Last night, I had the privilege of watching a video on facebook. The video was of a sister named Marjory who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and had just had (what looked like) a bilateral mastectomy. She decided to videotape parts of her journey for her friends and family to bear witness to her struggle.
Marjory is a dancer. She is a friend of a friend of mine. Our shared friend reached out to tell me about Marjory when she learned that she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She asked me to reach out to her and I did. Marjory is well-loved by her friends and family. They hosted a fundraiser event for her and videotaped parts of it. I felt blessed to bear witness to the beautiful outpouring of love and honor and respect for this sister I have never met. And I watched her dance. She moves with a graceful frenetic energy. The joy of movement shines on her face and shoots from her limbs. You can just tell… she was born to move that way. She loves it as much as it loves her.
So I watched her video to her friends and family last night. And I was drawn in to her presence. She was pale and looked tired. She had 4 drains hanging from her body. Two on each side. She wore that same wretched surgical bra that I have had to wear twice now (and soon again for a third time). She looked like a ghost of the woman I had just watched in previous videos dancing and sharing her gift of movement with the world.
But she was there. Even in her weakened state, she was there.
She was there.
She showed how flat-chested she was (her words, not mine). She has expanders in her chest but they haven’t been filled with solution yet. She showed the plastic tubing that was coming from her sides, allowing the fluid that builds up in her body to be released. And as I watched her for those 6 minutes or so… my mind drifted back to January 2009.
While the entire world was focused on Washington, DC because of the inauguration of the first black president… I was looking like Marjory. Pale, weakened, tired. Drains coming out of my sides. Chest flattened where someone had removed a part of my flesh… in order to save my life. I will never forget that time in my life. I only wish I had thought to capture it on film.
I look nothing like Marjory. And she looks nothing like me. But my GOD… my breath was taken away when I looked at that beautiful sister… watching and listening to her hold on to her life with both hands.
I remember so well, the pain and the agony and the fear. But looking at that sister, I could see nothing but the beauty in the moment of her struggle. I only hope that I have radiated that much beauty throughout my struggle.
It is difficult dealing with breast cancer. From diagnosis, through treatment and then beyond… this is hard. And yet, it is the absolute rawness, the pure and almost holy (sacred?) reverence it gives you for life itself that reminds you just how beautiful life is – even in the struggle.
PS. If you want to donate to Marjory's medical costs, follow this link to see more pictures, more videos and to donate as well. http://www.fredem-fighters.blogspot.com/
