I Might Have Cancer Again

but that’s not what I’m worried about

Getting my head shaved in a ritual in my living room in August 2007, the day before my first chemo treatment. My friend Bob shaved my head while my friends and family sang to me.

Eighteen years after I lay under the knife, welcomed poisons in my veins, and radiated the breast where the tumor had been, I arrived at the Dominican Breast Center. It was time for my annual mammogram.

I sat quietly in the waiting room, phone in hand, doomscrolling while I waited for someone to call my name. And when they did, I was not afraid.

It had been almost two decades since my ten-year-old and fourteen-year-old drew on my chest with black Sharpies the night before my surgery. On my left breast, Eli instructed the surgeons in bold: “Not this one, the other one!” On my right breast, Lizzy wrote, “THIS ONE.” And on my belly, they both proclaimed, “Take good care of our Mom!”

My prayer that whole long year in the cancer underground was a simple one: “Please let me see them graduate from high school.”

And I was lucky. I got my wish.

In the 18 years I’ve been cancer-free, I’ve never taken my health for granted. I know with certainty, that in one moment, everything can change. Just like that, there’s a lump or a spot, a blood test or a diagnosis, and suddenly you’re walking down another road.

I have not worried about cancer but have known it could visit me again.

So, the day after my mammogram, when a phone call went to voice mail while I was teaching my morning writing class on Zoom, I was not concerned. But on our break, I listened. “This is Angie at the Dominican Breast Center. Please call me back when you get this message.”

One spike of fear rose up and grabbed my throat. Then I returned to my students.

After class, I returned Angie’s call. There was no not chit chat. No, “How are you?” She simply said what she needed to tell me. “We saw something on your left breast, and we want to take another scan.”

I got very quiet. At least they’d told me with a human voice.

Then Angie checked her calendar, “We can give you an appointment on May 15^th.”

That’s when I exploded, “You’ve got to be kidding me?!? You’re going to tell a woman who’s had breast cancer that she has to wait seven weeks for a scan?”

Angie checked again and offered me an appointment on April 15.

I took it.

And so, I wait.

I know this could be nothing. A false alarm. A smudge on the film. A thickening in the breast. Scar tissue from my surgery. But it could be something more.

But here’s the thing. And it surprised me.

After the initial shock (which was not really a shock because I’ve always known this day might come), I have not felt afraid.

I’ve already been down this road. I know I will deal with whatever comes. This could be the beginning of the end of my life or just another reminder to do what matters now.

I’m grateful that I get to wait in peace, that it’s not the possibility of a recurrence that’s waking me up before the dawn. My own mortality is not what lodges in my solar plexus. It is not the source of my worry.

No, this very human reality—the nature of the human body to get sick, to age, and decline—does not frighten me.

But the world right now, it scares me very much.

I know I can deal with illness. I know that my life will end. I know that one fork in the road leads down one path and the other fork leads to another. I can see myself traversing either road.

Having cancer, or getting a reprieve, fits into the natural course of events, one generation aging and dying, a new generation being born. It is not shocking. It’s not the world out of joint.

But the cruelty and destruction of the U.S. from the inside is not normal. It is overwhelming. It is terrifying. It makes me very much afraid.

And fear is the point, is it not? Fear is how they erase us into submission.

But I do not accept their terms. I will not acquiesce.

I will not be quiet.

It is time to summon up the fierceness I felt as a mother longing to stay alive for her children. To harness that same passionate love and extend it out into this broken world.

Celebrating with my wife Karyn at a backyard gathering we held to thank the community that so generously supported us during my breast cancer treatment, May 26, 2008.

Now here’s your prompt:

PROMPT: Think back over your life and tell me about a time you faced a challenging circumstance that you could not control. Feel back into that moment. What inner resources did you discover during that period that you can draw upon now in this time of threat and great uncertainty?

As always, I invite you to share your thoughts or excerpts from your writing in the comments.

And remember, every time you click the heart, leave a comment or share a post, you’re making it easier for new readers to discover The Writer’s Journey.

WRITE WITH LAURA

The work of my heart is to teach.

These are the writing workshops and retreats I’ve got coming up in 2025:

In person:

Flourishing as We Age: A Writing Retreat for Women at a beautiful oceanfront retreat center in Santa Cruz, California. Using story, deep listening, and ritual, learn to welcome change, build resilience and hold grief and gratitude simultaneously. May 2025.

The Healing Heart of Bali: A Writer's Journey of Renewal for Body, Mind and Spirit. Learn about Balinese spirituality and healing and explore the back roads of Bali in three beautiful locations. August 10-25.

Online:

How to Write About What You Can’t Remember. Learn to transform scraps of memory into a rich written legacy.

Weekly Writing Practice Class: This Wednesday class has met weekly for 25 years. We write to prompts and share intimately in a sacred circle. Openings now.

How To Get the Most Out of Writing Prompts:

If you’re new to my Substack, here’s my advice for how to mine the deepest material in your writing:

If You Want to Mine the Deepest Material in Your Writing, Here’s How...