Skip to main content

The powerful impact of a novel

I was reading a book by one of my favorite authors, Elin Hilderbrand, yesterday. I'd only recently discovered her and had fallen in love with her writing style. I'd done my best to purchase every book she'd ever written and when that was impossible, I'd scoured thrift stores in hopes of finding used copies. I tend to do that repeatedly when I find an author I really enjoy and after I've read their entire collection, I pass it on to someone else and start with another author. 

The book I was reading was called The Matchmaker. It's about a woman who lives on Nantucket. She works for the Chamber of Commerce and has a complicated personal life. She also has the gift of being able to match people and launch them into successful long-term relationships. The book is filled with colorful characters and is an easy read. I picked it up and put it down several times over the past couple of weeks, reading snatches whenever I had time. Although I never wanted to put it down, I couldn't sit and read all day, there were other tasks at hand. 

When I reached the last chapter of the book, I was filled with sadness. The main character is dying of cancer. As the author describes her pain and the way her diagnosis affects her relationships, I couldn't help but weep. The story was too close to my own. 

I found myself reliving emotions I'd faced 8 years ago, during my own cancer diagnosis. It didn't feel good to go down that path again and I wondered, when I'd ever be completely set free from the hold cancer had over me. 

In the author's notes, at the end of the book, I discovered she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer a month before the publication of her book, The Matchmaker. She'd opted to have a double mastectomy, just like me. Her notes explained she rarely based her writings on real life events, but in this particular book, she'd given the main character a cancer diagnosis before learning about her own. Of course, the character's cancer was pancreatic while the author's was breast, but cancer is cancer.  

I was surprised to learn of the author's diagnosis and surgery. When I read about it, I couldn't help but think, almost every woman I've ever known or read about has had either a personal experience with cancer or has been touched by it through the life of someone they've loved. It made me angry. 

I searched the internet for information on the author. I wanted to find out if she was still living. The book had been released in 2014, so that meant Ms. Hilderbrand and I had been diagnosed the same year. I was relieved to find out she's still alive and plans to stop writing in 2024. 

In one of her YouTube interviews, Ms. Hilderbrand says, "I would take the cancer again - and why? Because it is only in facing that which threatens your very being that you learn what it means to be alive."  That statement gave me pause. Taking a few minutes to reflect, I had to agree with her. I felt the same way. Until I was diagnosed with cancer, I took life for granted. Oh, I didn't mean to, but I did. I just assumed I'd wake up each morning. I assumed, I'd get out of bed and do whatever I wanted. I assumed, I'd live to a ripe old age and then when cancer disrupted my life, I was slapped with the reality that no one is promised tomorrow. 

It's sad to think it takes a health crisis to wake one up, isn't it? But more often than not, that's exactly what happens and many times, by the time we get the message, too much time has slipped under the bridge. 

One thing cancer has taught me is that life is a precious gift, one not to be squandered. I can honestly say I'm thankful it's taught me that. Now I cherish every moment and plan to keep on doing that until the day I die. 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, especially when I read a friend's blog post and I just can't wrap my head around it. This morning, I was reading a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. She said her cancer has returned and is growing in her spine. As soon as I read the words, I burst into tears. I just didn't understand! We'd been diagnosed with the same type of cancer in the same year. How could it be that her cancer had returned and mine had not? And what made it even more difficult to understand and accept was the fact that she'd chosen to go the traditional treatment route. I'd opted not to do that. She'd endured chemotherapy, radiation, and the anti-hormone therapy afterward. I'd refused chemo, had done 28 rounds of radiation, and had only taken the anti-hormone drugs for a couple of months. It just didn't compute and it certainly didn't seem fair. But that's what sucks about cancer. It doesn't follow the rules.

Cancer the gift that keeps on giving - the high cost of cancer

There's a basket of bills sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I try not to look at it as I enter the room but I know it's there. Its contents spill out onto the floor whenever my husband stuffs another bill into the basket. Usually, when the mail comes, he gets it first so he can filter what I see and what I don't see. Since he's the only one working, he takes care of our financial responsibilities and while I'm thankful for that, I'm not ignorant about our mounting bills. Cancer is expensive. Even if you've reached maintenance phase, it's costly. There are always tests to be run, blood to be taken, doctors to see. It never ends. Just knowing this will be a continual process for the rest of my life frustrates me and the alternative, death, will be my only way out. It would be nice to know that cancer could be a once and done kind of thing but that's only wishful thinking. Everyone knows cancer is a long and very involved illness. I had no id

Annual checkup yields good news!

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America for my annual check up. For those unfamiliar with the cancer treatment center, it's an integrative facility that provides services for the body, mind, and spirit. My day began in the survivorship department. While there, I met with the doctor and was asked about how I'd been feeling both physically and emotionally. We talked for about half an hour. The doctor and I had a few laughs and it was probably the most pleasant visit I've ever had. Instead of making me feel that she was the doctor and I was the patient, I felt like we were old friends just having a good chat. It was refreshing and I left her office feeling very optimistic. Next was the port lab where I have my blood drawn. It's always a challenge there because I always have to explain about my lymphedema and why it's necessary to have blood drawn from my hand instead of my arm. You'd think, after 4 years of being a patient there, they'