Biopsy, such an ugly word for a cancer adventurer. It strikes fear into the healthy heart and soul, teasing possibilities and memories deliberately cast aside.
I watch the brain dance, trying not to let my body sway to its tune. All of the learnings I have written about over the course of the past 6 years need to be brought into the conscious, the brain must not be allowed to trigger the cortisol that wakes up the amygdala. The call of Google must be ignored. But it’s so hard not to give in, to not look for the worst instead of the best.
To stop myself, I go looking for inspiration and courage, seeking solace in the words and wisdom of others. I am reminded of the poetry of Edgar Albert Guest;
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low but the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit…
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit!Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many failures turn about
When we might have won had we stuck it out.
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow…
You may succeed with another blow.Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down,
How close he was to the golden crown.Success is failure turned inside out…
And you can never tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems so far.
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.
I like the bluntness of these words. There is no ambiguity or room for interpretation. Stick with it, don’t give up, reframe. It works to lift the spirit.
But then I find the following…
A Litany for Survival
BY AUDRE LORDE
For those of us who live at the shorelinestanding upon the constant edges of decisioncrucial and alonefor those of us who cannot indulgethe passing dreams of choicewho love in doorways coming and goingin the hours between dawnslooking inward and outwardat once before and afterseeking a now that can breedfutureslike bread in our children’s mouthsso their dreams will not reflectthe death of ours;For those of uswho were imprinted with fearlike a faint line in the center of our foreheadslearning to be afraid with our mother’s milkfor by this weaponthis illusion of some safety to be foundthe heavy-footed hoped to silence usFor all of usthis instant and this triumphWe were never meant to survive.And when the sun rises we are afraidit might not remainwhen the sun sets we are afraidit might not rise in the morningwhen our stomachs are full we are afraidof indigestionwhen our stomachs are empty we are afraidwe may never eat againwhen we are loved we are afraidlove will vanishwhen we are alone we are afraidlove will never returnand when we speak we are afraidour words will not be heardnor welcomedbut when we are silentwe are still afraidSo it is better to speakrememberingwe were never meant to survive.
Goodness, this puts the brain dance into the baby corner. These words call my soul and I experience the metallic taste of shame. Living in South Africa, with all of its glory and its gore, these words SHOUT perspective.
Andre Lourde, a self-described ‘Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet’, uses this poem to deliver insight into the struggles faced by black Americans who have lived with fear ingrained. I cannot begin to imagine a life lived like this. A life lived, still by many, in this complex rainbow nation.
Here, the most unequal society in the world, many are unemployed or have little or no income. The latest statistics from the quarterly Labour force survey show an increase in unemployment. In a country of roughly 40.7 million people aged between 15 and 64 (potential employees) approximately only 16.4 million are working. Those who are not able to work, because they’re at school, or ill, or for some other reason, are estimated to number 13.2 million. That leaves 27.5 million people in a void. And what do these 27.5 million people do to survive? Maslow’s hierarchy of basic needs is not being met for huge swathes of the population. So many of us luckily struggle to understand the fear of not knowing where our next meal is coming from, or not feeling safe as we go to sleep – from attack, from the physical environment or from nature itself. When survival is your job, there is little room for acknowledging anything but bare necessities.
While modern South Africa should not be neatly categorised into the haves and the have nots, the whites and the blacks and the coloureds, the roots of colonialisation cannot be discounted. In addition, the seeds of corruption and state capture sown by the previous Zuma regime have created seismic disparity across all ethnic races, genders and ages. Crime and poverty and fear, as expressed by Lourde’s words, are demonstrably evident in all regions here. The need for change cannot just be expected to come from the political establishment and the ballot box – elections are on May 29 2024 – but needs to be systemic, involving, including and not confined to, all levels of enterprise, communities, and the judiciary.
Ultimately, acknowledging my privilege and with Lorde’s words in my head offering the needed reframe, I lie on the gurney and fully accept the enforced sleep granted by the anaesthetist’s needle.
I will sleep the deep sleep.
The biopsy results will come back as benign.
I am blessed.
So we head northwards to Scotland, to my own kind, and I spend 4 months eating all the chocolates and sweeties, baked goods, pies, bread, black puddings, haggis and meats of my childhood. Despite all the walking, I gain yet more weight but the tasty morsels are doing more than satisfying my appetite, they are feeding my soul. And this isn’t talked about in the academic books – the coping mechanisms of dealing with reverse culture shock. Familiar food, re-purchasing familiar knick-knacks, drinking childhood drinks ( hello ‘Cremola Foam’), listening to traditional music, going to places you would avoid if you lived in country. Chasing nostalgia and connection as if it’s a drug. It’s all normal.
Prompted by conversations with my sis-in-law, I sign up for Simon Sinek’s foundation course on finding my why. I’m only part way through and loving it but have found today’s exercise to be mentally challenging. The task is to write at least 6 stories on my life’s peaks and valley’s, stories which elicit emotional highs and lows which I can tell with passion and authenticity. In the beginning this seems similar to the work done on the True North leadership journey but as my depth of self awareness and emotion has increased since my cancer, I’m much more prepared to be open, honest, vulnerable and raw.
I’ve come to realise that my why, my purpose, needs to be based on sunshine experiences so I’m not reacting to negative forces. It’s a real Star Wars insight. I choose to be Luke and reject thoughts of Anakin.