I'll Never Do a Norman Cousins

BY LYNNE GOLDKLANG, MA, MFT

Lynn is a breast cancer survivor, a licensed therapist, public speaker, contributor to the book Chocolate for a Woman's Soul: 77 Stories to Feed Your Spirit and Warm Your Heart (Chocolate) and co-author of Count It as A Vegetable ... and Move On.

There is nothing funny about cancer. I'm not going to be a woman of valor, chuckling my way to health. I'll never laugh again. I'll be angry, bitter and depressed forever." These were some of the cheery thoughts that flew through my mind as I sat alone in the sunshine in front of the large medical center, my car keys in one hand; my lab reports and a pre-op slip in the other.

Three doctors had prepared me for the fifty percent probability that my mammogram indicated malignancy. I just assumed that meant I'd be in the cancer free half and refused to let my husband accompany me to the doctor appointment where I would receive my "good news" regarding the results of the biopsy. It was my fourth biopsy in half a dozen years and I felt invincible. Wrong!

As I started the car for the short drive home, I glanced at the troubled face in my rear view mirror, wondering if I would ever smile again. I was in such an altered state that I had no awareness of leaving the parking lot, paying the parking lot attendant or turning onto the residential street that led to my home. It was only when I heard the sounds of scraping metal, that I came into focus and realized I had sideswiped a parked truck. My first reaction was one of relief. No one was hurt including me. The truck was empty although the owner quickly materialized with dollar signs in his eyes. His beat-up truck was fine but my one month old car had a deep gorge from one end to the other.

After I exchanged insurance information with the truck driver, I went back into my wounded car and sat there, once again stunned. Then it hit me: only an hour ago, I was convinced that things were as bad as they could get. I was wrong. They can always get worse!

This revelation struck me funny and I started to laugh. True, it was not the laughter of joy but it was the joy of discovering that perspective is always possible. As I laughed, I felt a lightness and a connection to the moment. I also realized that cancer does not grant immunity from other calamities.

Three years have passed since that day. My mastectomy scar is now a warrior wound. The lessons that cancer offers continue to be a positive force in my life. This column will be dedicated to exploring the ways in which cancer can be a "gift" as we move on and deal with the everyday issues of daily living.

© Copyright 1996, Lynne Goldklang, MA, MFT

SAFE SLICE

Lynn Goldklang wrote this creative reaction to her mastectomy a week after she came home.

Safe Slice

When I was two I left my

baby doll in the park.

Her name was Angel and she could

cry real tears.

When I was six I lost my

best marble shooter,

the one with ripe red flecks jetting through it.

Ten-year-old me dropped two bucks

playing Gin 'cause Georgie cheated.

Gave Tommy my heart at thirteen

but he didn't want it.

(Does that count as loss or

just misplacement?)

Does losing face count?

Does losing place count?

Losing a breast wasn't so bad --

I didn't die.

Left the hospital after one day

Never did lounge

in my red silk kimono and

devour junk novels.

I did win

a trip to the boob store to find

the prostheses (rhymes with Jesus)

of my dreams--didn't know they came

in kinds--31 flavors.

Which chest do you favor?

I adore my new toy breast.

The best part is sex.

If I'm hot and he's not

I can whip out the port-a-part

and play by myself --

Wonder if there's a Wonder Bra for

half-wonders? Wonder where

my breast (MY breast) went?

Did God surgeon lose it

or throw it away? Was his knife

disposable; did he practice

safe slice?

The other day I misplaced my

glasses--can't live without my specs. . .

purse. . .

keys. . .

Guess I'll never lose my sense of humor

I just wish I knew where I put it.

© Copyright 1996, Lynne Goldklang, MA, MFT