When I was dying

This is my kidney.
This is what I thought was my kidney on cancer.
This is my kidney with a renal deformity, cause unknown.



I love thunderstorms- the heavy boom of thunder that vibrates in my chest. The storm is directly overhead. Lightening illuminates the room the same time the thunder crashes. Nature mirroring my feelings. 5 am, the rare time when I am alone, a time for me to check in with myself. Here I am.


This is my summer of dying.
I had not been feeling well for a long time. It was a slow progression that I tried to ignore. Finally, it had gotten so bad I couldn't ignore it. I went to the doctor and the circus began. During staff training in June I had the first ultrasound, which led to a CAT scan and an unexpected diagnosis: urothelial neoplasm of the left kidney-a rare and deadly form of cancer. It felt surreal. My kidneys were not part of my health complaint. Everyone seemed to feel that this cancer was an accidental finding and not related to my symptoms. When I tried to discuss my symptoms again with my doctor his response was “the cancer trumps everything else” Great. So, feeling horrible and adding a 10 to 20% survival rate for this type of cancer to the mix, I begin proactive treatments prescribe by my doctor: IV vitamin drips, home injections and mega-doses of vitamins and herbs and I start shopping around for the best surgeon.

Things slowed down, even before I cleared my schedule. There was a heightened state of awareness with everything I did. I frantically reached out to some friends for help in the beginning and then stopped. I kept thinking of the line from J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, “Don’t ever tell anyone anything. If you do, you will start missing everyone.“ Instead I cocooned myself with my children. I realized I have been missing myself for a long time. When did this start to happen? I see another doctor, I have another test. This doc says he is ‘under whelmed’ but still talks about the surgery procedure. When the kids are sleeping I read Love, Medicine and Miracles by Dr. Bernie Segal and Ken Wilber’s Grace and Grit. During my low moments I imagine others who could mother my children and think perhaps they would do a better job. I eat raw; I buy wheatgrass. I contemplate a surgery that will remove my left kidney and ureter. I question everything in my life. I mull over Siegel’s list of characteristics of cancer survivors and know I am missing many of them and wonder how to obtain them quickly. I have an MRI and head to Jefferson hospital to see one of the countries best kidney surgeons. His diagnosis: Renal deformity, not cancer.

“You have a new lease on life”, my family and doctors tell me. I stare at my shelf of megavitamins; I continue reading Grace and Grit. I am greatly relieved yet, I can’t come out of this quiet place. I still feel as bad physically as when this circus started weeks ago and I am surviving without the characteristics of a survivor. What does that mean for how I am living and for what I am teaching my children? How do I get back to where I need to be? So now, round two starts- trying to make it through each day and trying to find out what is going so wrong in my body. I start each day feeling like I just took two sleeping pills (and I haven’t!).

Every illness is a gift, an opportunity to recognize a wrong path taken, and energy lost. I spend the rest of the summer following the trajectory of my life and trying to heal my body and comfort my mind. I spend most days alone with my children. We create our own world and although I didn’t think it was possible, my love for them grows. I investigate my paths taken and not, my jobs, my relationships, my dreams, my achievements; I dissect my short comings, my fears. I tune into my body and try to remember who I am. Somehow I have gotten lost, which is okay because it is reminding me where I need to be. I am learning to listen to myself again. I start reading random old journals for clues. I find my old notes from Joseph Aldo, the medical intuitive I worked with in NYC and have a reawakening. Slowly, slowly, I start to come out of this. I start to feel a little better. My doctor appointments are now secondary to my own intuition for what my body needs. I work on cleansing my body and quieting my mind. I revive my daily meditation practice. I start to take back my life.