River or the Fall?
By Joan Munn Hopkins
Remember the line in the movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” where Butch and the Kid are trapped on a cliff above a river?
The Kid is afraid to jump because he can’t swim, and Butch laughs, “(Expletive), the fall will probably kill you!”
I don’t know whether my cancer is the river or the fall.
I have been fighting lung disease from an environmental exposure for years. In April of 2007, I got a double whammy. I learned I will need a lung transplant, and I was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer. And I can’t get a transplant until I am cancer-free for five years. Talk about annoying!
The lung disease comes from environmental irritants. It’s like fighting an external enemy. Although I can’t restore the damage, at least I can be proactive about avoiding more exposure.
The cancer is different, much more challenging emotionally. It comes from within — I can no more avoid it than I can live outside my body. So we resort to extraordinary measures: surgery, radiation, chemicals … we assault the body in order to save the body. Cruel irony.
My biggest fear is for my family. I wish I could spare them from seeing me struggle and in pain. I know what it is like because I lost both of my parents to cancer when they were in their 50s, and I was the same age our sons are now. I must remind myself that my wonderful husband, Kirk, is well. He will be there for our sons even if I am not.
I love the old Celtic myth that certain times in our lives are “thin places in the universe” where the human and the Divine come very close. The unanticipated kindnesses of both strangers and loved ones assure me that God dwells among us.
My heartfelt thanks to my family, my next-door neighbors, the health care providers, my friends and especially those who are simply generous: Ruth, my retired nurse friend who calls me several times a week; the woman who gave me her seat outside the Whiskey Creek restaurant; and the person who stopped to make sure I was OK when I had shut my oxygen hose in my car door in the Walgreens parking lot. May you all be showered with blessings.
So I keep on keeping on. Give me a wave if you see me around town. I’ll be the one with the fright wig and the oxygen hose. My hair has fallen out. I have completed two cycles of chemotherapy, 16 weeks altogether. I hope to finish radiation this week.
As Dan Cook, the San Antonio sportswriter said, “The opera ain’t over until the fat lady sings.” I have no taste for opera, so I don’t plan on listening for her any time soon.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid survived both the river and the fall.
Namaste.
UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:
After fighting lung disease for years, Joan was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer.
On Dec. 31, 2008, Joan’s PET scan showed no evidence of cancer. “I’m banking on that.”
She is glad she shared her story in the newspaper. “It was a very affirming opportunity. Healing occurs when people tell their stories. By putting my story out there, the community can respond in very helpful ways.”
Tags: Joan Hopkins
