Monday, May 14, 2012

The Lesson from the Ear Pod Tree

Walking alone for several miles never fails to get me to a better place. The days after learning about the breast deal, I was simply teeming with  rage. Rage at what? Rage at whom? There really was no target.

Wasting time thinking about feeling sorry for myself or delving into a deep depression or trying to figure out why I have had so much trouble this year was only going to be a dead end.

So the day after I learned the delightful news, I crammed my hands into my pockets and walked. For the first two miles I could feel the rage pulsing within me, and then the anger evaporated into tears. The tears set loose the tightness in my body. The rage would return, and then the tears would dilute it. This cycle continued for about two miles. I was just about at the point of not being able to stand another moment of this when a bit of grace crossed my path.

As  I was walking by one of the lakes in my neighborhood,  my eye caught hold of a pod on the ground.
I picked it up. It felt warm and smooth in my hand. Its presence lightened my heart just a tad but enough that I knew that no matter what happens in my life, I will always be able to access my joy.

When bad things happen to us, the tendency is to try to get away from them, but in my own experience I have found that I do best when I allow my feelings to flow. This does not mean that I must burden others with my fears, tears and anger. In most cases a good long walk does the trick.

And you know one of the first thoughts I had after I got the bc news was, "Well, at least I can walk now."
At least this waited until I was up and driving and walking again. It could have been worse.

My surgical pathology report turned to be a good one. I am having a second report done by John Hopkins because I don't want to leave any stone unturned. As long as both path reports match, then I have a splendid chance of living my full life span before this gets me or something else does.

I am still awaiting the  results of the genetic test that will show whether I have the genetic mutation that will result in my needing  to have a bilateral mastectomy. My chances of having that mutation are only five per cent, but due to the fact that my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer before she was fifty, my surgeon recommended that I be tested, for if I have the mutation and do not have my breasts removed then I face a ninety per cent chance of recurrence.

My treatment plans are awaiting the results of the Oncotype-D test which tests twenty-one genes, and will provide me with information  that will let me know my chance of recurrence. If I am not happy with the numbers, then I will need some chemotherapy.

I most definitely will be starting a regimen of radiation soon. Right now everything is on hold while I wait for the genetic test results.

So right now I try to put my troubles in a drawer because I feel great, and there are three hundred Carolyn Wharton caladium bulbs waiting to be planted. Last year I put in four hundred and fifty bulbs. I want my yard to be a vision in pink.

My pod fell from a tree  called an Ear Pod Tree. It is from the same family of the Mimosa.  I guess nature was trying to lend me its ear.  I derive much comfort from observing the cycles of nature.
Nature knows and nature obeys. It does not rail against the changing of the seasons. It adapts.
And so shall I.


  1. Wow, I am stunned and saddened by your news. I knew you were having physical challenges....but I assumed that is quite enough for any one person to deal with. So with great love I stand with you. I am greatful that you have your sense of humor, and your connection to nature. Life unfolds as it does and really no kind of work can prepare for the sudden shift of health and the feelings of well-being. I find in my own life there is must soice in the idea that this too shall pass....and while I wait there is much love in my life as it is, unfolding moment to moment. I hold you there. Love carol

    1. The Carolyn Wharton caladium bulbs you shared with me last year are popping up bring color to my garden. Can't imagine what more than 800 of them would look like. But that is how I think of you Paula... very colorful, often larger than life, very creative and beautifully expressive. You also feel the bad times to their fullest, and rejoice during the good times. Wish that you did not have to go through so many physical assaults this year. What satisfaction it must bring to be able to go out and walk until you felt a wave of peace. Thanks for sharing your words, thoughts and feelings .
      In Love and Light, Vicki