The Power of Faith
Karen Clark
Dear Gail,
It seems like eons ago when I received
your email message on January 06. I was happy to hear
from you and appreciated being on your email receive
list. You related an inspirational story about the man
who called into a Portland radio show where you were a
guest. Your advice to this fellow with obvious regrets
of the past was to let go of his personal “trapeze” and
quit living in the past and look to the future. In your
message you closed with the final passage in your book
Between Trapezes,
There is no way it is.
There’s only the way you say it is.
The universe hasn’t made its mind up
about you.
It only knows what you show it today.
You Are the Inventor. Your life is the
invention.
You get to make it up.
So, make it up good.
I was moved by the story and those
closing words and I felt compelled to respond and thank
you for sending me those inspirational thoughts since
(unbeknown to you), I had just been informed that a
mammogram revealed that I had a lump in my left breast.
Hopeful follow-up visits for additional testing only
confirmed the situation and I was scheduled for a biopsy
to determine if the lump was cancer. I kept this
dreadful secret from everyone except my best childhood
friend Valrie. After reluctantly telling her about the
biopsy I was shocked to learn that she had been through
the procedure five years earlier. She had played down
the event and told me after the fact that the biopsy was
negative. She gave me moral support and described what
to expect.
Now, Valrie and I are lifetime friends
but it still took some soul searching before I told her
about the biopsy. Gail, you and I met at the 3rd
Annual China-U.S. Women’s Conference in Beijing where
you were the keynote and I was a workshop presenter. We
lost touch but I recalled how you had just finished
doing the Oprah Show and launching your successful
career. I never knew that you would put me on your email
list but I was grateful, and for whatever reason, I hit
reply and immediately answered your message. Had I given
myself time to think about what I was doing, maybe I
wouldn’t have had the courage to reveal what very
personally was going on with me. But, I felt that I
must share with you the biopsy secret and my fear of
freezing in time and thank you. You see, the frozen
state I was in was my trapeze. Your kind and
supportive response gave me courage to make it through
the emotional 11 days until the biopsy by letting go of
my trapeze of fear.
After I sent
the note to you, I asked myself, now why in the world
did I do that? I hope that Gail doesn’t feel like I’m
weakly dumping baggage on her! She’s a busy professional
writer and speaker, why would I unload on an important
person like Gail who shouldn’t be bothered by a
stranger’s laments. But you kindly sent me a response
that simply but powerfully shook me. You said that while
reading my secret you had a biblical line from The
Song of Solomon pop into your mind:
“Thou art
all fair, my love. There is no spot in thee…”
At first I
thought your implication was a comforting remark
suggesting that I would not have cancer and I
appreciated the positive thought. I was unfamiliar with
this passage but read the entire verse and realized that
the passage was about the Virgin Mary. The song was not
about physical beauty or illness but about spiritual
beauty and virtues. I studied the verse and understood
that the poetic scripture described Mary’s beauty in
terms of the spotlessness nature of her grace and
related to the coming of the Son of God. I thought about
how the terrified unwed teenager, Mary, must have felt
when God told Her that She would be the Mother of the
Messiah. I felt humbled by the guilt I had for
selfishly worrying about my physical wellbeing when this
very human young woman faced fear with such faith. I
thought about the thousands of unfortunate others with
fears such as the victims of the recent killing tsunami
wave in Indonesia and India. The gamut of emotions and
thoughts your message brought to me in metaphor from
this scripture was profound to say the least.
Fast-forward 11 days. I tucked your message in my slacks
pocket this morning when I left for the hospital in the
dark at 6 am for the one-hour biopsy procedure scheduled
for 7:00 am. It was so cold and I thought that the
starless night of dawn and brutal sub-zero temperature
were somewhat appropriate for the dark moment in my
life. My driver probably didn’t notice that I kept my
hand in my pocket for the brief ride to the hospital and
if he did, he probably thought I was just freezing from
the cold, which I was. As I clutched the note I suddenly
thought of a swinging trapeze and felt my emotions
reaching to swing with it. Yes, it was a dark moment but
as I clutched the hidden note I was resolved about
having let go of the trapeze of fear and not reaching
back for it.
After the
routine of registering, filling out forms asking for
names that I wanted notified in case of complications,
and donning the typical plastic wristband, I took the
elevator up to radiology/mammography’s waiting room. I
noticed that a frightened blonde looking woman of
40-something was clutching her registration papers and
recalled the hospital admissions lady saying that only
biopsies are done the early morning hours on Mondays and
scheduling was difficult because there were only two
radiological rooms. I knew then, the blonde lady was
here for the same reason that brought me. The two of us
sat in silence, neither one of us having any interest in
the coffee table reading materials with Jen and Brad’s
breakup that was splashed across People magazine
or the toothy smile of Kathy Lee Gifford on last months
dog-eared Reader’s Digest with the cutline:
Life After Regis. Finally, I said, “The waiting is
the hard part, isn’t it?” The woman introduced herself
as Nada and I introduced myself. Nada said that she had
been stressed about the waiting, wondering, and
apprehension regarding the biopsy and results. Recalling
my trapeze and sense her fear I blurted out, “Well,
don’t let fear shut you down whatever happens.” With a
nervous smile she softly thanked me, and then the
receptionist called her name. I silently wished her luck
just as my name was called.
I told
myself that I was prepped for the procedure and the
radiologist instructed me to put the hospital gown
on---backwards. Ready, I took a deep breath and said to
the radiologist, “Let’s do it.” But the radiologist
explained that to make sure that the needle probe would
be accurate prior to the actual procedure the doctor
requested additional x-rays from different angles. I was
surprised since I had an initial four-slide set that
revealed the lump and four more follow-ups within days
that had confirmed the abnormality. On all of the slides
the lump was decidedly large and deep.
Oddly, I
felt a little let down that we were not jumping headlong
into the procedure and getting over the ordeal. But in
the chilly radiological room with half my gown off my
left shoulder, with trembling legs I anted up for four
more slides and kept my hand in my pant pocket with your
note. After an agonizing 10 minutes that seemed like an
hour in the private waiting room next door, the
radiologist, Tammy, called me back for additional
x-rays.
I was cold
and now I felt a sick feeling that there might be
problems to the procedure. Tammy nervously explained
that the surgical doctor had requested more photos but
this time he wanted the breast as flattened as possible.
She avoided my eyes that were moist. I think I recall
commenting that my eyes always water in the morning or
something meaningless that my nerves absent-mindedly
produce.
This second
recall to two prior mammogram sets was a little baffling
but the pain from pressure of the machine soon turned my
attention back to the reality of situation. Gail, you
haven’t lived boob pain until someone crushes your tit
so hard you want to scream! But I didn’t scream. After
the merciless vice lifted, I said, “Wow, that felt so
good, can you do that again and crank it up a couple of
notches!” The radiologist smiled and said, “Yeah, we
need to do just that.” And she did three more times with
gusto.
Another 10
minutes dragged by for me in the private waiting room
while the doctor examined the latest film set. Finally,
the doctor tapped on the door and entered. The two
chairs strategically placed were no mistake. I knew this
and sat in the one far from the door so the good doctor
could make an easy entrance and give me the word about
what was going on. He began by saying that my case was
very rare. Oh great I thought, here it comes. I dug my
hand deeper in my pocket with the note that was pretty
sweaty by now but managed, “Yes, what is the problem?”
The doctor looked serious and said, “Well the problem is
that if we proceed with the biopsy it will be for
nothing.” I though, “Oh my god, the cancer has taken
over. It’s too late to do anything.” By now the paper
was a spitball in my palm. I mustered my courage and
with a leveled voice asked, “Well, where do we go from
here?”
Measurably,
the doctor said, “I see no reason to stick a bunch of
needles in you today since there is nothing to stick
them into. There is no lump. There was a lump. It is
gone. No trace.” The words didn’t compute right away. I
only thought, this is some kind of sick joke or maybe I
overslept and I’m not here. I actually asked, “Doctor,
did Tammy get the films of me and Nada mixed up?” The
doctor looked confused and he reiterated that the lump
had vanished from the multiple slide evidence only 11
days ago. The words were far away in a vacuum and all I
wanted to do when I realized what was happening was to
yell---YA-HOOOO! But I suddenly felt guilty. What about
Nada? She was into the procedure behind that second
door. I said a little prayer for Nada the stranger and
then I dressed and left.
I would wait
for my ride that wouldn’t come for another scheduled
hour at a side door of the hospital that was under
renovation and headed that way. A volunteer grey haired
60 something lady greeted me and asked if I was lost.
“No,” I said, “I am just early for my ride— thank
goodness.” I noticed that her name was Ruth from her
volunteer badge that had a pink ribbon attached to it.
Smiling, Ruth and I exchanged chitchat. I was dying to
tell someone, anyone, about my good news but suppressed
the urge to spill my guts to a stranger. Instead, Ruth
related various facts about the hospital expansion
including the fact that they were two months ahead of
schedule and under the budget. I tried to listen with
interest all the while thinking that I would be standing
outside waiting for the ride were it not for the fact
that it was so cold. I couldn’t wait to split from this
hospital! But I listened politely to Ruth who obviously
loved this hospital and relished her volunteer job.
Trying to listen to her exuberant descriptions of the
remodel I nodded and said something like, “Yes, this
will be a wonderful facility for this community.”
She then
said something that stopped me cold. She said, “Oh, yes,
there will be new surgical rooms with fabulous
life-saving equipment. I sure wish they had had this
facility when my heart stopped during my mastectomy five
years ago. But, it turned out okay, they revived me and
here I am today!” I couldn’t believe that I was talking
to a breast cancer survivor after having dodged a bullet
myself. Ruth and I enjoyed a wonderful conversation
talking about her experience. She described her
radiation treatments and how her hair fell out. She
laughed and said, “My hair was always grey but it was
shoulder length…. it all fell out when I had the chemo.
But after it started to grow out, I thought what the
heck I like it short. I’ll just keep it that way!”
The hour
flew by with the conversation that included Ruth telling
me that her lump was not detected by a mammogram. In
fact she had just had her annual mammogram only one
month before finding the lump in a self-exam. The lump,
she explained was in her left breast in the upper area
almost near her shoulder. Toward the ending of our talk
when she knew an hour had passed and I’d need to go
outside and catch my ride, Ruth declared with one of the
warmest and wisest smiles I’d ever seen that August
would be her last month for her medication. She seemed
to caution herself when she added, “Oh, once you have
cancer you always have to fight. It can come back and in
different areas of the body. I’m on my guard but I’m
living my life happier than ever!” I thought, she is
living a life with no trapeze. I hugged her and thanked
her for taking the time to share her remarkable story
with me. She seemed to read my mind and said, “I hope
things go well for you too.” At that moment I broke down
and said tearfully that it had gone well this morning.
Somehow, Ruth knew everything.
Gail, I’m a
old existentialist that usually rejects the notion of
any kind of predetermination but all of this was no
coincidence—the timing of your message to me, my best
friend’s revelation of a similar experience, my secret
revealed to you, your lovely inspiration from the Bible,
the hap meeting with Nada, the disappearance of the lump
in my breast, and Ruth’s testimonial to her bout with
breast cancer—together was a story. It is a story that I
want to share with others to emphasize how important it
is to have annual mammograms and to frequently perform
self-exams. It is a story that urges others to trust
your friends. It is also a story that I want to share
that involves hope and faith and how letting go of fear
is empowering.
I caught my
ride and headed to my office to write you this story and
to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I just thought
of something Gail, kind of like the experience of the
Song of Solomon line that just came to you. The name
Ruth means in Hebrew “compassionate friend.” Realizing
this from a Sunday school lesson, I looked up the
meaning of Nada on an Internet site. Ironically, the
name Nada means “hope.”
Throughout
this ordeal I have found friendship from unexpected
places. I am blessed for this and I am grateful. I am
grateful to Valerie and Ruth. I am grateful to Nada for
reminding me to help others and I hope I comforted her
in some way. I am forever grateful to you, Gail, for
bringing some wise words and thoughts into my life at a
time of great emotional need. Your words were a
catalyst to remind me that I am grateful to God and I
will remember His grace and will remember to give to
others as I have received.
My trapeze
of fear is gone. This experience has transformed me.
Thank you again; Gail, and God bless you! |
