The Healing Circle. Dr. Robert MD Rutledge
to control your thinking, the more you become obsessive. So I want to enjoy myself and work with those thoughts in the background.”
I thank her and reinforce that we welcome all emotions this weekend, including her anger.
The next woman is in her fifties and has been on treatment for multiple myeloma, an incurable type of blood cancer. Her face is pudgy from years of treatment with steroids. She shares with the group her reaction to being told over a decade ago that she had eighteen months to live. “I waited. And I waited. And waited. And I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.” She’s calm and smiles broadly at the group. “I’ve learned to accept it and live my life from day to day. I realize the next flu season could take me away.” Her manner is light and refreshing. “I just enjoy my life.”
Kathryn is a 37-year-old real estate agent. Her smile is infectious, and the group energy instantly lightens. She is quick to express her frustration at having stage three colon cancer. “I had a bowel resection last June which I hated. I really don’t like hospitals. I thought I would take a week off after the operation and then go back to work. Ha! Ha!” People recognize that Kathryn is laughing at her own naiveté and laugh along as she giggles.
She continues in a serious voice. “It took me a real long time to recover from that. I couldn’t get my energy back. I’m a single mom with three kids and this has devastated me financially. I lost my confidence. I felt I lost my life spirit. I was probably suffering from depression.” The group is taken aback by this admission of vulnerability from someone who looks so ‘together.’
Kathryn shares that she decided not to take the recommended chemotherapy and seems to be doing well. “My treatment plan is working, so I’m happy about that. But my doctors feel my stress level is in the danger zone, so that’s why I’m here. I really need to learn some stress reduction techniques for my healing.”
A large walker sits in front of the next woman. She is big and it’s obvious from her thin voice she has many health challenges and other difficulties in her life. She lists her struggles one after the other, in sentence after shocking sentence: she suffers from mental illness; she hopes for her own death so she can join Jesus in heaven; she writes about herself as the “despised person.” She summarizes her anguish: “It’s very hard to live with, and so if I say something unkind to you, I ask for forgiveness. I hope for this weekend that I’ll be in contact with Almighty God and that He’ll guide me.” The group listens attentively. This woman has been totally welcomed.
Maureen is obviously upset, her voice trembling. Five years ago, in her mid-forties, she was treated for kidney cancer and seems to be cured. She feels lucky now. She turns to the good-looking man beside her and begins to tear up. “But my husband was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor. I’m a glass half-full type of girl so I want to learn a few skills so I can stay half -full.”
Maureen’s husband takes the microphone and glances at his wife with a smile. “My name is Frank. I’m sorry I’m a bit shaky” His voice is wavering with emotion. “I had my tumor taken out on Christmas Eve.
“The most difficult issue,” he continues very slowly, “is to receive the love all the people are giving me. I’m having a hard time. I’ve never been a receiver. I’ve always been a giver.” The tears are streaming down his face. There’s a long pause and he lets out a big sigh before he says with determination, “I believe in the power of my mind. What I want to get out of the weekend is hope and how to make it work.” I sense a feeling of intense compassion building in the air.
Andrea jumps to her feet. She’s a big and bubbly woman in her early thirties, doing well after treatment for breast cancer. She explains that a friend bought her a large coffee that afternoon, and, “she didn’t order it decaf! I’m just wired here! I’ve been sitting here almost crying the whole time.”
Everyone laughs as the tension is released. Andrea stays on the light side of her journey. Several others are thankful for the reprieve from the emotional intensity. But as the stories come, one after the other, they are naturally drawn to listen with compassion and empathy.
Rick has tears in his eyes as he listens to his wife, who was successfully treated for breast cancer four years ago. He is a hefty man with long wavy hair and a greying goatee. He drives a truck for the postal service and races cars in his spare time. His voice is pitched higher than usual, emotions caught in his throat. “I’ve been diagnosed with prostate cancer, and it’s pretty serious. I’m on hormone treatment now.” He wipes away his tears. After a pause, he bursts out crying. “And my mother passed away three weeks ago from a brain tumor.
“I hope to get some skills out of this weekend to help myself and to feel better.” Seeing this rugged man cry brings the group into a deep silence and a true appreciation of his pain.
The next woman is on the verge of tears. Rick has provided her an opportunity she has been seeking. She’s over the physical effects of her breast cancer, but realizes she has denied her feelings through the whole process. She says, “I really want to get close to my feelings. I want to mourn the loss of my life before cancer.”
I look around the room and can see most of the people have a tissue in hand and have released some of their sorrow. With the intensity also comes a lightness, a feeling that there is more space in our hearts.
Ed has a brain tumor, which has come fifteen years after a testicular cancer diagnosis, and he struggles with the uncertainty of the situation. Debbie, Ed’s wife, complains that “once you finish with one doctor, they send you off to another one. And they just cut you loose. You’re just drifting. They never see you again.” She summarizes, “The medical system has been a bit unsupportive.”
More and more stories. People speaking from their hearts. Everyone listens with rapt attention. David is the father of Valerie, a beautiful young woman with a brain tumor. Valerie takes the microphone from her father and they glance at each other with love in their eyes. Her tumor appears dormant after surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, but everyone feels the sadness of a young woman taken away from her imagined future. “My dream was to teach and I was teaching in Japan when this happened. I don’t think I’ll ever teach again. And I’d like to be a mother, but that’s been put on hold too. I hope this weekend leads me to the path where I can start working again.” David wraps his arm around his daughter and she collapses into his shoulder. Our hearts are raw. People begin to wonder how long this can go on. We are only halfway through the circle.
Patty has just been diagnosed with breast cancer, and the staging tests show spots on the liver and lungs. “The most difficult thing so far”—her voice turns squeaky, tears streaming down her cheeks—“has been to tell my family. Because it makes them so sad. I wonder what I should have done so this would not have happened. I hope this weekend we can learn to deal with some of those things. Thank you all for sharing with us.” I make a note to myself to emphasize in the lecture later that evening that getting cancer was not her fault. But for now we will simply hold her pain.
Wally is Patty’s husband. He is a retired executive in his sixties and owns several companies. He has always been a “take charge” type of person. As he watches his wife he wipes the tears from his face. He blows his nose, slumping down, staring at the floor. His body begins to heave, trying to release the deep sobs of sadness. He holds himself in, pushing the tears back as they well up. He takes a deep breath. A few more seconds pass. He takes another long breath. Patty jokes, poking her husband in the shoulder, “…and Wally is my greatest strength.”
I wait for the laughter to die down so everyone can hear the seriousness of my voice: “This is strength that you’re seeing right now.” After a pause I add “Let it come. You have a deep heart.”
Wally’s voice lilts up and down “It’s been very difficult not knowing what the future holds. We are both results-oriented people and we had a life planned. We’ve done a lot of things together and I don’t want it to end.” Wally turns, his head lowered towards Patty, and she holds onto him tightly.
People are tiring now. I can hear a shuffling in the chairs. They are asking themselves,