In the years since I dealt with cancer the first time, I've learned a few things that have made me think of it (breast cancer, at least) in a different way. My work as a massage therapist has been a huge contributing factor as well, because of working on so many people over the span of 20 years (can't believe it's been that long!), and observing things.
Somewhere along the line I came to understand that a person and his/her body are like a team. We are souls that inhabit the body we were given until we're separated from it at death. In the meantime, our body does everything we ask of it -- sort of like a really good servant. We ask it to labor long hours for years and years -- maybe physically, or maybe mentally. We ask it to go without sleep (which is its time to recharge). We ask it to digest all manner of garbage food. We ask it to be happy with a sedentary lifestyle while we sit hunched over a computer (or a phone). And it does it! It adapts, it compensates, it finds work-arounds in order to accomplish what we're asking of it . . . until it can't anymore. We may feel a pain here or there, cautioning us to ease up a bit, to pay attention; or it may develop a disease somewhere -- a sign we've been asking too much for too long.
In addition to our work life and our play life, there's our "mind life" -- what we think about all day. Do we fret non-stop; do we drive ourselves to keep up or surpass someone else; do we allow ourselves to feel hopeless? Whatever we dwell on in our mind -- real or imagined -- our body thinks it's actually happening, so it secretes the requisite hormones in response. When there's no activity to burn off the excess hormones (e.g. cortisol, adrenaline), they settle out in nooks and crannies where they become acidic, leading to inflammation. So not only is our body all geared up to DO something, now it has to deal with the aftermath of doing NOTHING.
And then there's unresolved trauma. Most of us have some form of trauma we haven't dealt with, even if it's "only" the teacher that made us feel small in front of the whole class. It's tucked away somewhere in our body, waiting for us to get back to it. Which we don't do because out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Our bodies keep trying to get our attention, but we forgot how to listen long ago, so we puzzle over why we keep repeating the same patterns that bring us back to the same point every time, or we act all surprised when something like Cancer or Autoimmune Disease comes up like a 2x4 to the head.
All of this to say "Every disease and every chronic pain has an underlying emotional component to it." And if that component isn't acknowledged and addressed, the disease or pain will keep coming back. I didn't make that up; there's research on it. But I see it all the time with my clients, many of whom are veterans. You may try to imagine the horrific things they've seen, the agonizing things they've gone thru physically, the mental torture that flows like lava thru weeks of training. The military has trained these people to compartmentalize their trauma so they can carry on effectively. In many cases, it's a matter of life or death, so compartmentalizing has its place. But at some point, those pockets of trauma have to be dealt with in order for there to be true healing. Until that happens, they feel better for a day or two -- great, even -- but the pain comes back. But oh man, *when* it happens, when the trauma is acknowledged and released, the transformation is amazing!
So at its root, every disease has an emotional component. One of the emotional components of breast cancer has to do with nurturing everyone but yourself. I thought I got this message last time, but since my body is growing cancer again, there must be more to it. Or maybe I got busy trying to help an unending stream of veterans with chronic pain, and didn't take good enough care of myself. (Fast food scarfed on the fly while trying to squeeze in one more errand probably isn't the best way to take care of oneself. Who knew?) It's been immensely fulfilling work, but it's time to hit the Pause button.
I'm eager to see what the lesson is this time around. In that vein, my new doctor gave me a few books to read, and one of them is "The Journey" by Brandon Bays. She (yes, Brandon is a "she") healed herself of a basketball-sized tumor in a little over a month by finding the message it carried. What a cool concept! I hope to do the same; maybe not in a month, but yeah . . .
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