Three years ago yesterday, I got a phone call from a nurse at the University of Michigan. It was a Wednesday, and my Gender and Women's Studies class at Western Michigan University was about to start. I had a missed call from an Ann Arbor phone number, not sure if they left a voicemail or not. I stepped into the empty classroom down the hall to call back, and the nurse was very quick to get to the point. I began to cry and swear, then apologize for swearing. She did a great job of just staying on the line with me until I had the basic information. They knew at that point that it was Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. I didn't necessarily know what that meant, but I believed it was bad. Further genetic testing would be necessary to determine whether I had "double hit" Burkitt Lymphoma which would have to be treated aggressively and quickly. It think it was several weeks before we found out that I just had a fairly "normal version" of NHL, Diffuse Large B-Cell. Mark was in a meeting at Kalamazoo College and he came over to WMU's Sangren Hall to meet up with me. One of his professors let us sit together in her office and she left us alone. I think we just cried and held each other. I had a follow up phone call with the ENT doctor I had seen at Bronson Hospital who had taken one look at the enlarged lymph node in my neck and said "You need to get that outta there." She was trying to be encouraging that there were many clinical studies I could participate in, and I remember telling her that I wasn't ready to feel encouraged... I was still digesting the fact that I had cancer. Mark had class that night, and I had a taiko rehearsal to go to, so we both went on with our days. I must have called my parents at some point that day, because my mom arrived in Michigan the following day. On Thursday and Friday morning that week, I remember waking up with a panicked gasp realizing that I was going to die. Looking back, I still feel aware that I'm going to die someday, I just feel more at peace about it and less certain of how and when it will happen. A huge factor in helping me accept what was going on was that we went to a Lakota sweat lodge on Saturday, where the leader encouraged me to reframe the experience as a "situation" rather than a problem or challenge. He said I've lived through many situations and this is just another one. Approaching it with fear will make it much harder to deal with. At some point in the coming months, he told us that all healing would come through water and he had Mark serve me water from the drinking gourd in a powerful gesture. I would have to accept help, and Mark would need to support me in my healing. We prayed hard for ourselves, for others, for healing for all of us.
Let's compare that to what I got to do yesterday. I woke up in Livermore in my parents house 33 weeks into my first pregnancy. Took a shower, made breakfast, put on my "winter flip flops" and headed over to the Bothwell Arts Center to teach my second workshop on Linoleum Relief Printing. Came home, had lunch, took a nap and then made an appearance at an art reception for the current exhibition at the Bankhead Theater which includes one of my prints and four prints made by my students. Mark and I picked up some groceries on the way home, and then made tacos for the two of us and my parents. We got caught up on Downtown Abbey and had ice cream and cookies for dessert. Had some nice cuddles with each other before settling down to bed. As I'm writing this, our baby is wriggling around in my belly. Pretty ridiculously wonderful day. So grateful to be gaining more and more distance from the day I was diagnosed. Thankful for the western and other types of medicine I received, for the meals and support generously given by friends and family. Amazed and humbled that my body is healthy enough to support my life and another's, too. I do feel like I've more than survived cancer, I've surpassed it. It's just another situation I've experienced. I hope for myself and my loved ones that I don't have to experience it again.
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