It’s so funny, my friend and I. She’s moved to a different place, and we’re in different time zones, and so we play a lot of phone tag. Often, we don’t get to talk when we want to. So her solution, in lieu of actually talking to me, has been to ask herself, “Well, what would Amanda say?”And then she answers, “Amanda would say…..” Nine times out of ten, she’s right on the mark. Funny how our friends know us better than we know ourselves sometimes.

So today, as she’s on a plane , I’m doing the same with her.

So let’s see if I get this right:

I had a heck of week last week. Trusting my intuition, stopping the tamoxifen. By Wednesday I was thrust, unwittingly, into deep grief mode, waking up with tears streaming down my face. No obvious or known reason. (It’s not like the cancer thang is new!)

I know what my friend would say:


Also, “Crying isn’t a bad thing.” Though this she has actually said to me, so that one isn’t a guess.

My flaw is to fight the grief. So even though I had stopped the supposedly “sub-therapeutic” dose of wellbutrin per doctor’s orders, I started taking it again, and the crying promptly stopped. It’s probably human nature to fight the grief, but here’s the thing: fighting it means that I don’t get to its gift, which I’ve experienced before as one of the most amazing parts of life. I don’t know how I could forget that gift, but I forgot. A book by Brandon Bays just reminded me. When I let myself fall into that deep grief, go “down the rabbit hole” as my dad says and let it crack me wide open, there is this warm golden light that will catch me. And being cradled in that much love is one of the most healing things. Bays talks about it as bliss, joy, a sense of being one and everywhere all at the same time.  I just call it healing.

Darn it all, I know now that my body was trying to lead me to that healing through the tool of grief. Today I’m mad that I didn’t surrender to it and trust the process. I fought it because it wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t convenient. So when I can do it, stopping the wellbutrin and grieving isn’t a bad thing at all, because if I can go that deep into it, that fast, then the healing that needs to happen can. After I get through rads.


1 Comment

Filed under breast cancer, grief, healing, quality of life, radiation, recovery

One response to “macro

  1. mariana

    hmmm…. sounds like you got your friend pegged 🙂 she would probably also say not to be too hard on yourself… so you fought it this time, so what? it’ll come again soon enough and when it does, maybe just sit it down at your kitchen table and make it a nice cup of tea.
    xoxoxox M

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