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Felicia Mitchell, retired from college teaching, is a poet and writer who makes her home in southwestern Virginia. She is a survivor of stage 2b HER2-positive breast cancer diagnosed in 2010. Website: www.feliciamitchell.net
Through cancer treatment, loss, as well as many life changes, I found healing in simple moments of community and laughter that lifted my spirit.
While cancer treatment, coupled with whatever life challenges may be present at the time, can be daunting, finding moments to sit with friends and family members, visit them, share stories, and laugh together is a great adjunctive form of therapy.
The other night, I met up with a group of women for a festive occasion with delicious summer food and drinks. The occasion? One of the group was going to start a round of radiation the next morning. As I sat on the porch, I was awed by the way this woman was approaching her treatment with courage and lightheartedness.
Wondering if similar social gatherings helped me, I began to remember small moments through my 14 months of treatment when social occasions lifted my spirits. I recalled how the weekend before I began treatment, a brother came to town and took me out to lunch at a famous farm-to-table restaurant. Later, after a meeting with my surgeon, a group of us gathered at a sidewalk café and spent hours talking about everyday life.
There were many other special social occasions. Friends and family members got me out for hikes, stopped by to visit, prayed over me, and generally worked hard to lift my spirits. My co-workers stopped by my office to chat, offering both distraction and encouragement. Sometimes the person who was driving me to the cancer center would take me out for lunch after chemo before I needed to rest. I deeply enjoyed those times.
A community that stepped in in unexpected ways, though, was my mother’s nursing home. My mother’s nursing home was also my “home away from home.” When we were diagnosed with breast cancer the same week, my first (hopefully last) and her second (which accompanied Alzheimer’s), aides and other workers went above and beyond to be sure that the two of us still could share meaningful quality time together.
As the challenging year progressed, and my mother entered hospice, more courtesies were extended to me to make our need to socialize with each other work. For example, during a week I was not allowed to enter the nursing home because of flu season, a hospice worker arranged for my mother to be bundled up and brought to the porch one sunny day. We celebrated my 55th birthday with a little dessert in the sun, laughing despite the difficult circumstances.
Then, during her last days, the nursing home arranged for me to visit with my mother in a private room to avoid being around many people (such a thoughtful courtesy) and we had such good times. Sometimes I would work on my laptop with her nearby. Other times, I would chatter on about this or that. We loved to give each other hugs and sit quietly in each other’s company. Both hospice services and the nursing home made each visit feel like a festive occasion.
Although modest, my moments of community support and socializing added up. I might have celebrated landmarks more, and regret not doing something special to mark the end of treatment, but I did the best I could juggling everything (my treatment, my mother’s last months, a divorce, a job) over the course of those months. If I have advice for others, especially those of us who live alone, it is to combine cancer treatment with special times with friends and family. Socializing with others can be considered a healthy habit just as essential to well-being as regular exercise.
This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.
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