When I was first diagnosed, it was during the days of Tshuva (return/repentance) between Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur. I’m not anywhere near the most observant Jew and have struggled to become more observant through the years by (doing my best at – and sometimes not doing very well at) taking on another mitzvah each Rosh haShanah. Also during this time, I think about my sins of the past year and try to make amends with those who I feel I’ve wronged. But having this diagnosis during this time made the High Holy Days all so much more meaningful to me - and judgmental.
The first few days after diagnosis, I cried pretty non-stop. Not for myself and the horror of the treatment and the possibility of death. Instead, I cried out of guilt, shame, embarrassment, and the sheer responsibility I took on for not getting this taken care of sooner because had I not waited, my children and my husband, and parents and siblings would not have to go through all this pain over me.
I called Doris who I met through Chabad and who is a therapist and who also has had some experience with this devastating disease. I told her how I couldn’t let myself off the hook for all the pain I was going to put my loved ones through. She told me something that really helped me that I will never forget: “This situation just gives us all an opportunity to show you our love more openly.”
My parents were in Ireland at the time and I remember emailing my mom the news in the possibility she might check email. I was very worried about calling her once she got home because I didn’t listen to my mommy and get a mammogram like I should have. My dad’s a doctor and I was also worried he’d be mad at me. (I got really young and small and scared about their reactions.) Luckily they were both loving and gracious when I finally talked with them and were just worried about me and didn't lay any guilt on me.
When I went to shul on Yom Kippur, the rabbis asked for my Hebrew name for the mishaberach. Being a few days after diagnosis, I was still in such denial that I thought, “am I really sick enough for that?” Then I started to wonder what the significance was of having a mishaberach on the holiest day of the year. Most people there knew about my diagnosis and during a break, I got lots of hugs. That was hard because I had finally stopped crying and the hugs just started it up again. Fred, one of the people I’ve known since Baily and Yochanon first moved to our town (he helped the rabbi while I helped Bailly), told me he wasn’t able to tell his mom about my diagnosis because he was afraid it would devastate her. His mom is Rosey (a good friend of mine) and she has called me almost every day since I got out of the hospital.
Anyway, because I was crying again and couldn’t stop, I didn’t go back into the services and instead talked to Bailly and Stefanie. I told them what was really bothering me (the guilt of not finding out sooner) and Stefanie (another therapist friend of mine who I met through Chabad) told me something that really helped and that I will never forget: “You could not have discovered this any sooner and the fact that you discovered it now is really great because I have seen such a change in you in the past few months. You are so much stronger than I have seen you and you are going to meet this with that strength.”
Stefanie and Doris have been among my biggest champions over the past few years. They are my friends and they are my mentors too. They both encouraged me to go back to counseling and offered their offices for me to work in. Stefanie is my age. Sometimes I look at her as the road not taken: no kids, practicing therapy for as many years as I would have had I not taken a break. Doris is my mom’s age and is a loving, beautiful woman who actually took me out for lunch after Jason’s Bar Mitzvah to celebrate “me” – the mother of the bar mitzvah boy! I am so grateful for these two women as I am for all my friends.
Anyway, through Doris & Stefanie & the rabbi & the audios by his father, Manis Friedman (on Chabad.org), I have been able to let go of the guilt (mostly). I recognize that I’m human and did the best I could with the personality and knowledge that I had. G-d sent me a “correction” which we all get from time to time. Corrections are gifts we get that we may label as “bad” but really everything is One and everything comes from G-d which makes it all good. That may be a hard concept to grasp, and that is what gets us into trouble and in need of correction and why we say the Sh’ma so many times a day. There is no Other, G-d is the only One. We may see our corrections as “bad” but they are really sad (and we may need to mourn), or they are devastating or a huge interruption, but in the end it’s all for the best and the correction helps in our tshuva to recognize Oneness again and realize it is all good.
I am grateful to have as devastating a correction as I’ve been given. It really motivates me in a way I may not have been motivated with a less devastating correction. I am also so grateful to have been diagnosed when I did and not before because I do believe I am better able to deal with this now than before and my kids are older and my practice is started and I reconnected with an old friend just weeks before diagnosis who I wouldn’t have had in my life prior to this. I am grateful to have this carepages which I wouldn’t have thought about 2 years ago without experiencing a friend who had used something similar. This carepages not only brings me joy & love through all the friends who log on, but encourages me to write about my thoughts during this challenge and make something good out of it. I may not like this correction from time to time and pray I will make the tshuva I need to make but I know in the end, I can only do my humanly best. And that's all I've ever been able to do.
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