In Sickness and In Health
Committing to the Muse with Cancer
Stick with me, please. This ends on a high note.
I have, and I haven’t been well the past 13 months. The big “C” came to visit me in December 2022. It’s weird how I avoid saying or typing the word - cancer. It feels surreal and distant, what happened. I woke up from what was supposed to be a minor outpatient procedure to learn there were complications, plus an ugly cancerous-looking tumor was found and removed. I spent a week in the hospital. Before I left, I was told all looked good; it appeared they had removed all traces. After recovering from the surgery, I would do five weeks of radiation therapy to ensure it didn’t come back.
I’m lucky. I’ve had it easy. I’m not a warrior or a survivor. All I had to do was accept, lay back, and relax to get well. I never had to worry about test results or upcoming surgery. The tumor was discovered and removed while I was asleep, so I never had to say to myself or to others those words; I have cancer.
Yes, sure, there’s a chance it will come back, and although my chances don’t look good if it comes back, my chances that it won’t come back are really, really good. So, I’m not worried. Worry does absolutely nothing but consume energy and joy. Life is too short to worry. Besides, guess what? We all die someday.
So, there were surprises this past year, in my life. I learned cancer and cancer treatments don’t always follow the stereotype. People don’t either.
Some of the people that I thought would be there for me were not. And others that I never would have asked for help stepped right up and were next to me through it all. I am so incredibly grateful and inspired by those who showed up for me.
I don’t want to judge those who weren’t there. I get it. Sickness is a shadow, it makes the patient look different (although they are the same inside). It’s uncomfortable to witness. Also, it can be too painful to confront when it brings back memories of dealing with a loved one you lost from cancer. It’s all too easy to project past experiences onto a new situation. But, before you look away or say let’s get together when you’re done with all the treatments, consider that everyone reacts differently to treatments. Treatments themselves have changed dramatically in the past five years. Today’s cancer is not your mother’s cancer.
Anyway, I was lucky, in so many ways. I didn’t have to go through chemotherapy, only radiation. Radiation doesn’t hurt. I didn’t lose my hair. I drove myself each morning to the treatment center and was home within an hour. I was able to do most normal things with those who were with me. The biggest side effect for me was the fatigue. It would hit me suddenly and totally.
It is pointless to fight fatigue. That’s why I hate if anyone calls me a warrior or survivor. Fatigue is something to accept. It’s an ally, cautioning to slow down, rest, and heal. So, that’s what I did. If a friend or family was with me, I’d tell them simply, I’m tired now.
Hmm… Where are we going with this essay? I don’t want to go on and on about my health this past year, but my health issues went on and on. After I should have been feeling better from treatments, I wasn’t. Turned out, I had other health issues to deal with. After five months of new appointments, tests, etc., finally this week, there’s a diagnosis. It’s another autoimmune disease (I already had one). It’s okay. I know how to deal with autoimmune diseases. I’ve been on a Paleo diet since 2018. I’ll be able to manage most symptoms, if not all, with diet. I’m not worried. I’m actually relieved to have a name for my new symptoms.
The real point of this essay, now that I’ve shown you the backdrop of the setting, is to let you know that my Muse did not abandon me! Even when others disappeared, even when I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me, even when I wasn’t getting well when I should have been, my Muse was still there, whispering in my ear.
When I had 15 minutes before I needed to leave for an appointment, I’d open my laptop and my Muse would show up. When I was too fatigued to write or even open my eyes, the Muse was there, discussing the motives of characters and settings for dramatic scenes. When I would wake from a nap, my Muse put a pen in my hand and helped me transcribe snippets of a conversation that I heard in my dream. I’ve made so much progress on my current work in progress this year! (I’m almost ready for beta-readers.) So much progress, in fact, that I can’t say it was despite the illness. My progress, I believe, was because of the illness.
I have a different perspective now. Now I understand, something the Muse has always known. There is always time to create. It is here, now, beneath the fingertips, pressing the keys, beneath the closed eyelids watching the scenes, time is here now, always, ready for my creation.
Carpe minuta! Seize the minutes!
I’m a private person, I don’t share my health issues with most of my friends. I’ll probably delete this, later. If you’re here now, I hope it inspires you.
Did you need to hear this today? I would love to hear from you.
This Is Not About is written by Ada Austen, the author of Better Late Than Never, a multicultural second-chance romance set on the beaches and boardwalks of the New Jersey Shore. It is the New Jersey Romance Writers 2021 Golden Leaf Winner - Best Book by NJ Author.