Being with Cancer on the Healing River
You’ve just been told that you have cancer. You hear nothing else the doctor says. Fear and chaos move into your world. It’s as though you’ve been thrown into the rapids of a river and have never been in a whitewater raft before. You suddenly feel out of control.
The truth is, though, that we are never really in control. Being tossed head-first into the rapids is the point of chaos where we can start to realize that life isn’t really about control. We’re on the river of our lives, and the river can’t be stopped. It’s making its way to the sea, regardless of our attempts to control its direction or stop it entirely.
We do have some choices here. We can recognize that it is not our lives that we can control, but our own relationship with our lives – our ways of “being” on the river. It is not control of what happens to us or the ultimate outcome. There is a vast watershed that our river belongs to, and there are influences beyond our view that affect what happens on our river.
So how can we “be” on the river and accept what is and what is not within our control? Here’s a starting list.
Seeing ourselves as part of a natural system such as the river can help us realize what we do and don’t have control over. We can try to force the river to do what we want it to do, but that won’t work. We can try to get out of the river, but that won’t work either. Our culture sets us up to believe that our lives are under our control, but they are not. The sooner we realize that, in our journey on the cancer river, the sooner we can “be” on this river and navigate these waters with a sense of wonder and wholeness that is unimaginable at the moment we hear the word “cancer.”
Primary Caregivers in the Raft
Our raft also carries our primary caregivers. Some have been on this river before, but for some, it is a new experience. The words “I have cancer” create fear and chaos in their worlds as well. They were no more ready to be on this river than we were. Yet, just like the cancer survivor, our “first-line paddlers” must learn to navigate this river while they are in our raft with us.
We hope they will embrace this new journey and paddle along with us. They will probably not have the time to make that conscious decision. They just jump into the raft and start paddling. They provide power to get our raft downriver and remind us to rest during calm stretches of water. They look to the guide for assurance that we can get through the next rapids. Sometimes they become the guides, taking over the steering of the raft as they learn how to navigate through both the calm and chaotic waters.
The cancer survivor’s raft may only have room for a small group of people. Close family and friends may be on this raft. They are the ones who communicate with the doctors and nurses, sometimes while we are there with them and sometimes on our behalf. If we are lucky, they become experts at not only reading the river but also guiding the raft. They learn to scout the next section of the river and become aware of possible eddies, sleepers, and wake-up rapids.
Of course, the fellow paddlers in our raft are also the ones we come to rely on for power. If we get weak from paddling, they take over. There is no stopping on this river, so they must keep us heading downstream on our journey. When we are strong enough to paddle again, we look to them for encouragement. We raise our paddles and “high-five” each other to celebrate small and large successes. Whether it’s getting through a day reaching our calorie intake goal, or finishing 6 months of chemotherapy, our fellow paddlers help us acknowledge getting through the rapids.
The people in our raft feel a heavy burden. They want to do everything possible to get us downriver, to help us navigate the rapids, to know when to “eddy out,” to sense when it is time to take a scouting stop, and maybe even to know when to add more guides or change guides. And they want to do this without letting us know how challenging it is for them. They think they must always appear to be expert paddlers, even if they feel, at times, like complete novices.
Other Rafters Join Us on the River
There are others on the cancer river as well. They are not part of the survivor’s raft, but they are certainly in the watershed, and they both affect and are affected by the journey.
They might feel that because they are in another raft, their presence on the river is inconsequential. But they, too, became part of this river with the new diagnosis of their friend or family member. Sometimes if they aren’t the ones going through the treatment, or they aren’t in the survivor’s raft, they forget how much effort they are putting into the journey downstream.
For they, too, help power the caregivers. Maybe theirs is the “food raft,” supplying sustenance to the primary caregivers who are paddling in the survivor’s raft. Maybe they are in the “communication raft,” helping to inform other rafters, as well as those on the banks of the river, of the survivor’s journey. Maybe theirs is the “errand raft,” which helps keep the primary caregiver’s life running as smoothly as possible. Maybe it’s the “care package raft,” which sends cards and small gifts to the family to remind them that other rafters are thinking about them.
Maybe they have not felt ready to join one of those rafts. Maybe they have felt thrown into this river as unprepared as the survivor and the primary caregiver. There is chaos and fear in their lives as well. If they have not been on this river before, they may know little, and that ignorance about how to run this river can leave them wanting to simply jump to the banks and be a spectator. They may choose to do that, and distance themselves even more from the raft.
Or they may choose to stay on the river, but they remain unsure of what to do. Since they are not in the raft with the survivor, they cannot always hear the conversation. They might not know the major and minor adjustments that are being made by the paddlers. They may not be aware of what the river is telling the survivor. Yet they know that the survivor’s raft must keep on going. And they know that the river’s current will take them downstream as well. They are willing to keep paddling but don’t know how best to help the paddlers in the survivor raft.
They may, however, recognize that this is a braided river, with a flow that divides and rejoins itself many times. The “support rafts” can paddle to other streams in the river and find respite from the main flow of the cancer river. And while the cancer survivor may not be able to get out of the flow, the primary caregiver needs to occasionally find respite in the braided section of the river. Support rafts can offer that respite by forming flotillas with the survivor raft and allowing the primary caregiver to change rafts for a while. Being on another section of the river, however briefly, can give the caregiver energy and perspective.
There is comfort in knowing that we are all on this river together. We might sometimes be in the survivor raft and sometimes in a supporting raft. Each stretch of the river gives us more confidence in our abilities to navigate and paddle. We know that there are ways we can contribute to the journey of the cancer survivor. We also understand that if we end up in the survivor raft, fellow paddlers will help us on our journey. The river can heal us.
"The river has taught me to listen; you will learn from it, too. The river knows everything; one can learn everything from it. " - Herman Hesse (1877-1962), Siddhartha, 1922
Lori Taft Sours
You’ve just been told that you have cancer. You hear nothing else the doctor says. Fear and chaos move into your world. It’s as though you’ve been thrown into the rapids of a river and have never been in a whitewater raft before. You suddenly feel out of control.
The truth is, though, that we are never really in control. Being tossed head-first into the rapids is the point of chaos where we can start to realize that life isn’t really about control. We’re on the river of our lives, and the river can’t be stopped. It’s making its way to the sea, regardless of our attempts to control its direction or stop it entirely.
We do have some choices here. We can recognize that it is not our lives that we can control, but our own relationship with our lives – our ways of “being” on the river. It is not control of what happens to us or the ultimate outcome. There is a vast watershed that our river belongs to, and there are influences beyond our view that affect what happens on our river.
So how can we “be” on the river and accept what is and what is not within our control? Here’s a starting list.
- We can fill our raft with people who can help us on this stretch of our river. We need other paddlers to provide power and rhythm as we navigate both the rapids and the still waters. Sometimes we’ll feel strong enough to paddle in rhythm with them, and at other times we might need to rely on them to move us along. And we need a guide who can read the river, who is more knowledgeable than we are about what lies ahead and can steer us through the rapids and around obstacles.
- We can open our eyes to the other rafts on the river. Unfortunately, the river of cancer is wide and long. There are many others who are also on this river. We can watch them paddle and move their rafts downstream. We can see how they react to the rapids and eddies they encounter. And we can simply take comfort in the knowledge that they are on the river with us.
- We can learn more about the river and how to navigate it. We’ll need to do this while we’re running the river, not on the banks. Once we’re in the raft, once we’ve gotten the diagnosis, the current takes us on this journey. But we can learn as we go. We can become better paddlers, and better readers of the river. The more we know about the river and become part of the rafting team, the better the journey will be.
- We can broaden our vision to see the river’s watershed – not just the stretch of river that we’re running, but the huge natural system that it is a part of. There are streams and tributaries feeding into this river. The river joins with other rivers downstream from us and eventually reaches the ocean. So the system includes the rain that falls on the land and the water, the brooks and streams and tributaries, the larger rivers, and the ocean. We are part of a huge watershed. Understanding our experience within that watershed can be both comforting and energizing.
Seeing ourselves as part of a natural system such as the river can help us realize what we do and don’t have control over. We can try to force the river to do what we want it to do, but that won’t work. We can try to get out of the river, but that won’t work either. Our culture sets us up to believe that our lives are under our control, but they are not. The sooner we realize that, in our journey on the cancer river, the sooner we can “be” on this river and navigate these waters with a sense of wonder and wholeness that is unimaginable at the moment we hear the word “cancer.”
Primary Caregivers in the Raft
Our raft also carries our primary caregivers. Some have been on this river before, but for some, it is a new experience. The words “I have cancer” create fear and chaos in their worlds as well. They were no more ready to be on this river than we were. Yet, just like the cancer survivor, our “first-line paddlers” must learn to navigate this river while they are in our raft with us.
We hope they will embrace this new journey and paddle along with us. They will probably not have the time to make that conscious decision. They just jump into the raft and start paddling. They provide power to get our raft downriver and remind us to rest during calm stretches of water. They look to the guide for assurance that we can get through the next rapids. Sometimes they become the guides, taking over the steering of the raft as they learn how to navigate through both the calm and chaotic waters.
The cancer survivor’s raft may only have room for a small group of people. Close family and friends may be on this raft. They are the ones who communicate with the doctors and nurses, sometimes while we are there with them and sometimes on our behalf. If we are lucky, they become experts at not only reading the river but also guiding the raft. They learn to scout the next section of the river and become aware of possible eddies, sleepers, and wake-up rapids.
Of course, the fellow paddlers in our raft are also the ones we come to rely on for power. If we get weak from paddling, they take over. There is no stopping on this river, so they must keep us heading downstream on our journey. When we are strong enough to paddle again, we look to them for encouragement. We raise our paddles and “high-five” each other to celebrate small and large successes. Whether it’s getting through a day reaching our calorie intake goal, or finishing 6 months of chemotherapy, our fellow paddlers help us acknowledge getting through the rapids.
The people in our raft feel a heavy burden. They want to do everything possible to get us downriver, to help us navigate the rapids, to know when to “eddy out,” to sense when it is time to take a scouting stop, and maybe even to know when to add more guides or change guides. And they want to do this without letting us know how challenging it is for them. They think they must always appear to be expert paddlers, even if they feel, at times, like complete novices.
Other Rafters Join Us on the River
There are others on the cancer river as well. They are not part of the survivor’s raft, but they are certainly in the watershed, and they both affect and are affected by the journey.
They might feel that because they are in another raft, their presence on the river is inconsequential. But they, too, became part of this river with the new diagnosis of their friend or family member. Sometimes if they aren’t the ones going through the treatment, or they aren’t in the survivor’s raft, they forget how much effort they are putting into the journey downstream.
For they, too, help power the caregivers. Maybe theirs is the “food raft,” supplying sustenance to the primary caregivers who are paddling in the survivor’s raft. Maybe they are in the “communication raft,” helping to inform other rafters, as well as those on the banks of the river, of the survivor’s journey. Maybe theirs is the “errand raft,” which helps keep the primary caregiver’s life running as smoothly as possible. Maybe it’s the “care package raft,” which sends cards and small gifts to the family to remind them that other rafters are thinking about them.
Maybe they have not felt ready to join one of those rafts. Maybe they have felt thrown into this river as unprepared as the survivor and the primary caregiver. There is chaos and fear in their lives as well. If they have not been on this river before, they may know little, and that ignorance about how to run this river can leave them wanting to simply jump to the banks and be a spectator. They may choose to do that, and distance themselves even more from the raft.
Or they may choose to stay on the river, but they remain unsure of what to do. Since they are not in the raft with the survivor, they cannot always hear the conversation. They might not know the major and minor adjustments that are being made by the paddlers. They may not be aware of what the river is telling the survivor. Yet they know that the survivor’s raft must keep on going. And they know that the river’s current will take them downstream as well. They are willing to keep paddling but don’t know how best to help the paddlers in the survivor raft.
They may, however, recognize that this is a braided river, with a flow that divides and rejoins itself many times. The “support rafts” can paddle to other streams in the river and find respite from the main flow of the cancer river. And while the cancer survivor may not be able to get out of the flow, the primary caregiver needs to occasionally find respite in the braided section of the river. Support rafts can offer that respite by forming flotillas with the survivor raft and allowing the primary caregiver to change rafts for a while. Being on another section of the river, however briefly, can give the caregiver energy and perspective.
There is comfort in knowing that we are all on this river together. We might sometimes be in the survivor raft and sometimes in a supporting raft. Each stretch of the river gives us more confidence in our abilities to navigate and paddle. We know that there are ways we can contribute to the journey of the cancer survivor. We also understand that if we end up in the survivor raft, fellow paddlers will help us on our journey. The river can heal us.
"The river has taught me to listen; you will learn from it, too. The river knows everything; one can learn everything from it. " - Herman Hesse (1877-1962), Siddhartha, 1922
Lori Taft Sours