Eliza Wood Livingston

In 1996, subsequent to emergency surgery for a rigid abdomen, vomiting bile, and persistent pain, I am diagnosed with Stage III Colon Cancer, That night is the start of a journey that changes my life. During those first months of recovering from surgery, having chemotherapy, and learning the intimacies of colostomy care, I have unfailingly kind support from friends, colleagues, and an extended family that knows no bounds of loving and caring for one another. Time passes, and cancer gradually becomes less an interloper, and more a teacher and companion. I touch this little bump on my rib . . . is it a tumor that migrated over from my colon? From my breast? The ache in my joints . . .is it in my bones now? This blood in the toilet? I’m sure it’s nothing. And the bigger issues: How do I want to spend my time? What matters to me, now that I have faced the dark angel? She passed by me this time, yet I felt the chill as the shadow of her wings darkened my landscape. I live in an intense awareness of the fragile strength of the thread that binds us to this life. One of the most startling changes wrought by this disease is the vanishing sense of a future: making plans is difficult. Would I be here next Christmas? Who will put these ornaments away next year? Next summer? Opera season starts in October: will I still be alive in October? Cancer has reconfigured my world in the way that a kaleidoscope, given a gentle twist, shifts the brilliant stones and glass bits into entirely new patterns. I find myself in that space between the worlds: the world of relative stability and predictability is behind me, on the other hand, I have not yet arrived in that kingdom of the dark angel. This space between the worlds is a place of lost innocence, a place of moving into a new kind of dream, a dream of living on the edge, yet living fully. As I write this down, it seems overwhelming, yet my life continues to be one of incredible richness: astonishing gifts, deep sorrows, exhilarating adventure, a complicated but many-faceted family that nurtures a strong social, political, and environmental commitment, and manages, at the same time, to share much laughter and fun. From my experiences of intense pain and loss, I have learned a deepening of compassion, an appreciation of the ordinary as well as the extraordinary, a tolerance for all the shades of grey, and an appreciation for the colours, the textures, the shapes, and the patterns that emerge from the tapestry that describes my life. In 1998, a tangerine size tumour is discovered on my ovary It is determined that I now have Stage IV Colon Cancer; the chances of long-term survival are remote. Chemo is not an option, as it almost killed me the first time, so the plan is to simply cut out the tumours as they arise. I seek the help of a doctor of Classical Chinese Medicine, and take his bitter herbs, do the Qi Gong as instructed, and have acupuncture. At the same time, I start writing a book, a memoir/self-help book, Living with Colon Cancer: Beating the Odds. It is now 19 years since my diagnosis. I used to hold my breath, waiting to be the woman I once was: checking the mirror: is this the day? I now understand that there is no return to normal: it’s not “back on track”: it’s forge a new track: normal will be redefined. I have gone through hoops of fire; I have leaned over the abyss, teetered on its edge. Life has changed, perceptions have changed: Lessons have been learned, losses have been sustained. I live now in a space between the worlds - every day is a precious gift. What an extraordinary consciousness to live out of!! Until the end, I have choices: let me make them wisely and thoughtfully. And may I be able to face whatever is to come with grace and strength and faith.