It is early spring in Menlo Park, California, and the trees are already coming into bloom. Springtime has always a time of hope, new life, and of new possibilities for me. Nearly four years ago, Breast cancer came to me in the Springtime. Whether I knew it then or not, cancer gave me an entry into a new life. As I think back on the past four years, I am conscious of the different skin I wear as a result of those unexplainable life forces that drove me back to writing the Summer of 2000 and, a few months later, into conceiving and offering the first writing group to women who were diagnosed with breast cancer. Since then, my work has expanded and deepened, and through the writing groups, I have fulfilled my search for joyous, meaningful work.
Jean, one of our regular writing group members, has just been admitted to hospital this past week. They’ve found metastases on her vertebrae. We are unsure of her prognosis. Her spirit and courage humble us as she continues to undergo even more tests, and our hearts are heavy. Yet the entire writing group has mobilized, adding to the circle of supportive friends and family who surround her already. We supply her with cards, calls, visits, and volunteer help, ensuring her day to day needs are met and that she knows the strength of our love and prayers for her victory over this disease.
Last night, I spoke with Jean by telephone, and she told me how much she missed attending the writing group. I know how very important Jean’s writing has become in her struggle with cancer. Last summer, when she began an experimental drug program to inhibit the growth of her tumors, I gave her a small leather bound journal to write in during the many weeks of treatment. She has carried it into our Wednesday sessions ever since, and she continues to fill its pages with poems and stories of her life and her struggle with cancer. During our telephone conversation last night, Jean told me she’d asked one of the women to bring her the writing prompts she would miss each week while she is hospitalized. “I’ll do better than that,” I told her, “I’ll send you a list of thirty or forty of my best writing prompts so you can use them to write as much as you want.” I hung up the receiver and printed out a long list of writing exercises and sent them to her. I had tears in my eyes the entire time.
It is difficult to imagine what life was like before my own experience with cancer. My world was rearranged in those many months, and in writing and leading writing groups for cancer survivors, I have never looked back with regret. Now, it is hard to imagine life without the extraordinary gifts of love and compassion I witness each evening when our writing groups convene, hard to imagine a week that passes where I am not reminded of just how precious life is, and how, in our relentless and driven world, we sometimes lose ourselves so completely, feeling alone and isolated.
It is the community of women living with cancer who ground me and reaffirm that my work has meaning. It is this same group of women, who, as they come together to share the stories of their lives, remind me of our common humanity and connectedness to a world much larger than ourselves. And it is that same community of women who have helped me to deepen my own life, my spirituality, and my gratitude for the joy of doing this work. Now, I cannot imagine my life without leading writing groups with women who struggle so valiantly with cancer. This book is as much theirs as it is mine.
