Small things can make huge impacts. This is my story of finding purpose through giving back.
In September of 2021, I bought gold and silver interlocking rings from a jeweler out of San Luis Obispo California – my heart home. I imagined the gold for my old life and the silver to represent my new life post diagnosis. The rings symbolized a grappling to understand, to cope and to intermix, a desperate need for hope after my recent diagnosis of CLL, Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia.
Got to love that Chronic is part of the title. (sigh)
The diagnosis a month prior left me with deep fear and tears. I could not soak in this change.
The summer of ’21, I felt bad, but I had felt bad for quite a while, and somewhere in that span of time, I lost my ability to walk with confidence, strength, and endurance. I also developed a strange bump on the back of my neck toward the right side. I called it stress, but I knew things were not right. I went in for a routine mammogram, and they said the
y needed to recheck me through an ultrasound because I had some enlarged lymph nodes. I thought no big deal; this happens all the time. But when I went in, a not so subtle, tech said, “Wow, this does not look good”. In that time and space, I felt my first pangs of fear erupt. When I saw the radiologist, she said it right then and there, “You have leukemia or lymphoma. We need to do a biopsy as soon as possible.” My fear multiplied tenfold in that moment.
I went in for the biopsy and the same tech from a few days before, saw me and said, “This part is nothing compared to what’s to come.”
In the morning one week later my doctor’s office called saying, “The doctor is going to need to discuss your test results. What time is good for you?” Later, the PA for the office, not my regular PCP, delivered the news, and charged me for the visit to boot. I know it’s a total cliché but I felt my world shift from its axis. Luckily, I called a couple of friends who could be with me when I got the news. Having the support, I needed in the immediate after-moments made me feel loved and not so alone.
I cried. I woke up in the middle of the night crying. Then, my school year was to start as everything, all the uncertainty, was swirling around me. I once read a calendar quote that said, “’I embrace the ‘uncertainty’. This one simple statement can completely change the way you live, moment to moment. The only thing that’s guaranteed in life is that it’s uncertain. The only thing we know is that we know nothing.”
How true is that.
At my first oncology appointment, the doctor was young and sweet and took time with me, telling me I could live a long life even with my diagnosis. There was a magazine placed on a rack on the wall with the title, “CLL Saved Me.” I asked if I could take home the magazine. I clung onto that title with every breath, “CLL Saved Me: Don’t let your cancer hold you back.” I read that article over and over again in those initial days. How could cancer save my life? I always thought the opposite.
My diagnosis impacted my life in ways I am continuing to discover as it unfolds. The few years leading up to my diagnosis, I had grown resentful of hurt and disappointments– a loss of a budding career I put countless hours and faith into, loss of friendships, loss of my heart animal, and slowly the loss of myself. I felt terribly unhappy and terribly lonely.
Cancer changed me. Yes, I have a haunting shadow of fear and anxiety, but as the black woven bracelet I bought at MD Anderson last September signifies, I have grown in a fluid resilience. Anxiety rests its sweet but malicious head next to resilience, but I must remember that I am getting stronger with each passing day. Anxiety speaks from my nature, the trauma of treatment, and just cancer itself, not to mention, a body I cannot recognize and struggle to trust. It constantly reminds me that the axe can come down at any time, and as my sweet oncologist would say, the animal is going to do what the animal is going to do. I must constantly choose to not be defined by my cancer. Mid-treatment, my oncologist once told me to go on a CLL-fast, taking my focus off my disease and letting my healing take root, making a way to see a bigger picture.
Moving through and living with cancer has given me an appreciation I had forgotten. The bigger picture comes from the ability to recognize and appreciate human connection. I was physically alone through treatment, but I was never alone.
Toward the end of treatment, I mailed my friends jars of creamed honey in flavors of Lemon, Pecan and even Hatch Chili, along with bath salts and creams. Why? Simply, as a thank you to those who supported me while I was in the thick of treatment. I even created baskets of goodies for my medical team and infusion nurses. Gratitude is the delicious, sticky substance that holds human connection beautifully together. The support I received was so multi-faceted. It ranged from late night phone calls, even from far-away places, Zoom calls, to rides to the treatment center, sitting with me even if it was for an hour to get fluids, or after I started taking a new drug. Sometimes the support came when a new friend said they were dropping off their teenager for a few hours, “She is here to do what-ever you may need.” She ended up making me muffins, helping me pack my first treatment bag, and organizing a cabinet or two. Small things that make huge differences.
Ringing the bell.
Reciprocity of grace is the desire to give back in honor of what you were given, to love and to support; to live and make a difference in the lives of others: Small ways that make huge impacts. I am an active volunteer with the Leukemia Lymphoma Society in their First Connection Program, helping people navigate their fears, treatment choices, active treatments and the changing landscapes of their cancer. I dream of living a life where I support others through writing or gift-giving. Small things that make huge differences.
Today I look at these interlocking rings of gold and silver. And, guess what? Now they are both silver. Maybe it’s divine intervention or maybe I should have not worn it in the shower. My life has melded with the old and the new; my pre-cancer life and my cancer life. Acceptance.
I previously worked as an ordained hospital chaplain, and in closing this part of my story, I offer this benediction: “Weary traveler, you will be weary in this crazy cancer journey. And that is okay. All is well. Ordinary miracles happen every day as the song says.
And in the words of the Metta, Loving Kindness Meditation, May You be Happy; May You be Healthy; May You be Safe; May You Live at Ease.”
Laurel, ThriveWell Diva and Survivor