It affects everyone!

It affects everyone!
Three Baskets of Asheville

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Three Baskets: Living in the Light

Three Baskets: Living in the Light

Living in the Light


Living in the Light

By: Laura Hankins
You probably don’t remember me, but I wrote an article about my own breast cancer experience in 2004 for WNC Woman (www.wncwoman.com/0404bodymindsoulvoice.html). I will celebrate 10 years out from my diagnosis in February—so much has happened since then—and I have a lot more to say about living in the light of traumatic illness.

While I physically survived my breast cancer, I found very little emotional and spiritual support during my dark days and thereafter. I decided to go against standard protocol, and after my surgery to remove the lump, I decided against chemotherapy, radiation, and hormone treatment. Doctors called, friends and family fretted—but I simply found I could not follow through with the standard treatments. I had done much research and felt confident for my own particular case that my body could take care of itself, could rest and heal itself.

I believe I made the right decision. I do not give advice to others about what they should do. How could I know what is right for someone else? So I quietly went my own way.

I decided four years ago, however, to do something along a different line to help others going through the trauma of diagnosis, treatment, and recovery. I went back to graduate school. I pursued a degree in mental health counseling at Western Carolina University and now am a licensed counselor. My goal was to open a private practice working with cancer patients and their families, as well as those with other illnesses and life transitions. I am not a doctor and do not give advice about treatment. I do, however, understand the trauma of a diagnosis such as cancer. I can sit with those going through the questions of mortality and identity, their concerns about such things as work, family, finances, spirituality. I can identify with their fears for themselves and those who love them.

When I woke up from my lumpectomy, my mother came into the recovery room to see me. I remember grabbing her and saying, “I just want my children to have a mother.” When my four children saw me, I was all smiles. The surgery had gone well. I was ok. I could not let them see the internal struggles and pain I was feeling. I needed to be strong for them. But who could I talk with about how I really felt? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want anyone close to me to worry. I felt quite alone during this time, putting on a show of strength.

What I needed was a therapist. What I needed was a trained, compassionate, yet dispassionate person who would not be disturbed when I expressed my deepest fears. Someone who could hold that space with me while I processed my life.

Asheville is blessed to have a plethora of cancer resources including hospitals, skilled doctors, nurse navigators, and support groups. I am getting to know many in this community who are offering services. They are sincere and tireless and provide help and hope. I have gotten to know the Beauty through Cancer folks and find their focus on physical restoration and inner beauty to be inspiring. I am also involved with a fairly new endeavor called Three Baskets. Three Baskets’ mission is to offer family retreats, referral services and health fairs that introduce local Integrated Medical Professionals and Holistic Health Practitioners to those living with cancer, their families and the entire community as a complement to conventional medicine.

I have been meeting with cancer support groups around town and the inspiration I find there keeps me focused on my goal of standing by and with cancer patients and their families.

We often think of mental health as something we have or lack. Even when I talk with some medical professionals, they assure me that if a cancer patient is having mental health issues, they are referred to therapists. My concern is this: Isn’t it “normal” for someone who is going through the trauma of a cancer diagnosis and treatment to have questions and concerns without being diagnosably mentally ill? I believe that “normal” includes questioning and struggling with issues of mortality and identity. For women, in particular, our breasts are closely tied with our identity as females. They are right out front, where everyone can see. They are symbols of femininity and fertility and sexuality. Isn’t it “normal” to struggle with the loss or scarring of such potent representations of our gender? I believe it is.

In a perfect world, I see our Western medical model shifting to include other modalities, such as acupuncture, massage, yoga, herbs, and mental health. I see some movement beginning to happen as some of these are beginning to be integrated with Western medicine. When I was going through my cancer experience, no medical professional referred me for any type of emotional support. I felt disconnected from my body, as if I were split in two. I needed help. I needed to talk and process the trauma of my diagnosis. I needed someone to help me integrate my emotions with what was happening to my body.

Body, mind, and spirit. We in the West are beginning to learn that we cannot, and I say must not, split ourselves and treat only the body. We are whole people with feelings and questions and spirituality. I would have benefited from someone to help me identity, clarify, and explore what was happening to my body and to my inner person. I believe others in similar situations need the same.

That is my motivation, at age 58, to make a new path for myself—and to offer help to others finding their paths. The world looks different to me now. The poet, Rumi, wrote: “Don’t turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That’s where the light enters you.” Centuries ago, he understood that there is a direct relationship between our wounds and our awakening. That is the journey for us all as we navigate the transitions of our lives. Yet that is what we are called to do by those wiser than I am. And in that turning, we ultimately find our souls healing and the light entering. Our scars can remind us that there is more work waiting—and there is more light ahead.

Laura Hankins Rand is a 10-year cancer survivor and licensed counselor. After writing this article she was hired by Park Ridge Hospital as a counselor on their oncology unit. She has a blog at: http://.cancerquests.blogspot.com and a website: www.laurarand.info