Oh, The Drama

Lymph Notes originally began as my personal journal. That journal is now three volumes of photos, artwork, and writings from the past eight months. I decided that my last entry would be the day that I was clear of cancer. And so Friday I wrote my last line . . . "Good night, sweet cancer, good night."

When I wrote it, I was extremely sad, but when I tried to tell friends about it that night, I burst out laughing at the drama of it all. It is a perfect representation of my emotions this week. I can go from joy to sadness faster than a politician can change his views on government intervention.

I'm accepting that it's ok for me to be depressed that this experience is ending. It's been an incredible journey. I have opened my eyes to so many new perspectives, and I have very much enjoyed the generous affection of others. I don't want to ignore the pain that was part of it, but as I have written before, that became a big part of the adventure, giving me even more of a chance to see what I could tackle, and learn a lot about the world of cancer. And besides that, I had always wondered what I would look like bald.

Why have I learned so much this year? An article in this month's "Fast Company" magazine says that we are all creatures of habit. Our minds are programmed to make assumptions based on our experience and how we have always perceived the world.

The article states that "only when the brain is confronted with stimuli that it has not encountered before does it start to reorganize perception. The surest way to provoke the imagination then, is to seek out environments you have no experience with."

Famous glass artist Dale Chihuly didn't discover his sculptural genius until a car accident led to the loss of an eye and forced him to perceive depth in a different way. Walt Disney didn't create animation until he saw his drawings projected on a screen in a theater.

In my case (not to put me in the category of Walt or Dale), the perception of life from a positive platform came from a confrontation with sudden illness. I now see so many things, and appreciate them, in a different light.  Perhaps that is the reason it is so difficult for me to bid farewell.  It's like saying a final goodbye to your favorite teacher. The lessons will not be forgotten, but the friend and mentor must now be in your past.

Life goes on. A new chapter will open soon, but as I pass from this chapter, I am saddened to say good night, sweet cancer, good night.