What Cancer Did Not Take
Jackie Cruz holds strong
Photo: Angiola Harry
In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month and National Hispanic Heritage Month, Open Plaza presents excerpts from “What Cancer Did Not Take,” a memoir-in-progress by Jackie Cruz. Her dedication to helping change the lives of those around her includes volunteering as a Cancer Coach for the Roswell Park Comprehensive Cancer Center in Buffalo, New York. In addition to providing health and wellness coaching, Cruz shares her experience as a hysterectomy and two-time breast-cancer survivor via her website Pink Ribbons Talk.
The time has come.
There I am, standing still, trying to take in a deep breath, feeling paralyzed while holding onto the cold doorknob.
I open the door, and there she is: Dr. W.
My heart pounds hard and fast.
My mouth is dry.
Time moves slow.
Dr W sits at her desk with her hands clasped over my folder. Points to the chairs for us—for me and my sister Ana—to have a seat. I can’t breathe. Feel like I’m going to pass out…
Dr W smiles at Ana, then turns to me and stares at my eyes.
“You have Stage 3 breast cancer.”
Instantly, my tears roll.
In that moment of silence, not only can’t I breathe but I can’t hear. An instant replay of my life flashes through my mind like movie previews—flash after flash of faces and places. And her mouth moving, and her hands opening the folder, and the pages flipping…
My sons. Nikolas and Giovanni. Holy shit. Stage 3. What the hell does that mean?
My sister’s firm grip brings me back to the room. Muffled and distant, Dr W is explaining the procedures…
Thank God Ana is present to hear everything and ask questions because, after my world has come tumbling down in less than ten seconds, Lord knows I’m not present.
But you’re expected to sit through this life-or-death situation as if placing an order at a restaurant. Waiting on your server to repeat the order. Giving each other that yup, you got it right look: a nasty and gifted thief is now on your life’s menu.
Dr W understands that this is all too much to take in, but she must move on to her next patient. She stands up, shakes both our hands, and sends in her assistant to finish with the rest of the details.
I’ll never forget the back of her white coat.
My sister and I hold hands all the way home, the only thing that feels real. Not a word is spoken, but our hands never let go. I cannot and will not look her in the eye. I don’t want to see our fears. I don’t want us to put on the bullshit act of we’re going to be okay and get through this. I want to run and run away fast to that other place in time, when all was fine, normal.
But now that I’m headed home, reality sinks in: the truth must be told to everyone I know. This is an agonizing conversation to have. No matter how you put it, the shadow of death will follow every word.
You will have to dig deep, not knowing the depth of your own strength.
The drive home is a trip down memory lane. Looking out the car window, passing every street, I see pieces of my life. Have I done enough for my sons. Have I done enough with my life? How prepared am I for what’s to come?
So many thoughts and questions. Each of them is valuable, and each of them deserves an answer—anything that might make sense and bring peace to your being.
This is where God lives, in the depths of your being.
Among the many lessons I learn: Treat cancer like an uninvited guest.
You are now sharing your body with this uninvited guest for an unpredictable amount of time, and its plan—if allowed—is to make itself quite comfortable in your God-given temple, putting their feet on your coffee table, using your towels…But this is your body, your home, and if you have any say in it, don’t let cancer keep an extra toothbrush here.
Instead, put your life priorities on speaker, full-blast.
This uninvited guest is also a thief. Once you become aware of what cancer wants to steal from you, let the Warrior in you kick in, not with anger but with deep, heartfelt Love.
Yes, you read it right: Love.
Start with loving and forgiving yourself first.
“Cancer is a very lonely journey,” a good friend told me.
At the time, it didn’t quite make sense to me because I thought of all the family and friends that wouldn’t let me feel alone. But going through the process does feel lonely. The loneliness comes from one-on-one daily challenges. Everything pertaining to the healing is truly one-on-one. It takes all of you—not just a part of you but every living, minute cell—from the visible to the invisible parts of your body. All of you must come together to stand guard against this thief. Your “why” for living is what you focus on to survive.
God plays a huge role in my life. He has poured his favor on me several times, and for that, I am eternally grateful. His Love is the reason I write about this experience, and why I coach other women who are on this often lonely journey. Many have travelled along this rough road, carrying unspoken emotions that build like a ticking bomb….
The anticipation of what’s to come. The years of guilt and self-blame that live within. The lack of real self-care, The boundaries trespassed, now severed and scarring. The drugs and alcohol to cover pain, to sometimes fill you with a fake sense of happiness. The failures, the successes, planned or not. This turning wheel of emotions, if not acknowledged, feels worse than the cancer itself.
But with Love, the sense of power running through your veins can also become bigger than the cancer itself.
Every day that passes by my heart feels it.
I look at the calendar, putting a check mark on each day that goes by, making a note of things that happened.
The chemo, radiation, scans, medications—all of it does a number on your entire being. No one can prepare you. As much as you try to read and educate yourself, the process is brutal. That’s a fact. You are so aware of the lack of strength in your body, and your brain knows it. Cancer is something you never want to remember but, during the process, a lot of beautiful and unexplainable things also do happen. Those are the valuable stories worth holding on to.
They become the cream between your Oreos, the extra chocolate chips, the pancakes with the works, that pizza with extra whatever—all the stuff that screams death if you touch it. Yeah, I know, sugar should be a thing of the past. We need to relearn how to eat; organic foods are part of the solution to this invader. For the most part, none of it will be fun, let alone tasty. From the moment chemo is introduced to the body, your taste buds are shot. No more savoring food. Everything tastes like metal. No one will tell you. When you become aware that your taste buds are numb, you ask yourself what the hell is going. How did you manage to put so much salt on your food that it would be better off living in the sea? A thoughtful friend gets me plates made of coconut shells, and the utensils are made from bamboo to reduce the metal flavor on the tongue and not interfere with food flavor. The very first bite is always the best, that slight taste of seasoning. But once you start chewing, it’s over.
I lose a lot of weight. Looking at myself in the mirror is so hard. As strong as I want to be, the look of death haunts me.
And yes, I’m silently scared.
When the doctor puts me on steroids, a nonstop current of electric energy I’ve never in my life runs through my body. I can’t sleep or shut my eyes. Blinking takes longer than normal. My body is on high alert. Yoga becomes my exercise of choice because it is calming and restorative, especially for someone like me, who’s always been hyper and slightly…well, actually, very much ADHD. So the steroids treatment is like rocket fuel in my system.
It means two weeks of nonstop activity. I paint my entire apartment, paying extra close attention to colors and details. I learn to crochet a California-king-sized bed cover, along with matching doilies for my living room coffee table. I become my mom, who would crochet everything but the kitchen sink. Overall, I’m very happy with the wool quilt. It’s perfect during winter months. But all this activity is madness at its best. I can certainly understand how athletes get hooked on this steroid stuff. You’re out of control, but you do get things accomplished. Though my heart could have stopped at any given moment, somebody was going to inherit a great winter bed cover.
I finally tell my nurse (an angel on earth!) that I need help. I need to sleep, I need to STOP! I’m up at all hours of the day. And I have pictures and videos to prove it! The best part, besides her laughter, is that she understands me. She thinks my wool quilt is amazing, taking it as a sign that it’s time to get me off the steroids right away.
It takes about a week of resting and tons of water and green-juicing for me to start feeling somewhat back to normal. I’m not overthinking, and that’s a relief. If anything, I need to file down the calluses on my fingers from the six-month crocheting project I completed in 48 hours flat.
Sleeping becomes real again. What I learn is that, from this moment on, I want to feel connected to myself. Now that the rush is gone from my brain and my body, the thoughts for the day are:
Take my time
Breathe with the intention to slow down
Don’t give attention to the things that are Not Important
Focus on Healing
All that matters for today is All of the Above
Stillness is a very powerful technique. It can help you at any given moment once put into daily practice. It has the power to quiet down the noise around you and make you feel protected. Cancer feeds off rush and stress, moving you in and out of all the mental, emotional, and physical directions imaginable, always looking to rob you of your inner peace.
When we sit in stillness, we travel within our bodies. Meditating on our wellbeing. Stimulating and regenerating healthy cells. Closing our eyes, even for a few minutes to say a prayer, to chant or hum, and feeling the vibration of music in our chest and throat can all connect us to our Source. The power of breathing intentionally says, I’m fighting back for another day to check off on my calendar.
Life feels good when you feel better.
Hurt can’t hide in awareness for too long—and here begins the healing process.
No one said it would be easy, fair, or come with any guarantees of complete satisfaction. But emotions do come to a halt in awareness. It is in awareness that we must work on each piece of our lives, with a one-day-at-a-time mission and Love at the forefront as armor.
My days are quiet, though there is plenty of noise around me; my nights are quiet, though my brain doesn’t stop thinking. Since hearing the word “cancer,’ I’ve had one foot in the grave, and everything has taken on a vibration. When you feel like you may lose it all, you learn beautiful and scary lessons. We walk around so distracted, so disconnected to how precious and magical we are, only to wake up to the fact when faced with a near-death experience. That delicate inhale and exhale of the unseen keeps you and me right here, right now, connected.
We truly are one with the universe.
Everything about me is beautiful.
I learn in a meditation class that looking into your own eyes for a period of time is a way to self-hypnotize. I stroke my hair like never before, feeling the soft texture of each strand. I stare in the mirror and trace every line, freckle, mole, blackhead, and whitehead I see. I stare deep into my eyes, see my pupils moving, bringing on a sweet smile…my eyes are perfect, and they work! It stirs my soul. In a light trance, I step away from the mirror. Staring at my face for so long is an out-of body-experience:
Gently, she says, I Love you, Jackie. I love you, I love you, I love you. You are my mother, my sister, my daughter.
The angelic feeling stays with me.
It’s all going to be alright, and yes, we will get through this and be victorious. I feel it in my heart and soul.
From that day forward, I embrace her. From drinking my organic juices in the morning to taking my showers at night, applying cream all over until my body feels like a work of art.
Because no matter how much research you do in preparation for the inevitable, there is only but so much you can understand. The most significant thing you can do to protect your peace is to take it one day at a time, with intention, focusing on the healing that takes place with every breath.
I’ve seen what cancer did to my sister Rosa and my mother María and to many others. Cancer kicks in doors. Acknowledge its presence, though everything inside of you wants it to leave. People get more annoying the more they are ignored. So does cancer. It can’t hide in awareness.
Set your daily boundaries. Some days are better than others, so stock up on the good days. Go the extra mile. Put on your favorite lipstick, wear a colorful scarf. Or the hell with it, walk bald and proud! Watch a funny movie, make sure to laugh out loud. Dance to your favorite tune. Do it all today so that, on the days when you’re challenged, you can close your eyes and know you did at least one thing that made you happy all day long.
Most importantly, get to that mirror, and stare into your magnificent eyes, and say with heartfelt intention to the powerful woman you see:
I LOVE YOU!
