When Deep Breaths Don’t Calm

It’s an obvious understatement to say that getting cancer is stressful.

My treatment plan involved a lumpectomy first, then chemo and radiation, but just getting to the surgery wore me out emotionally. I’ve written before that I’d never experienced anesthesia before, certainly never had major surgery…and add to that, the surgery would confirm how far my cancer had spread so I was apprehensive about the whole thing.

Suffice it to say, I didn’t handle this process well. Two weeks prior to surgery, I had begun a mindfulness meditation practice at the suggestion of my radiation oncologist. This was a life-changing step for me, but I hadn’t had enough experience with meditation for it to truly benefit me as I was sitting in the “ready room”, waiting for my surgeon. I knew I had to breathe, but it was hard to focus when I was terrified.

The “breathe deeply” mantra was repeated by a number of nurses, probably because I looked like a wreck. I can honestly say that breathing deeply, as hard as I tried, didn’t work. Months later, I came across an article (and unfortunately, I cannot recall whom to credit for this) addressing this issue. The problem with focusing on the breath during periods of extreme anxiety is that the breath is most obvious in the center of the body. You know, right where your racing heart is. I couldn’t separate out the two, and as I was trying to slow my breathing, I was acutely aware of the pounding in my chest.

So, here’s the advice that I would give now: find a comfortable position and focus on your hands. Feel into them and focus on any sensations present in them. Fingers are sensitive, so it’s likely that you’ll feel something. Is there tingling there? Are they numb?What’s the texture of the material that they’re resting against? If you feel nothing, rub your hands together and focus on those sensations.While this type of meditation (essentially a body scan) is often done with eyes closed, depending on the individual and how frightening the surroundings are, it might even work better to keep the eyes open and look at the hands. But really look, so that you draw your attention away from the beating heart, and then gradually try to slow your breathing.

The idea is to keep your attention away from parts of the body that remind you of how anxious you are.

I can’t say that I would have completely relaxed had I known to do this. I had been dealing with runaway anxiety for the past weeks that my rudimentary meditation had only begun to chip away at. But it’s possible that I would have gotten myself into a more comfortable state as I waited for surgery. Definitely worth trying the next time you find that a breath focus doesn’t help with anxiety.

What’s All This, Then?

“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”

Orson Welles
director, actor and producer


Honestly, this blog is supposed to be funny, but sometimes it’s hard to get there.

I am a cancer survivor. You cannot imagine how good it feels to write that. This blog was established to help me document my journey, process my experiences and, ultimately, inch away from thinking of myself as a cancer patient and towards being a mindful, peaceful and accepting (that’s a tough one!) creature on this Earth. Be warned, some of my posts are self-indulgent and unnecessarily wordy; I have much respect for anyone willing to slog through them.

Right now, this blog is anonymous: I need to stumble through my feelings, complain when I feel like it and be blunt when necessary — and I need a safe space to do it without fear of judgmental glances. While my goal is to keep this light-hearted, I realize that I have the pleasure of being a survivor and chuckling about my cancer experience; there are many who are not granted that opportunity. Writing this blog is a privilege.

Cancer sucks. It’s an indiscriminate spectre that has haunted the lives of practically everyone at some point, whether relatives, friends or ourselves. For me, cancer cannot pass into faded memory quickly enough, but at the same time, I am infernally curious about the disease and how it has changed me.

So here are my facts:

In early 2017, I was diagnosed with triple-positive (estrogen+, progesterone+ and HER2+) breast cancer. The lump was 1.6cm in diameter, removed at the end of March, along with three sentinel lymph nodes that were revealed to be unaffected. Chemotherapy (Taxotere & carboplatin) started a month later and lasted the entire summer, 6 hefty courses, one every three weeks; adjuvant therapy (Herceptin, a monoclonal antibody) also started at this time, but went for 17 courses, ending in April 2018. Daily radiation treatment lasted six weeks through autumn of 2017. A 3-D mammogram in February 2018 showed nothing, in a good way. That marked my first year without the tumor.

I wish I’d been able to write in 2017, but my head wasn’t there. I was not processing, I was existing and enduring. After my final Herceptin infusion, my port was removed and I turned around to see what had happened. It took several months of writing before I tossed out my first post in September 2018, privately at first, and then, “Hello, world!”

It’s going to be a bumpy, unpolished ride. Bear with me.

Reprocessing Cancer

My parents are owned by a Siberian husky (if you’ve ever lived with a husky, you understand). She is spoiled beyond belief and loved beyond measure. But no matter how much she’s allowed to get away with, she still needs baths and getting her into the bathtub takes cajoling, muscle and a healthy dose of determination on the part of the two human seniors. This is no small feat since the love that my parents and their circle of friends showered upon her has resulted in making the husky, well, even more husky (she’s currently on a weight loss journey). But once she’s been bathed and toweled off, our husky does something curious: she always returns to the bathroom to sniff the tub and faucet, as if she’s trying to make sense of what happened to her.

I find that I’m a lot like her. You would think that after the anxiety associated with my cancer diagnosis, the fear of the treatment and having to endure chemo and radiation, plus a year of Herceptin infusions, I would want to stay as far away as possible from anything cancer-related. In the beginning, that was the case. References to cancer seemed to be everywhere I turned, and I struggled to avoid the thought of it. I was terrified by the ambiguity of my situation.

But now that treatments are over, I find myself drawn to cancer information. MW/MSW (my clinical counselor) calls it reprocessing, as I explore how I’ve been affected by this journey. I run the gamut from viewing it as the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened to me, all the way to the biggest blessing I’ve ever received. That’s a pretty wide spread! The more daylight that comes between my final treatment and my current place in time, the more curious I become. Cancer is no longer the “big C” for me, it’s a word in lowercase. It’s as if I’m dipping my toe into the lake where I almost drowned, and slowly moving deeper, determined the tread the waters with me in control this time. Not like the crazy roller-coaster ride that I had the first time.

Things are different now. Not only do I have perspective, but I also have a sense of peace through mindfulness. The impetus to begin a meditation practice was one of the gifts I got from cancer, and it has affected every aspect of my life. I have rediscovered yoga. And I sport a cool, edgy hairstyle that I would have never had the guts to get on my own. Cancer is a familiar concept now, and I want to know more about it, want to understand what happened, how I can prevent it from happening again, and how I can help someone else newly embarking on that journey.