Silence Of Life

unspoken ink writing group

I miss the simplicity of just being. The hustle and bustle of this thing we call life is utterly stressful and noisy. All the distractions are blinking like neon lights. What’s amazing is when you pause and embrace the silence.

I never thought I could meditate, let alone make it a daily habit. Now I must have 15-20 minutes of pure silence a day, whether thru a guided meditation, music or just sitting. Once I understood that meditating and mindfulness does not mean totally clearing the mind, but it’s letting the thoughts come, release them and coming back to center. I truly see the value in it.

As a talker who used to work in radio and TV, noise used to fill the silence.

Now I see it’s the time in silence that is filling my soul.

by Megan-Claire Chase

You can read more of Megs writing at Life on the Cancer Train.

How would you respond to the writing prompt, From an animal’s point of view?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants met for 2 hours each week, for 8 weeks during our Winter 2018 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

Infertility

infertility after young adult cancer

I saw the cutest little boy at Target, maybe he was two or something, wearing the most darling sweater vest and bowtie. I couldn’t stop looking at him. Before I knew it, I was crying; just silent tears rolling down my cheeks. It was a punch in the gut because cancer took away my option to have my own child.

Yes, I know there are many children who need a home and could foster or adopt. I actually want to smack people when they make that insensitive comment. Why can’t they see how much it hurts me to know I’ll never have someone who favors me or inherits my talent?

What is my legacy?

I somehow ended up in the children’s section while at Target. I couldn’t stop the torture. Every tutu, dress, bowtie and little shoes caused a tear and my breath to catch in my throat.

It’s funny that I think about children at least once a day. I had convinced myself pre-cancer that I would never have any and didn’t want any. They are too expensive. What if they are premature like I was and filled with health problems? Plus, I’m single, so end of story.

Yet, when my oncologist and gynecologist said it’s best to have a hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo oophorectomy to lower my chances of a breast cancer recurrence since my body suffered such horrible sided effects from all the post treatment for pre-menopausal women, my heart stopped. The final step was to medically induce me into menopause many, many years early and hope my body will respond well to the post treatment for menopausal women. Plus, the surgery would completely prevent me getting cervical, ovarian, uterine cancer and endometriosis. Sigh.

I collapsed into tears. Do I want to live or die? Thanks to cancer, my insides are already dead.

by Megan-Claire Chase

How would you respond to the writing prompt, Reproductive Endocrinology & Infertility?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants met for 2 hours each week, for 8 weeks during our Winter 2018 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

Imagine

writing group for cancer survivors

I imagine a world where people see beyond color, shape and size.
I imagine a world where I can be accepted for ME and not be told I’m a sellout or that I “speak well.”
I imagine a world where employers work to understand how cancer affects us.
I imagine a world that loves and no one is homeless.
I imagine a world where hugs are a daily start to each day.
I imagine a world where the mind is free from the constant fear and anxiety of cancer coming back.
I imagine a world where all my true friends and I lived not only in the same state but same neighborhood.
I imagine a world where loneliness is a thing of the past.
Imagine that…

by Megan-Claire Chase

How would you respond to the writing prompt, imagine?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants meet for 2 hours each week, for 8 weeks during our Winter 2018 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

Beep, You’re Alive

online unspoken ink creative writing group

Ah, the loud, annoying beeps that reminds you that you’re still alive. That sound echo’s in the infusion room. No more watching Grey’s Anatomy or The Good Doctor. Seeing those machines on TV make it too close to home.

Heartbeat, pulse – oh so rapid.

That shortness of breath was for real. Lovely how the infusion nurse says to take long, deep breaths and relax. Why is the machine turned?! “Show me the numbers!!!,” I say in a Jerry Maguire voice. Turns out, pulse was rapid, heartbeat rising. No wonder she only turned the machine after appearing to calm down.

Why does the cord and line to the port always get tangled? I don’t want to tango with you. My dance card is full.

by Megan-Claire Chase

How would you respond to the writing prompt, reduced to vital signs?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants meet for 2 hours each week, for 8 weeks during our Winter 2018 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

Flame

online unspoken ink creative writing group

It started as a slight flame, a little warm but not uncomfortable. As my body showed more and more signs that something was wrong, the slight flame became a blazing and dangerous wildfire attacking my very soul.

The visual burning of flesh never leaves my memory. Damn you radiation. Damn you chemo. The dark marks left on the neck are a daily reminder of how you engulfed me and pushed my emotional state over the edge.

Oh burning flame, you tried to turn me into ashes, but I triumphed. I still feel the aches and pains from dancing with flames, but I keep on pushing on. It’s a slow recovery but resilient; somehow, always resilient.

You are ashes to me now. Putting you out nearly killed me. As if it wasn’t bad enough you burned my insides, leaving me barren, forever childless. I am a shell of myself, but again resilient. I will rebuild again.

by Megan-Claire Chase

How would you respond to the writing prompt, How the Fire Started?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants meet for 2 hours each week, for 8 weeks during our Winter 2018 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

I Strive

courageous survivorship

I strive to be courageous. To feel safe in my skin, to know that I am loved, and to trust that I am enough.

I strive to tell myself, “that’s not my shit,” as many times as it takes and to believe it. To know that not every battle is mine for the taking and that I will know when my time to fight has come.

I strive to tell myself, “Be Nice,” as many times as it takes. To sense when someone just needs a hug and to give as many hugs as I can.

I strive to make a change when I know a change is needed. To decide on a different path, on a different way of thinking, knowing that the cost of change is so much less than the cost of being stagnant.

I strive to spend more time in the fresh air and to do all I can to keep the air fresh. To cherish more time walking in nature with myself and less time having memorized conversations with the characters of Friends.

I strive because I am here, striving for me and striving for those who have come and gone. Knowing along the way that life is precious and not to be doled out in any which way.

I strive to feel free.

 

How would you respond to the writing prompt, of a photo of the Freedom Sculpture?

 

image via

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants met for 2 hours each week, for 10 weeks during our Fall 2016 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  The Winter/Spring 2017 session is happening now.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

The Grim Reaper

grim reaper

She died. While I was on vacation, and not thinking about it, she died. I sent her a card, but I took eons to get it in the mail. I’m not sure she received it in time. Who will open the card? With the octopus, inside, promising a hug with all 8 arms. Who will sift through her things and decide whether the card is kept or tossed?

She died. I had kept such good tabs on her over the last several weeks, even installing messenger app to be able to more easily communicate with her. We texted a few times each day. When she said that things were getting bad, I started sending messages where I insisted she needn’t message back unless she wanted to. I told her that she could let me know if there was anything she needed, anything she wanted to talk about.

She died. I am living. Her cancer came back. Mine has stayed at bay. It whispers warnings on the wind, crashing the waves against the shore and rocking the boats as they travel on their way, but still it stays away. What did my cancer have that hers did not? What luck was I doled that she did not receive? What clemency did I earn in this life or another? I do not sit on these musings, I do not feel them rooted in my soul, I do not stew…but I breathe the thoughts in and out. I feel their depth and their impact. I acknowledge their power and shift them aside.

She died. She did not pass, she did not lose, she did not battle. I hope she knew that she could talk to me. That I would have listened to her think about death and dying, that I would have sat with her as she analyzed the movement from living to dying to death. I hope, that in some small way, I helped. I hope that she was surrounded by those who made her not afraid. I hope, I hope, I hope.

She died. And what does it all mean? The idea of her living on inside of me, that I am better because I knew her, even in the small fraction that I did. What does that mean? What do I do with that piece when I cannot give it back to her? When I cannot make her whole again? When I want to give it back and make her whole?

She died. Can she think, can she see, can she sense, can she breathe, can she feel the universe in a way unimaginable? I hope so. I hope, I hope, I hope.

How would you respond to the writing prompt, of a photo of the grim reaper?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants meet for 2 hours each week, for 10 weeks during our Fall 2016 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

The Categories Of Cancer People

“My period has totally stopped,” I said. “I’m worried something is wrong because of my treatments and that it means I won’t be able to get pregnant.”

“Well, you’re lucky. My bleeding is just out of control. Horrible cramps,” she responded.

Just to be clean the record, she is perfectly healthy…just complaining about her period to someone worrying about infertility. This describes my post-cancer relationship with more than one friend who pre-dates my diagnosis.

So many cannot hold the hurt and truth of others. I can’t always manage it myself, but I always try. I guess she does too…but it doesn’t always seem that way.

And so the people in my life sort themselves. There are several categories.

There are the ‘cancer happened, let’s analyze this scientifically’ crew. They launch into statistics and practice problem-solving at the drop of a hat. There are the ‘nod but say nothing’ crew, who leave you self-conscious and wondering what they were thinking through the glazed expression on their face. There are the ‘omg that reminds me of this basically irrelevant story that probably makes me less uncomfortable than the one you just told’ crew who divert the conversation into something they find more suitable while completely invalidating your feelings. There are the ‘holding’ crew, who physically or emotionally (or both) hold your hurt and your words.

The other girlfriend of mine in the room waited for our mutual friend to stop comparing my infertility concerns with her cycle’s annoyances, looked me in the eye and said, “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful mother, however it happens.”

“Yep, She’s a holder,” I thought.

The holders are the best. They can sit in your muck, and help you dig out while still acknowledging how stinky the whole situation is.

My goal, from the second I became a caregiver and on into my cancer and my survivorship, has been to be a holder in all aspects of my life. I want to show up for people, to be brave. I want to have children and be able to do the same for them.

Some days it’s hard. I feel stuck in my own muck and cannot easily trudge through someone else’s. But some days, I can do it.

How would you respond to the writing prompt, of a photo of day by day candling of duck eggs?

duck-egg-candling

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants meet for 2 hours each week, for 10 weeks during our Fall 2016 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  If you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.

The Watched

This piece was written recently, during the Unspoken Ink Fall Session, by the wonderful, Amy.

I can feel them watching me, the bald one with the drawn eyes. Their glances start at my head, flicker to the uneven breasts. And then they turn away. Well, most of them do. Except for that night at the restaurant with my mother.

Hot and tired, I had taken off my scarf. My mother shook her head, gestured to the people around us as if to say: Put that back on. Stop making everyone uncomfortable.

An older woman came over to us then, smiling at my little girl. “It’s been twelve years,” she said. “And you look great.”

Something You Know By Heart

On Sunday mornings, she would come into my room, waking me up, and slipping into bed beside me.  I don’t remember what we’d talk about as I’d slowly become alert to the morning sun around me.  Maybe we talked about what was for breakfast.  Maybe one of the hounds jumped into the bed to join the morning time together.  Maybe she asked what the rest of my day entailed.  Maybe we dreamt together of days filled with the promise of tomorrows.

I do not remember the words.  I remember the safety of her lying close beside me.  The feeling of having her all to myself.  The comfort of her presence in the weekend mornings in my life.

I still try to take those moments with her…those moments between being asleep and being awake when I can feel her love beside me.  Maybe we speak of breakfast.  Maybe we speak of the rest of the day.  Maybe a hound comes to join us as we lay together.

How would you respond to the writing prompt, “Something that you know by heart…” ?

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This writing comes directly from one of our participants in our Unspoken Ink Creative Writing Group for young adult cancer survivors.  The participants met for 2 hours each week, for 10 weeks during our Spring 2016 session.  This writing has not been edited since its original creation, showing the wonderfully raw and powerful prose coming from the courageous writing group participants each week.  Our Fall 2016 session is happening now, but if you’d like to sign up for future sessions, please email info@lacunaloft.org or sign up on our interest form.