It was a summer evening, a week after my last chemotherapy appointment, and I was dressed up as Britney Spears circa 2007 for a costume party, donning my very bald head in all its glory. I was sharing the sensations I felt having no hair to a group of women — the cold patter of a light rain, how the wind flowed overtop, the bone chill I felt when it was exposed at times, and the overwhelming relief I felt when I had a hot flash and took off my head covering. As I described these feelings, someone mentioned I should write a poem to capture them.

A new year often signifies new beginnings and change — talks of resolutions, better habits, better diets. I recently attended a webinar where we were working on manifestations for our new year, but before we began we reflected on the previous year.

Two years ago I traveled down to Ojo Caliente, a healing spa outside of Taos, New Mexico, to grapple with my breast cancer diagnosis. This past weekend, I went back down to close the circle of healing as I wrapped up the major milestones of my treatment. The first time I was there I went to a yoga class and was given a small plantable piece of paper to write my intention on. I carried that piece of paper with me throughout the last two years and I returned it to be planted on Monday morning.

I was never a big fan of taking baths, I don’t know if it’s because I swam for so much of my life and just sitting in the bath tub felt boring and uncomfortable. However, after I got cancer, baths became a wonderful new ritual for me. Especially after chemotherapy and the Neulasta shots — my bones and body would be in excruciating pain, and I would go sit in the tub, relax, and often times drift off to sleep.

I always look forward to the weekend after Thanksgiving, it is a time to reflect on the last year, daydream about the year to come, and kick off watching all my favorite holiday movies. I am definitely feeling more festive this year and am excited to start some new traditions as I enter into a new chapter after two years of cancer treatments. Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?

I will never forget my first day of chemotherapy. As my sister and I walked down the hallway, I crumbled at the sight of the infusion center. Up until that point I felt like I would be able to handle whatever was thrown my way, a defiant independence that I could do anything. When I walked into the infusion center I was hyper aware of everything around me, the smell, the bright lights, the terrible color and patterns on the vinyl chairs, the overly saturated nature photography… each object more and more overstimulating.

Andrew Garfield was recently interviewed on Modern Love, if you have not listened, I really encourage you to do so. They discuss the concept of time, The Ignatian Examen, and onism.

To simplify the Examen, it is a beautiful daily practice, where you reflect on your day and find moments where you were closest to God, whether that is to a spirit, being in nature, or simply being present. Then acknowledge those moments in your day where you could have been more aware, more present, more understanding and reflect on how you can be better the next day.

A few months ago, I found myself in Phoenix at the Mayo Clinic, for an unrelated reason to my own personal health. The chaplain there, while making an origami crane for me, shared a beautiful metaphor for the paper’s transformation. His story has continued to stay with me and I hope it brings you as much peace as it has brought me.

PART TWO

As I embarked on my last trip with the bitter news that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, I felt numb. I felt like I was living that scene in a movie where I was static in front of the frame, frozen, and the world around me was rushing ahead, moving forward, and on. It was so painful to know the promise I had been holding on to, looking forward to, would be delayed, again.

PART ONE

I have always wanted to be a mother. I can remember the first time it sunk in—I was in middle school and there was a parent/teacher function where, we, the older kids, were tasked with watching the younger ones while they met. A tiny baby girl was placed in my arms and in that moment, holding this precious sleeping child, I looked forward to the day when I would hold my own baby.