Miracles News

April-June, 2010

Chickadees

by Rev. Elizabeth Griffin

The operation to remove the tumor did not go well. The pleasantly plump anesthesiologist with an equally pleasant voice asked me to think of something nice before I went under. That of course made me think of the boys and I awoke from the anesthesia coughing and vomiting on my need to hold my children in my arms again. Plus, they found more cancer. My sentinel gland was completely saturated with cancer as was the capillary leading from the tumor to my lymph node area along the top half of my right breast. It wasn’t clear how much the cancer had spread. I stayed in the hospital for an additional four days for further observation, and before I went home, I was told I would have to come back for a second operation in two weeks. The possibility of a single or double mastectomy was on the horizon if they couldn’t cut out all the cancer during the second operation. My sons were 5 and 6 ½. I was beyond shock. There was no propensity for breast cancer in my family. I finished breast feeding not even 4 years ago; I was healthy; I felt absolutely fine; this couldn’t be.

The morning of the second operation, I woke up early. It was still dark; the winter morning sun was just beginning to come up. I put on the earphones and listened to some music. Without intending to, I went deeply into meditation. The music seemed to fill me. In my mind’s eye, I started to dance or move in a free-flowing way. And then two large, I guess they were eyes looked at me. They became part of me and although always having a sense of being watched, danced with me or danced of me or rather I danced in them. Just then the nurse came in. I opened my eyes to see a rush of chickadees circle and chirp near my window. (My father had told me on the phone the day before, “look for the chickadees; they will be my blessings coming to greet you.”) I was wheeled off to the operating room and kept “the eyes” with me. This time I was ready with an image of our garden when the (same) anesthesiologist told me to relax as they inserted the needle that would put me to sleep. I woke up peacefully this time, glad it was over (for now).

Once back in my room, I took in a deep breath and relaxed. I could feel my stitches arced around my right breast and under my arm. The drip bag was at my side helping my lymph nodes drain correctly.

Winter sunlight was everywhere. I was alone with nothing to do or say. I felt a kind of nothingness, like in the desert, a nothing filled with something… more. I leaned back and let my body relax completely; I felt the fluffiness of all the pillows holding up my torso and arms.

My father called. He was always the first to talk with me in an emergency and these days he was calling me every day. I finally let his overly protective nature surround and love me. How I had pushed him away. My autonomy and hard headedness were well formed. He and most men were to blame for mom leaving. They made her feel oppressed and she needed a way out. A wedge of pain formed inside myself. I remember well how I went into the garage when I was alone in the house. I guess I was 8. I searched for a dark solitary corner or somewhere to put myself and the endless sadness of missing my mother. I calmly reasoned “it hurts when I breathe. If I stop breathing, I could stop the pain.” All these years, the chasm was now ready to be filled. I suppose my father’s love was a good start.

The chickadees sat outside my window in a fat chorus line cocking their heads as they stared in. All the if’s, but’s, why’s, why not’s and because’s in life slid away. The Presence of the moment filled me, enfolded me and for an endless instant, it was all that mattered.

“I got it all out” the normally grumpy surgeon told me the morning I came back for the follow up report. No other lymph nodes showed signs of cancer. “Your body behaved as it should have; the sentinel gland soaked up what cancer cells it could and while it was completely saturated, the cancer did not spread to any other nodes. As well, no more tissue with microscopic tumors was found in the breast area. No other operations would be necessary.”

I had stared down the cancer. The Holy Moment I felt in the hospital is where I wanted to be. It is where I would place my will, and where, I was sure, I would be restored to health.

Rev. Elizabeth Griffin is a Pathways of Light minister living in Trieste, Italy. This summer, her book A TASTE OF GRACE, Meditations and Recipes for a Fulfilling life — a small group meditation and discussion guide will be available with Fearless Books, edited by D. Patrick Miller. To find out more, go to
http://www.tasteofgracebook.com

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