I was called into the Healing Garden at Dana-Farber today. Not literally, but something beckoned me to go through those doors, although I haven’t been since my very first visit to this facility last March. And the second I walked in and felt the peacefulness wash over me, between the lush garden, sweet scent of greenery, subtle lighting and bird musac in the background, the floodgates opened. Clearly I don’t mesh well with relaxing and peacefulness – another thing I need to work on.
I know it was – is, as I’m still sitting here amongst the flowers and the tears writing this blog entry on my iPhone – more than that, though. It is remembering that first time here, how scared and clueless I was about what really lay ahead. It is mourning the person I was before I stepped through these doors. It is the wondering about the different path my life could’ve taken if I hadn’t discovered that lump – and the people that may’ve still been in it – for better or worse. And sitting here, looking through the bamboo branches, out the window at the hospital across the street where we kept vigil for days and then lost my grandfather, in the midst of it all, just 8 months ago. It is the fact that this is the last time I will be here (barring any more lymphedema flair ups) for four whole months. And while that is something to celebrate – as is finally being ‘even’ again after today’s procedure (which really hurts but is worth it) – it is also hard. As change always is, even when it’s for the better.
But I will adjust. I am still struggling to figure out who this post-treatment me is. And I will get there. Maybe I just need a little more time in some healing gardens…
Amy's America 