'C' is for Change

The 'c' word cancer entered my life mid-January when my family doctor read me the radiologist's report. I heard "invasive carcinoma, hormone receptive."
My doc's exam room is blue and there's a picture, a boat tethered to a lake house porch. An Adirondack chair sits on the porch, a lap blanket thrown over its arm invites calm and rest. This serene image stood in stark contrast to the chaos in my soul. For that moment of time, Salvadore Dali's "Explosion" painting moved from surrealism to reality.
Change is the cancer effect. It brings both the ripple in the pond and the landslide. I'm changing in many ways. It's as though I've lost a filter between me and the outside world. My emotions hover on my skin, easily accessible, visible and vulnerable.
The other variable of change is accepting what cannot be changed. It's the hard place. Surgery looms. Will I ever get my life back on track, and which track is that?
And, after the treatment, will I feel like a whole woman or half? Even with physical reconstruction, will my self image remain whole or will I feel as splintered as a cubist painting?
Courage is the thing that I find most illusive. I see it in my very admirable USAF Thunderbirds friend Jack who bravely battles prostate cancer against the odds. What I've learned so far is that courage is showing up for the things that are scary, unpleasant or confrontational. Your spine will take you there.
It's also about showing up for the people you love. Being in the moment. Really listening to them. It's about having compassion for the people in your life who are also suffering. Compassion may be the most important 'c' word of all.