My teeming brain

I’m now two months into my journey with cancer, and it’s been an intense time emotionally for me and my loved ones, to say the least. For me, this is untravelled terrain with few familiar signposts. I’m figuring out how to navigate a new reality that includes daily trips to the hospital for treatments, a steady flow of information about my disease and its management, and a lot more time focused on my holistic wellness and recovery. As someone with no previous serious health issues, it’s a lot to have to recalibrate for what sometimes feels like a new life and identity. 

It seems that nothing really prepares you for a cancer diagnosis. Despite having lost four friends to cancer in the space of a few years—and reminding myself and others that it could happen to any of us/life and good health are uncertain/none of us is immune—the shock of my diagnosis was overwhelming. I felt devastated, despite all the love and emotional support around me. I simply couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I had wandered into someone else’s life story and needed to find the portal back to my own. 

I know now that there is no way back, no way to unhear the gentle neurosurgeon’s words as he shared the diagnosis of a cancerous brain tumour, and no way to undo the things that have happened to my body. There’s only the way forward. Or, as I’m starting to learn, many possible ways from which I need to chart my own journey. 

The initial shock and numbness I mentioned gave way to anxiety, fear, sadness, and a host of other feelings—including moments of profound gratitude for the love and care of those who surrounded me. The emotional journey has been intense from the start and it’s ever-evolving. But my point here isn’t to describe every step in that journey since the initial health crisis and my diagnosis. What I’m most surprised about and interested in exploring is the sense of calm and happiness that I’m currently experiencing. 

Finding joy

This calmness is remarkable to me because it’s not what I expect of myself under the circumstances. I’ve been “surprised by joy,” to quote William Wordsworth, who wrote in a poem with that title about being distracted from his grief by a moment of beauty. Wordsworth’s reflection leads takes him back to the sense of loss, but what I’m interested in is the resilience of peace and joy in the midst of the health issue I’m dealing with. 

When I was only a few weeks into this journey, I had no idea that I would be able to put aside the fact of my cancer and have sustained periods of pleasure and relaxation. My preoccupation with the illness pretty much coloured every conscious moment, and I was quietly (and mostly silently) battling near-constant anxiety. There was a perpetual conversation going on in my head, and it seemed impossible to distract myself from the noise. I was going through the motions of someone who’s “coping well” with a cancer diagnosis and getting positive reinforcement from those closest to me; however, anxiety and fear pretty much held sway within me. 

One coping mechanism in those early days was to focus on the present moment. Looking ahead was frightening and disorienting, because it forced me to think about things I wasn’t ready to process, such as hard conversations, medical treatments, and a possible return of illness. That said, I could scan myself and say that at that moment I was okay. The immediate life-threatening issue had been addressed; I was healing well; I had every comfort I could wish for; and I was surrounded by a warm glow of love. There was and is much comfort to be found in the present. 

Trying not to think too far ahead and focusing on the present definitely helped in those first few weeks. Still, it required a near-constant conversation with myself to stave off the anxiety that lurked in my mind, tightened my chest, and knotted my stomach. I was caught in a cycle of thoughts that I responded to with specific mantras and affirmations, and it felt exhausting—especially as I tried to keep the struggle from those who want peace and happiness for me. 

I don’t want to suggest that there weren’t many happy moments in those first weeks, because there were. My partner and I enjoyed long, vigorous walks along the boardwalk at the beach. We took pleasure in creating delicious, healthy meals and snacks. We invited close friends and family into our domestic sanctuary and visited theirs. Many times I was moved by people’s kindness and soothed by the beauty around me. At the same time, those simple, relaxing times  were coloured by an undercurrent of anxiety. 

A sudden shift

And then a shift happened. I stopped struggling hourly with my anxiety. Suddenly, or so it seems to me, I could make it through much of a day without the worrying thoughts. And reminding myself that I have cancer didn’t produce the familiar and automatic pit in my stomach and dark pall over my thoughts. 

I’m now more able to hold two truths together: 

• I have cancer.
• I find joy in experiencing what life has to offer every day. 

I’m genuinely surprised that I’m not experiencing more anxiety or depression, and I’m exploring how and why that is. I have some theories about what is going on that I’d like to share to see if/how they resonate with others. 

Starting cancer treatment

Without a doubt, starting my cancer treatment transformed my outlook on life. During the first few weeks after the brain surgery, I existed in a suspended state; I was healing from the surgery and waiting for the cancer treatment to begin—without knowing what that treatment would look like. Poised between two major medical interventions, I pretty much got through each day by trying to be in the moment, as I’ve described. I didn’t actively seek out information about what might be coming next, despite there being so much available online; instead I told myself that it would all start soon and that I could forget about it for a brief interlude and just focus on healing and reducing stress. I was essentially burying my head in the sand. There was an immediate comfort in this state of not knowing, but I don’t think it helped me. 

I now recognize that I was avoiding what was coming next because it would confirm my new identity as someone “fighting” cancer. In the liminal state before treatment, I was recovering from a high-risk surgery and basking in the immediate glow of its success. Once in treatment, I wouldn’t be celebrating that win with my family and friends. Also, there would be no escape from the daily reality of my treatment protocols and information about their efficacy. Or so I thought. The reality has been quite different. 

I should start by saying that everyone at the cancer centre where I receive treatment has been nothing short of incredible. From our first meticulously planned meeting with the oncology team, we’ve received comprehensive, accessible and timely information about the disease and my carefully tailored plan. That information has been liberating in that it’s helped dispel some negative thoughts and misinformation that plagued me during the early weeks. It helped me pull my head out of the sand and see my condition and my opportunities more clearly. 

Beyond the information, getting started with treatment has been transformative for me mentally/emotionally. It’s pretty simple, actually: I’m doing something about it now. Every day I’m killing cancer cells and taking concrete steps toward a happy, healthier future. Whereas I initially found the idea of radiation and chemotherapy scary and depressing (because they confirmed my illness), I now understand that they’re necessary agents to move beyond this immediate, demanding stage of my journey. It seems like an obvious realization, but when experiencing shock and anxiety it’s amazing what you can avoid or overlook. 

When I spoke about finding joy in the present, I didn’t expect it to include my treatment therapies. Being relatively free of side effects has definitely helped, but so have the daily friendly interactions with radiation technicians, nurses, doctors, administrative staff, social workers and more. The smiles, jokes, and small talk along with all the excellent support help me walk into my radiation sessions with a bounce in my step instead of trepidation. It makes it easier to visualize positive health outcomes while I’m undergoing treatment. 

Opening up about cancer

If getting started with treatment helped me shift toward a calm, optimistic headspace, so has sharing more openly with others  about my condition. Initially, I was quite private as I absorbed the diagnosis. I had widely shared the precipitating crisis leading up to the brain surgery, but I did not follow up and broadly announce that I have cancer. I don’t regret the decision, because it’s been important to tell my story my way to the people who mattered most to me, including my immediate family and close friends. I’ve had many conversations over the space of two weeks, and all of them were unique and wonderful. This also created a situation whereby my network had access to different information, and this likely caused some stress and uncertainty for them. As I told my story to more people, I became more confident and more comfortable. Telling people what I’m going through and answering their questions to the best of my ability is now much less stressful. I’m more confident that people will meet me in the place of optimism that I occupy. I’m getting better at answering questions—and occasionally not answering certain questions. Talking has been a cure for my anxiety. Again, this should not have come as a surprise, but it’s interesting how the brain works when you’re in a state of shock. 

Doubling down on the present

Beyond the fact that I’m actively in treatment and opening up about my condition, I attribute some of the peace of mind I’m experiencing to a continued focus on being present. I’ve described the comfort it provided in the first few weeks after my diagnosis to focus my attention on the beauty of simple experiences and to try to make every day special in some way. I’ve also talked about reminding myself that I was fine—even more than fine—in the present moment. I’ve held onto this mindset, and I’m trying to take this focus on presence one step further. 

I’ve realized that projecting into the future is speculative and often unhelpful, especially when that projection involves my cancer and causes me anxiety. It’s not that we shouldn’t make plans or organize our days and weeks; in fact, managing treatment on top of the rest of your life can mean you’re doing more looking ahead than usual. It’s just that we just don’t need to spend time worrying about what the future holds, especially when we’re dealing with an illness like cancer. 

Ekhart Tolle puts this idea well in The Power of Now: 

Are you worried? Do you have many “what if” thoughts? You are identified with your mind, which is projecting itself into an imaginary future situation and creating fear. There is no way that you can cope with such a situation, because it doesn’t exist. It’s a mental phantom. You can stop this health- and life-corroding insanity simply by acknowledging the present moment…. Ask yourself what “problem” you have right now, not next year, tomorrow, or five minutes from now. What is wrong with this moment? You can always deal with the Now, but you can never  cope with the future—nor do you have to. (Tolle, 97)

Tolle reminds us that the future we fear doesn’t actually exist, so that fear is a waste of time. But the now we’re experiencing is absolutely real, and by being fully present in the now we can cope with its immediate challenges and also experience its attendant beauty. I’ve seized that insight and it’s helped me gain an important perspective on my anxiety.

Meditation is helping me become a better observer of my thoughts and to better deal with negative thoughts when they arise. I always incorporated a bit of meditation into my yoga practice, which I took up during the Covid pandemic. Now I’m making time for meditation when I wake up and before going to bed, and this bookending of my day in calm awareness seems to help me throughout the day. 

There is so much I need to learn about meditation, but one discovery is that labelling a scary or negative thought as just that—a thought—helps me understand my emotions and regain some peace of mind. I’m also exploring visualization to see if it helps reinforce the positive energy that has come from being more present through all the activities I’ve described. 

Recently, when I ask myself how I’m doing in the present moment, most often the answer is “well”. That’s been surprising, as I started out by saying, and it’s also been a blessing. I’ve been able to answer myself positively because I’m responding well to my cancer treatment; I feel healthy; I’m surrounded by love and support; and I’m more aware of the beauty in everyday experiences. I realize that may not always be the answer to my question, and I need to be ready for more challenging times ahead. Paradoxically, though, I believe it’s the work I’m doing now on being more observant, open, and engaged in the present that’s preparing me for whatever the future holds.