When I woke up this morning the sun had just started peeking out above the horizon.
I don’t usually get up so early, but I had left a curtain open and the first rays of the day gently poured into my room and surrounded me. My eyes couldn’t help but flutter open when I felt the warmth on my lids. The light awoke me.
A few weeks ago I moved from my parents’ house in the Bay Area back to Los Angeles. Soon I’ll be restarting my residency in psychiatry at UCLA.
In the last month, something has transformed inside me. For most of this past year I lamented that my chemotherapy regimen was so long. If I had been diagnosed with a more common subtype of lymphoma, like B-Cell or Hodgkin’s, my treatment course would have been only six months instead of three years (“only”).
While the first six months were rough, I was strong; I was holding on. Last summer, I got through the worst round (which was eight weeks of hell culminating in a hospitalization for neutropenic fever) with my mental and emotional stamina intact. I thought I just had to get through that round and then everything would be okay.
But the day after it ended, sometime in August, my oncologist informed me the next round would not be not much different, and would certainly not be the relief I had been holding on for. I don’t think he had finished speaking that sentence when my soul crushed under his words. I had been swimming to the surface of the ocean, about to take a breath, when I was pulled back under.
Over those following months, what remained of my spirit was so badly broken I thought I would never get it back. After an episode of dystonia sent me to the emergency room, I was plagued with almost constant panic attacks. I had planned for months to go to a conference in San Diego on Integrative Medicine, and obtained a waiver to let me sit for the Integrative Medicine Board Exam even though I had a few months left of residency. I had studied for the exam for months, and I know I would have passed, but I didn’t make it that far. My first night in the hotel by myself was so terrifying I hopped on a plane the next day to go back home, missing the conference and the exam.
Since then I’ve thought, “If only.” If only I had a different kind of cancer (or perhaps, no cancer at all?). If only the intensive part of my chemo had been a few months shorter. If only I had been a little bit stronger.
But now, for the first time, I don’t wish things had been different. If I could take it all back (as if that’s something I could do), I’m not sure I would. It was so hard that I had to let go; I had to open myself up to all of it—the pain, the lack of control, the growth. If I hadn’t been broken, I couldn’t have been reborn.
Now, I have a sensitivity toward others I didn’t have before. I have an intuitive connection with the universe that will make me a better doctor and help me lead a more joyous life. I feel a power inside me; it holds like a mountain even when the pains of life rush against it.
It’s interesting to notice the way others now react to me. In the same way some people had trouble with my fall, they have trouble with my rebirth. When I was the most sick and complained about how bad I was feeling, I was told, “Stay positive,” “God only gives us what we can carry,” or the true, yet not particularly sensitive, “It could be worse.”
Now, when I talk about how happy I am, how excited I am about the future, how the world feels full of endless possibilities—some people express their discomfort by trying to bring me down a notch. The comments are subtle, but not mistakable: “Well don’t go believing your own press releases,” or “Maybe you feel good now, but there will probably be downs, too,” or the true, yet not particularly sensitive, “You could still relapse, right?”
When I first heard these comments, before I understood what was happening, each one dimmed a little bit of my fire. Why would anyone want to bring me down after I’ve been through so much? But now, I understand that people may be more comfortable with someone who’s in a box they can understand, and when you’re under the box they want to bring you up, and when you’re above it they want to pull you down. It’s not that people are bad—if anything, cancer has opened my eyes to a whole new level of generosity and compassion and love. People are just people; sometimes their own meshugas gets in the way.
The studio where I sleep has windows that face North; in the evening the sun filters through the trees until the light dims and dissolves. Another sun will rise tomorrow.
Quick note: I’ll be attending the World Domination Summit in Portland July 9-12. If you’ll be there I’d love to meet up—leave me a comment and let me know! I’ll post more information next week. Check my Twitter and Instagram too because I post quick updates there more frequently than on the blog.
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Photo by Luz Adriana Villa
Resurrection. An awesome and complete word for where you have been, where you are now and where you are going.
I am so glad you are restarting your residency in psychiatry. You will make an awesome psychiatrist with a sensitivity and intitutiveness that so many of our fellow psychiatrists lack.
I do not know why things happen the way they do. I know in my own life it is only looking back in retrospect that I am able to see that the story has unfolded the way I needed it to unfold for me; so that I would have the depth of wisdom, clarity and intuition that I currently posses. Yet at 60 my life continues to unfold, it continues to be revealed. And that would be my hope and prayer for you, that your life continue to unfold and reveal the beauty of you, the beauty of your story.
The one thing I do know for certain is that the only day I have, the only day you have, is today. This day is certain. This day you awoke to the glorious sunrise of a new day. May you enjoy many more such days, one at a time, each unfolding one into another.
Thank-you for your writings. I am truly touched and blessed with each one I read.
Elana,
Your story and moreover your willingness to tell your story as it evolves; your willingness to continue to be vulnerable and to use all situations as a source of reflection is very inspiring.
Many times others want to protect us from disappointment, and/or sinking too low when times are rough. So, rather than just ‘be’ with us they unconsciously advise us to ‘move on’ in some way or other. It seems to make them more comfortable with that approach.
I agree, that is not always helpful. Then, there are the others who are comfortable with sadness but not with the deep level of contentment and happiness you are now expressing. Thank goodness that you are using your experiences to learn, grow and become a deeper, wiser person. I applaud you! Please keep sharing as we all heal from your healing.
Great post and so good to see such a positive perspective! I’m in Portland and if our schedules work out, I’d love to get together. I suspect you can see my email address, look forward to hearing from you. Safe travels.
You are a true inspiration to all including myself. I endured my own battle with breast cancer at age 42 and struggled with all that my treatments entailed. Your writings were part of my healing process and I thank you now for giving me the strength to continue. I look forward to your next writing. Many thanks from the East Coast Washington DC!
Elana,
After years of a different illness, I find myself well and working to get back into the swing of things in life outside my bedroom. I was so relieved to see you writing about some of the challenges of getting well. It’s a whole new set of hurdles, isn’t it?
Thanks for your candid voice through the years, and I’m so glad that you’re back to where you are. You will be a wonderful doctor.
Keep the fire lit and turn it into a bonfire.
Figure your past few years of hell have given you wisdom that has taken many of us decades to obtain. You are ahead of the game. I will be in Portland but not in July. Sorry not to be able to meet you.
My mantra recently has been – get rid of the toxic people around you.
I think there are a number of time in our lives where we do shed our personas and become almost another person. Experiences, trauma, PSTD, etc. can do it. You become more you. Clearer.
Great you are going on with your career. Lots of options ahead of you, things you can not even know about now.
This Jewish mom’s request, please rest and eat well. Your biome is waiting. So glad you feel happy. Bravo.
Please post when you can. The fans want to know how you are.
Elana, I love your writing. Thank you for being a voice for the survivors. You will be a remarkable doctor. Cancer has a way of humbling us all.
Elana,
Your beautiful writing moves me so much and gives me pause to reflect on how easy my life has been during this time you have been going through such pain, fear, misery. Thank you for the reminder – it seems to arrive just when I need it most.
I wish you continued strength and peace and love.
Barb in Minnesota
Such a beautiful article. Thank you for inspiring so much hope.
Good news abounds! Thrilled to hear you are back in LA, back on your psychiatry path, attending the conference in Oregon & doing so well. Your confidence, your determination, the peace within you and your zest for life jump off the page! You have gone through so much and come so far, all with such grace. That you share so much with us is awe inspiring and a true marvel. Keep doing what you are doing because it is working. Enjoy every minute!
It makes me really happy hearing these words. There’s much about this Universe we don’t know but one thing we do, it’s love. The connection I have felt to you since reading your story it’s still to this day and I’m always looking forward to see your message on my inbox. And I’m always sending healing Light to you.
Love,
Camila.
It’s so wonderful to read this post. It’s funny how you can think about a person without even knowing them and feel such joy knowing they are feeling good. This post exploded with positivity. You are going to be such a strong, compassionate and brilliant doctor. Keep shining and kicking ass. Much love and strength to you. Jaime
You inspire as always. Sometimes you don’t know what to say but wish you could just hug someone and let the feeling communicate itself without words. therefore
I ((HUG)) you.
Resurrection, the rising from death to live again. It is such a beautiful word. It means to grow anew. When I read this article it lifted my sorrows since now I’m having a falling out with a friend and I hope we can resurrect our friendship.
Dearest Elana,
Your last post brings tears to my eyes but these are tears of joy, not of sadness. I am so truly happy for you, to know that you succeeded winning this awful battle. I am so happy you will soon take your life in your arms back again and start a new exciting adventure and a new life.
I can’t tell you how much I admire you for the strength you harbored throughout all of this frightful adventure even when morale was very low and suffering unbearable, for the generosity and the wisdom you developed and go on sharing with us all. You are an inspiration for all of us Elana. Yes the sun will rise again tomorrow and the day after and again and again, and the world will watch an incredibly strong, beautiful and unique lady walk it and lead the most wonderful life she deserves so much.
Lots of love to you,
Hélène
Wooohoo ! Super happy for you and for you future patients – you are becoming a wise and wonderful doctor .
You are such an inspiration! UCLA is lucky to have you back!
Truly wonderful to read! Keep following your true North 🙂
Wonderful Post * So glad you are feeling Better every Day, & Best Wishes on your new life in LA & your residency, Big {{{{HUGS}}}}.
Namaste’
🙂
That’s a really beautiful post, Elana.
Elana,
I stumbled onto your site looking for something particular for myself, and I truly have found so much more.
Thank you for sharing your gifts.
Be well.
I check in with you every once in a while, maybe every few months when something makes me think of you. And as I am typing in the words to get to your blog I always wonder how you will be. So today was a really nice surprise, to see that you were having a really, really good day. May there be many more! It’s a tough one, when you find meaning in what has happened it doesn’t make it OK that it happened to you. But we are what we are, beautiful, flawed, knotted, shiny people. Don’t let anyone drag you into the box, being under, over or in – you are the one who gets to decide that. I really do wish you the very very best from my heart.
Stephanie
Dear Elana,
It is so good to see things falling into place for you, I was going to say falling (back) in to place for you; but everything is so different; and you’re embracing that so elegantly – and inspirationally – you’ve been someone I looked to throughout my journey also.
It was also great to see your 44 tips article shared on the British ‘Stand up to Cancer’ FB page today!
All the best as ever, and do keep us posted!
Nadia 🙂
Hi Elana & I found this website of a young lady w/ lymphoma & she parallels your course a little, anyway a Great read, “goingtobeathiscancer.wordpress.com …Namaste’
Deb >^..^<
Hi elana. I missed u when u were gone. U are an awesome writer. U should write a book. U teach me to be stronger
I felt myself breathing easily and fully as I read your latest post. It made me hope for more within myself. For the possibility of a more expanded way of being. I find a hesitancy in writing a response because I have not shared your experience and yet I feel drawn to learning more about it. I feel inspired by your rebirth and your realistic assessment of the human condition.
just a small question, do you think you can handle being on your own on the job, do far away from family? i believe you feel joyful and hope it can stay, just that i know that the moods can fluctuate and the exam story sounds like there is still reason to be caitious,
– ps i very much hope i am wrong and now you will be just going in a positive direction, feeling nice, and enriched by the experience. my cancer was surely somthing that showed me new things, and it can be utilized. it is very hard though
Hi Elana & Sorry, I typed the wrong address before here is correct website “goingtobeatthiscancer.wordpress.com – she is from Wales UK & is 29 & going thru the same stuff u are. * Lymphoma & Sending Big ((((HUGS)))) Namaste’
Deb <3
You’re just a damn good writer (or you have a damn good editor, or both). I say that to myself every time I read your posts and figured I should say it to YOU at least once, in case karma is actually, you know, a thing. Say howdy to Jake for me! (When you unpack, be sure to leave the guy a dresser drawer, eh?)
I know that when good things have happened to me in the past, I’ve always had a cringe reaction and felt like I had to watch out for a 10-ton anvil dropping on me out of the sky, as if a positive event was some sort of spiteful game the universe was playing on me to trick to get me to relax my guard.
It wasn’t until I got closer to 50 that I realized that yes, I might get hit by a truck after winning a prize, but not relaxing and enjoying the good things in life was not going to keep the truck from coming when it damned well pleased. It’s not like the universe was going to repay my self-abnegation in refusing to enjoy my life by refraining from dropping crap on me from on high. It’s an illusion of control — the idea that by not enjoying ourselves, we keep the universe from sneaking up on us.
The people who said timid things to you probably felt that way in themselves as well — and felt like they were trying to warn you to put on an emotional seatbelt or something. But crap comes anyway — have a ball looking forward to the good stuff in life. 🙂
While perusing Sandra’s “Great Links” list, I just knew I had to click to read this post. During my own battle with cancer, I found part of the challenge was reconciling other people’s responses. “People are just people; sometimes their own meshugas get in the way.” I got a chuckle out of that. I envisioned their “meshugas” as gremlins….don’t get them wet and don’t feed them after midnight. Thank you for this post. Zen psychiatry….it doesn’t get better than that! May your path always be illuminated and your journey safe, MW