I lost my confidence. I felt I lost my life spirit. I was probably suffering from depression.” The group is taken aback by this admission of vulnerability from someone who looks so ‘together.’
Kathryn shares that she decided not to take the recommended chemotherapy and seems to be doing well. “My treatment plan is working, so I’m happy about that. But my doctors feel my stress level is in the danger zone, so that’s why I’m here. I really need to learn some stress reduction techniques for my healing.”
A large walker sits in front of the next woman. She is big and it’s obvious from her thin voice she has many health challenges and other difficulties in her life. She lists her struggles one after the other, in sentence after shocking sentence: she suffers from mental illness; she hopes for her own death so she can join Jesus in heaven; she writes about herself as the “despised person.” She summarizes her anguish: “It’s very hard to live with, and so if I say something unkind to you, I ask for forgiveness. I hope for this weekend that I’ll be in contact with Almighty God and that He’ll guide me.” The group listens attentively. This woman has been totally welcomed.
Maureen is obviously upset, her voice trembling. Five years ago, in her mid-forties, she was treated for kidney cancer and seems to be cured. She feels lucky now. She turns to the good-looking man beside her and begins to tear up. “But my husband was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor. I’m a glass half-full type of girl so I want to learn a few skills so I can stay half -full.”
Maureen’s husband takes the microphone and glances at his wife with a smile. “My name is Frank. I’m sorry I’m a bit shaky” His voice is wavering with emotion. “I had my tumor taken out on Christmas Eve.
“The most difficult issue,” he continues very slowly, “is to receive the love all the people are giving me. I’m having a hard time. I’ve never been a receiver. I’ve always been a giver.” The tears are streaming down his face. There’s a long pause and he lets out a big sigh before he says with determination, “I believe in the power of my mind. What I want to get out of the weekend is hope and how to make it work.” I sense a feeling of intense compassion building in the air.
Andrea jumps to her feet. She’s a big and bubbly woman in her early thirties, doing well after treatment for breast cancer. She explains that a friend bought her a large coffee that afternoon, and, “she didn’t order it decaf! I’m just wired here! I’ve been sitting here almost crying the whole time.”
Everyone laughs as the tension is released. Andrea stays on the light side of her journey. Several others are thankful for the reprieve from the emotional intensity. But as the stories come, one after the other, they are naturally drawn to listen with compassion and empathy.
Rick has tears in his eyes as he listens to his wife, who was successfully treated for breast cancer four years ago. He is a hefty man with long wavy hair and a greying goatee. He drives a truck for the postal service and races cars in his spare time. His voice is pitched higher than usual, emotions caught in his throat. “I’ve been diagnosed with prostate cancer, and it’s pretty serious. I’m on hormone treatment now.” He wipes away his tears. After a pause, he bursts out crying.
