Kearns Life Is Sweet

A Memoir
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-1-0983-8960-4
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 280 Seiten

At the tender age of forty-nine, fit, successful, and in love, Anne Kearns was diagnosed with metastatic endometrial (uterine) cancer. Her prognosis was grim. Life Is Sweet is a heartwarming and often humorous look at how Anne kicked, screamed, and clawed her way through her cancer journey which led to surprising discoveries. Anne's memoir provides a poignant view into what numerous cancer patients are, or soon will be going through: the roller-coaster world of innovative treatment, gut-wrenching side effects, and tantalizing hope. It touches the heart and reveals the amazing human capacity to endure and heal.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Kearns, Anne

Leseproben

Chapter 2. Pearls of Wisdom

April 8, 2019—Ten Days Earlier

“What you need,” my friend Pearl said while sitting tearfully at my kitchen table after I told her of my diagnosis, “is a good dose of meditation.”

Pearl is my good friend and my own personal mystic. That day, she looked the part, wearing a rose-colored fringe shawl over a sparkly pink shirt, black leggings with strategically placed vents above and below her knees, and shoes adorned with medallions. She carried crystals, meditation cards, and lotions and potions in her bronze metallic tote bag. Her wavy brunette hair was tied in a loose bun, and gold glitter lined her eyelids. And as my Tom will tell you, glitter doesn’t come out of shag rugs easily.

Her attire, her aura (as she would say) was in stark contrast to my very being—a strait-laced, preppy lawyer, sporting square reading glasses, and basic yoga pants and a sweatshirt—my go-to outfit since my surgery. My fine, long blonde hair laid limp, roots glaring. My oval face sullen, shaken from my recent cancer news. I sat tall and lanky, Pearl, short and curvy. Despite being complete opposites, we get along with ease, and our senses of humor mesh well. Importantly, we don’t judge each other.

Pearl’s not actually a mystic, of course. That’s her side hustle. Dewy, ageless Pearl has a flourishing skin care business. A mutual friend introduced us about fifteen years ago. At the time, Pearl had a small studio in San Francisco. Although I wasn’t into facials, she seemed so friendly, I made an appointment. She eventually moved her services an hour south of the city, near where I live with Tom in Los Altos. Though small, her new space is ethereal. Soothing music pipes from a small speaker, charcoal sketches hang on her pale sage walls, and thick, champagne-colored carpeting coats the floors. Several crystals sit prominently on a side table, and rose-colored blankets warm the massage table. I remember my last facial with Pearl distinctly. She sprayed my face with a rose spritz, which made my skin tingle with energy. I smelled fragrant for days.

“What do you mean?” I asked Pearl, bright-eyed, yet tentative.

“You need to be one with your spirituality, Anne! That’s the only way you’re going to get through this. You need to meditate!” she said, gently pounding the table.

What I needed was to be cancer free, but that wasn’t happening. I was open to trying something new, beyond my recent begging for God’s mercy, which seemed to yield zero returns. “Okay,” I shrugged, unsure of what I was getting myself into. “I’m open to it. I’ve never really done it. I tried it once and couldn’t sit still.” I paused a few seconds while gazing out the kitchen bay window to the backyard. The last time I tried meditation for real was thirty years ago when I was in college in Boulder. I remember our teacher well. His name was Asimo and he had dreadlocks and smelled of patchouli. His round belly drooped as he sat in a cross-legged lotus position on the matted floor in his small studio, and he would breathe in slowly and exhale out loudly, gutturally. He seemed so mysterious and intimidating to my young eyes. I got a little wigged out by the whole thing, and never went back.

Not wanting to repeat that stifling experience, I had an idea. “How about,” I asked, pointing my finger, “we stake out six meditation spots out back, in the fresh air? One for each of my six chemo sessions. I’ll say something different at each area.” Having a plan for meditation seemed right and logical and ritualistic. If I was going to delve into spirituality, something that I’d only ever glanced at in passing, then I needed a routine, a “to-do” that I could put on my daily calendar and check off, just like my triweekly infusions.

“That’s a great idea!” said Pearl, clapping. “Your yard is so zen-like.”

Our backyard had become my secret garden. Tom and I had let it die a few years ago due to the drought. Once the drought threat eased, we built it back up. We added a crushed stone pathway leading to a two-tiered fountain and filled the empty spaces with native grass and colorful flowers, peach-colored lilies, pink hydrangea, white chrysanthemum. We also uncovered and raised the large stone path which follows alongside the fence and had been buried over time. The landscaper we hired designed the garden so that a variety of flowers would bloom at different times during the year. The stunning design was life-affirming.

“I’ve got another idea,” I said, straightening up. “Did you happen to bring your Louise Hay meditation cards?” Louise Hay, a self-help author and spiritual leader, markets colorful meditation cards with catchy, soul-searching sayings. Pearl had shown me her meditation cards years ago, when I was going through a rough period. Probably a breakup with some unworthy fellow. I remembered I liked them then, when Pearl would read them to me.

Smiling, Pearl rummaged deeply through her tote bag, pushing aside an angel statue and other sparkling trinkets, and pulled out a small square box waving it in front of me. “Of course I have them!” She fanned them out on the table. Each card was noticeably different—one side depicted brightly colored, child-like drawings, and the other side had text. Perfect, I thought, these will keep my interest going, and help me to unzip my stilted view of meditation.

“What if I pick a card for each of the meditation spots?” I asked, eyebrows arched in anticipation. “Then I’ll have something to say, and it won’t seem so tedious.” I didn’t know if Pearl would want to give me her cards, but perhaps I could borrow them.

“That works! Perfect for a beginner.” Pearl smiled and her doe-like eyes crinkled.

“Grab your cards and follow me,” I stood up, gesturing for Pearl. “I have an idea where each meditation spot should be. We’re on a mission!”

I led Pearl to what I thought would be a good starting place, the back left-hand corner of the yard under the magnolia tree, surrounded by a patch of blue irises. Whenever I felt out-of-sorts, I went there to breathe in the sweet surrounding aromas. We both took a whiff of the jasmine vines crawling up the surrounding redwood fence. “God’s nectar,” I mused.

Thunk. She dropped a rock near my foot close to the blue irises. “Now you’ll remember where to stand. You’ll want consistency with your meditation,” said Pearl studiously as she waved a clear crystal over the meditation cards like a magician setting up a card trick. She handed them to me and said, “Shuffle, and think of an intention.” I quickly straightened up and got into serious mode.

It would be too easy and greedy for me to ask to be cancer-free from the get-go. I needed to reach down, deep within my soul to find an intention that was appropriate for a first-time user. So, I asked for a simple sign that my guardian angels were looking after me on this journey.

And so it was. The card that I chose, which depicted a swirly blue flower and eye, said that divine intelligence guides me. I was a little spooked that the words on the card matched my intention. But, I thought, like horoscopes, all meditation cards have similar messages that can fit any situation. Then Pearl pointed out, her earrings jingling, “Not to get all woo-woo on you, but the blue colors of the card match the blue iris flowers at this spot.” That wasn’t the only similarity. Both the card and the spot had an iris (flower and eye). Woo woo indeed.

Following the stone pathway, we landed at the second spot, a grey teak bench with a slatted back, and a small, circular wrought-iron table, which overlooked the backyard and faced a gurgling, grey fountain. I didn’t think of any intention, paralyzed I’d get it wrong. So much was at stake! I simply sat on the bench and stared blankly at the back of our Tudor-style home while shuffling the cards. Like the spot, the card I chose depicted furniture, a green recliner decorated with red blossoms, with text about blessing my home with love. Pearl and I shared a knowing glance. Woo woo.

We strolled to the third spot where a big patch of purple, spindly flowers with green leaves billowed onto the ground. I didn’t know what kind of flowers they were at the time, but knew I wanted the next card to be purple and green. The card I randomly picked was yellow and showed a lady dressed in all purple riding atop a green big leaf like a magic carpet, with a theme of forgiveness and understanding. Things were getting weird. I felt like something bigger than me was happening. Perhaps strange coincidences like these are gifts, a kind of two-way conversation. Or was I reading too much into it because I desperately wanted to believe? I wanted something to sink my teeth into, to hold onto, while being spun around the uncertainties of chemotherapy and a cancer diagnosis. And, it seemed, the similarities of the cards and meditations spots were satisfying that itch. I think I’m going to like meditating!

Buoyed by a sense that we had entered another realm, we scurried to the fourth meditation spot in the right-hand corner of the yard, near the back fence, lemon and orange trees, peach-colored lilies and white roses. The chosen card had similar blocks of color—yellow, orange, green and white, and declared power over my body. I gasped at the similarity, but then sank. I had to wonder if I had any power over my body. It seemed that cancer was...