Cancer

Part 11. For a Higher Purpose

In a previous post I had mentioned that there were two people who I credit with saving my life. I wrote about Matt Kahn earlier. It seemed time to share the other, Carissa Schumacher. If Matt planted the seed that allowed my will to blossom and choose life, Carissa was the one who showed me the path through the forest; a forest that had seemed so dark and dense as to be void of paths.

Carissa is a psychic; probably the most eerily accurate psychic I have ever witnessed including those that make their living writing books and frequenting talk shows. Carissa chose another route. She works with those individuals who happen to find her; she doesn’t even have a website. (I have an email address for those interested.) There were a number of helpful topics we discussed, but there were two that seemed appropriate to share in a blog post. These two concepts have helped me, informed my way of life, changed me irrevocably. 

In our society we spend so much time fighting cancer, battling cancer, hoping whatever course of action we choose will get rid of the cancer. We worry, we fret, we are sad, angry and impatient to have it out of our bodies. The one thing that we don’t do; the one thing that is rarely asked is, “How might cancer be serving my highest good?” Sure we all want to heal from cancer, but do we ever consider how we might heal because of it? The two concepts Carissa shared and the subsequent work I did with those concepts made me realize that regardless of whether I healed physically from cancer, it was the vehicle by which I was able to do the real healing; the kind that transcends time and allows for more love, compassion, and connection to exist in my being. Ultimately, this kind of healing is the fertile soil that allows and supports the physical healing. 

The first concept had to do with "Life Purpose". Carissa’s innate knowledge of what she saw as my purpose for incarnating on this Earth, in this body, facilitated the shift in perspective on my relationship with cancer and fueled my desire to live. She said, “You came down here and incarnated in this body to once and for all heal cancer on behalf of your ancestors.” I knew what she was talking about. On my mother’s side of the family, going back four generations there are only seven females. I’m betting my Italian Catholic Great Grandmother had siblings but I know nothing of them so technically there may be more. Of these seven females, I was diagnosed with breast cancer; my mother is six years free of ovarian cancer; my grandmother died of lung cancer; my grandmother’s sister, throat cancer; and her other sister, colon cancer. I do not know the cause of death of my grandmother’s remaining sister nor my great grandmother. Intuitively, I knew that Carissa was referring to the underlying emotional and energetic patterns that have been passed down from generation to generation. In my business as a life coach and EFT practitioner, Epigenetics, the study of external or environmental factors' influence on genes, is a big deal. In our business, it is common to see how resolving emotional issues heals illness and disease.

The females on my mother’s side of the family are extraordinarily strong, self-sufficient, resilient women who chose to repress their voices for the sake of peace in their world. They gave away their power in an effort to be accepted, to be loved. It was safe; it kept them secure but at what cost? Where does all that anger go? I have such respect and compassion for their journeys and some day I look forward to sharing my grandmother's story of immigrating to the U.S. as an indentured servant from Italy.

As I settled into the idea that I was here to heal on behalf of my ancestors, I began to see having cancer as a calling, that there was some purpose to it, and I wasn’t just some random recipient of a bum deal. For me, cancer broke open my heart, crumbled my defenses, my walls, my constructs; all of which kept me safe, but also kept me separate and alone. In the ensuing year after my call with Carissa, I left my safe, little, invisible “island”. I blew it up actually, paddled to the mainland where all my relationships were and participated more fully in them...the good, the bad, the ugly. I healed the remaining parts of me that felt small and scared, and began to embody a quiet, peaceful confidence. For the first time in my life I became completely comfortable in my own skin. I found my voice and my power; a power that quietly sits inside. It doesn't need to make itself known in some big flashy way. It comes out to play as love and as a space holder for others to be able to find their voice, their power and to allow them to know they are loved and accepted exactly as they are in this moment.

 “I’m ok. I have always been ok. I always will be ok,” I wrote one day after a meditation. I knew this transcended death. I had healed what needed to be healed on behalf of my family. When I close my eyes I see a half dozen women, my ancestors, standing in a semicircle smiling at me full of love and peace. Their smile says, “Yes you did. You healed on behalf of us all.”

Cancer gave me that. I'm incredibly lucky to be able to feel that, to feel whole; to feel so much love in my heart, so much peace in my being, so much gratitude for all that I encounter. Can I regret having cancer? No, not at all.

Carissa’s other suggestion had me take a deep breath, exhale, inhale and say, “O.K…wow. How do I do that?” She had said (paraphrasing) to me, “ Renee, you need to find a way to love the cancer. I know in our society that goes against everything that is said, taught, and stressed about cancer but your path is through loving it, not fighting it. By doing that you begin to change the consciousness around cancer. That is another part of your life purpose.”

After we hung up the phone I let that seep into me. “What does loving cancer look like and why would I want to love cancer when everything in me wants it OUT!?”

To be continued...

 

 

Part 10. An Unexpected Gift from Ireland

In the movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel there is a character named Graham Dashwood played by Tom Wilkinson. With a group of retirement-aged people, Graham Dashwood chooses to go to India, to the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. One of his motivations was to discover what happened to a long lost love. What is unknown to the group of people with whom he went was he had a life threatening illness he never shared. 

I too went to a foreign country with a group of similarly aged people, not to find a long lost love, although a deepening of love for my mother occurred. Rather, I too chose not to share my “back story”. I didn’t realize until my return what was beneath my motivation. For the first time in a long time I got to be Renee Meyers not Renee Cancer Meyers. The hosts of the group knew my situation, my mother knew, but the other 26 people knew nothing. 

I was happy. Free. Weightless. I got to be the version of me I envisioned. I didn’t care if anyone asked a single thing about my life. I was content to be interested in learning about theirs.There was the story of “Ted” who had a huge limb from an equally huge tree fall on him last winter during a nasty windstorm, puncturing his lung and breaking his arm. He brought pictures to share of the limb…both the tree’s and his. Though not the most dynamic of storytellers, you could tell that the experience was very important to him. He never voiced it, but I imagine the story was worthy of pictures because it was as close to escaping death as he could imagine.

 There was the comedic story of “Tess” who shared the messy details of her divorce involving mistresses, children by the mistress, and a letting go of long held beliefs about marriage. It was a divorce worthy of a movie script. Woven within every comedy sketch is real life pain that comedians know how to make humorous. Though she was a teacher, a comedian she could be. A few of us had a friendly competition which Tess won…"Who has spent the least amount of money for an item at Kohl’s?" I thought I would win having spent zero for an item I purchased a couple  years ago. Tess had a gift card which meant she had money left over when all was said and done.

There was the “how did you meet” story of one couple. She had never been married, he two months a widower. They were fixed up on a blind date and married six months later. That couple has been married 25 years and you can still see their mutual admiration and love for each other.

I didn’t need to be “heard” or be “seen”. I got to hold space for others to be heard and seen. Over breakfast one morning there was an impromptu, listening/ coaching moment where “Mary” came to see she really didn’t want to retire from her job; she loved it! She found freedom in announcing when she got back she was withdrawing her notice to leave. The only reason she was going to retire was because she thought it was expected of her given her age. There was the impromptu fashion consultant moment where I got to help “Jane” see that the green color of a particular cape brightened her face; the lavender in the other cape washed her out. Moments of friendship…listening, as “Margaret” shared that she had lost two of her three children…encouraging, as“Jill” overcame her fear of heights as we climbed the steps to kiss the Blarney Stone…just holding space for others to feel what they needed to feel.

Really, none of the above snippets signify anything big and that is the point. It’s how I choose to be in the world; how we all probably choose to be in the world. I got to experience again what it is like to be one of the crowd rather than one with “special circumstances.” I got to be me and no one needed to filter her choice of words for fear of how I might take it. Sometimes cancer can feel like an unwanted companion whose mere presence flavors, changes how the interactions, how the conversations occur.

Cancer does funny things to your relationships. “How are you?” said between friends upon seeing one another means, “hi!” or “What’s up since I last saw you?” Said to someone with cancer it can mean, “Has anything changed?” or “I’m so worried about you,” or “I hope you’re not closer to dying?” I suppose it can mean “hi,” but often the bracing expectation of an unwanted answer that accompanies the question adds something to the meaning. I’m not criticizing peoples’ genuine concern for loved ones. I get why the question is asked. I just long for normalcy in conversations. 

Similarly when I can tell that something is bothering a friend and ask about it, the answer can be prefaced with, “I’m worried about something which is stupid when I think about what you’re dealing with.” My response has always been, “Pain is pain. Worry is worry. Sadness is sadness. What causes it doesn’t matter. The pain, worry, or sadness deserves compassion regardless of how big or small the cause. I don’t think our emotions follow a hierarchal scale when they decide to make themselves known. We are the ones who add the scale and decide whether we are justified in feeling a certain way. My worry about cancer can feel exactly the same in me as your worry about whether the bee that just landed on you is about to sting you! When you share your life with me as you always would have, both the joys and the sorrows, what I receive is a chance to care for you.

Happy. Weightless. Free. That’s what I felt in Ireland. I brought a suitcase to Ireland and though it was heavy, the invisible one that follows me around at home, the one with the big letter C on it can feel much heavier. Some days it disappears completely, other days I’m good at tucking it under the table or in the closet, and, still others, it feels like I carry it on my back. Today, as I write this, it is propped against the wall over there…whatever that means. I won’t be contemplating the meaning…it is a beautiful day outside and I’m going to go walk my dogs.