Stage 3, Step 3

When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful. ~Barbara Bloom (I'm not sure this quote goes with this post, but I like it anyway.)

It dawned on me last night that I was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer. Oh shit...how did I not know that? I reviewed what I know about breast cancer staging, just in case I'd jumped to a hasty conclusion. No. Stage 3. Then I called my mom this morning and told her I'd just realized I have Stage 3 cancer.

"Well, they told you that at the time," she said. "I don't think you could handle it then. There were too many things happening too fast to deal with it all."

Well, hell. I wish someone had mentioned it more than once. Seems a little silly to be terrified now. It actually seems kind of funny. Or maybe that's just the hysteria talking. Epiphanies. What a riot!

Today, I have step 3 of the new plan. I thought of it last night in between panic attacks.

What do I know about suffering?

I know that, no matter how good things are, we are never satisfied. We're filled with a restless hunger. Have the perfect job? If only we liked our kitchen more. Have the kitchen redecorated? If only the sun would come out. Sun shining? If only we were having a better hair day.... It's endless, this longing.

We want to push change away, halt time in its tracks, because with change comes loss. We don't like loss; it never feels good.

We yearn so much for feeling good (in all its possible manifestations) that we are unable to accept each changing moment as it comes. That is the solution to my suffering. I have to relearn it every so often. I thought I'd gotten it down during chemo, but no.

I am mourning the loss of my breast. The breast is gone and the new one is scarred and hardened in places. I was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer and now I'm afraid. Things are as they are.

I can let go and experience these truths without judgment, holding close to me in loving embrace the sorrow, anger and fear. I can stop rejecting the breast and love it. I can stop rejecting the body and love it. It is my oldest friend, it will be with me until I die. I can feel some empathy for this skin that carries me around in it.

I can remember that, as much as I don't like this moment, it's perfect, nonetheless.