As soon as I got my diagnosis, I asked Rob to go out to buy me a fresh new notebook in which to document each step of the journey ahead (I was now officially shielding).
On the first page I wrote just one thing - the telephone number of Hesta, my allocated McMillan breast cancer nurse. I knew from experience that she would be my most useful ally in helping to navigate a way through the medical labyrinth ahead.
On the second page I wrote just one thing. A lone question.
“What’s the offer?”
“What’s the offer?” is a well-worn tool I pull out of my pocket when things get sticky or something unexpected or unwelcome crops up in my life (I owe a debt of gratitude to my good friend Suzy for introducing me to it).
As a question, it instantly helps me shift focus from the challenges or difficulties posed by any given situation onto the potential opportunities that might appear if viewed differently. It is almost as if it allows me hold a situation in my hand, lift it up to the light and look at it from a different angle.
Simply by opening my mind to the possibility that there might be something to learn from a situation, however bad things are, helps keep me bouyant. It’s not to say I am blindly avoiding or ignoring the challenges in a situation. They are still present and feel very real. It’s more that helps me to also be open to the potential for something good to come out of something difficult.
There is a saying in the world of popular psychology, that “energy flows where attention goes”. Scientists call this ‘experience dependent neuroplasticity’. In short, the way you look at a situation can help to define your experience of it.
I am not in any way downplaying the difficulty of getting a cancer diagnosis – for me or anyone else. Make no mistake – it’s shit.
It is shit for many reasons, not least that it suddenly brings you face to face with the very present reality that you might die. But also, because ultimately you have little control over the situation that you are in. This is something that is happening to me. It is not something that I made happen to me, or can single-handedly stop happening to me. I simply do not believe that it is something that I have the power cure on my own – however much some people might suggest otherwise.
But there is one thing that I can control, and that is my attitude my diagnosis and all that it brings in its wake.
I have no idea what my future holds – not in the next 5 years, nor in the next 5 weeks, or even the next 5 days. But let’s be honest, nor do any of us.
All we can be sure of is what is right infront of us. All we can do is take one day at a time.
And so yes, I am afraid of what this year will bring. I know that even at its best, I am going to be tested like never before.
But I also know that there are offers in this diagnosis if I listen hard enough, and some of those already feel very present for me...
- A refocussing on the importance of the here and now (something we have hopefully all got a little better at after a year of Covid) – taking life moment by moment.
- A deeply felt appreciation for my remarkable friends and family, and the love that surrounds me. A rekindling of some old, precious friendships that had slipped over the years.
- Gratitude for the fortunate position that I am in - I am fit and strong, have an incredible support network, space and a garden in which to recuperate, an understanding employer and feel financially secure enough to weather this storm. I take none of these for granted and know that many face their diagnosis from a far more challenging place.
- Finding joy in life’s quiet pleasures and in taking time to savour them – the feel of sun on my face, the delicious grounding experience of sitting quietly on my yoga mat, the sensuous joy in perfectly ripe fig for breakfast.
Last week a dear friend of mine gifted me the most magical of books - A Year of Wonder (I will perhaps write more about it in another post – I feel it deserves a post all of its own - but I recommend you check it out if you would like to learn more about classical music but have no idea where to begin…).
Understandably, she was hesitant about gifting me a book with this title so close to my diagnosis. She was concerned it might feel inappropriate, and would sit uncomfortably for me. And so, (half tongue in cheek) she thoughtfully taped over some of the letters to spell out instead A Year of Wo—e-. I love her creativity!
On unwrapping the book, I took a moment to reflect, and then purposefully peeled off the tape.
Totally appreciative of her compassion, I realised that my experience to date has not been one of woe.
Absolutely, I would have preferred not to have been diagnosed with cancer.
But I am open to spotting the offers held within this extraordinary year, wherever it may take me. And wherever that is, I am absolutely sure that there will also be moments of wonder.
My eyes are wide open.
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