From “Why Me?” to “What Now?”

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"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer" —Albert Camus

“You’re going to walk through the fire, and you’re going to be OK.” These are words that I will never forget. They were spoken by a co-worker who had learned that my CT scan had confirmed that there was a mass nestled under my sternum that was clearly not supposed to be there. Then she pointed to a scar on her right cheek and said, “I got this for my 39th birthday, cancer of the mouth.” She hugged me with the kind of hug that says, “You’re one of us now.”

I was humbled by her openness and compassion, but I was also confused. What fire? There was no fire, I was sure; simply some blob of something that would turn out to be a mere smudge from the radiologist’s finger. Not only were my co-worker’s words prophetic—I was, in fact, about to join the club for people diagnosed with cancer—but they also pointed to a profound truth. This truth is that life after a major medical diagnosis is never the same and the challenges ahead are initiation rites of the highest order. Only one who had crossed that blazing bed of charcoal briquettes could possibly look someone else in the eye and without a hint of uncertainty say, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Despite appearing hardwired for good times, it seems profoundly true that it is our pain, as much as our pleasure, which helps us grow. This is why great teachers from both the East and West spent so much time talking about facing our suffering. It’s not that they were killjoys looking to rain on everybody’s parade; they were pointing directly at the fertile ground that lies within. Ground that so often looks like a deep pit, a road to nowhere, or even a path of pure fire. This is why so few take the trip willingly. A push of some sort is usually required to break the “I like things just the way they are" mentality.

In my work as psychotherapist since that time I’ve been able to share in the experience when that push arrives in the form of a life-altering diagnosis. I empathize deeply with the struggle to move from “why me?” to the “what now?” of attempting to make meaning out of illness.

These journeys are never straightforward, and the tendency to take a side road into heightened states of anxiety and depression is ever-present. My personal knowledge of these psychological detours informs my practice of suggesting to clients that they schedule these trips into sadness and fear with me, or a supportive other, as their guide. I inform them that many people facing devastating diagnoses too often feel they must always be strong and that this pressure can create more stress and/or guilt when they fail to live up to these unrealistic expectations.

Finally, I avoid the use of the term acceptance when addressing illness, as this can often be misinterpreted as surrendering and therefore giving up the fight. Instead, I share that in my work with countless clients who have struggled with all-manner of life-altering diagnoses, each discovered their own unique understanding of their illnesses. If appropriate, I will share insights and tips from my own journey; however, in most cases I will give them a “What Now?” list compiled from those sessions:

• Take the advice/support of others with a grain of salt. Even if they have “gone through the same thing” they have not done it as you.
• If “one day at a time” seems out of reach, break it down into more manageable time segments with hours or minutes as viable options.
• Avoid looking for answers to the big questions during this time and focus on easily answered quandaries like "What should I have for lunch?" "Should I take a nap?” or “Dancing with the Stars or America’s Got Talent?”
• Have at least one supportive “as if” person in your life to spend time with where you allow yourself to act as you would if the illness was not part of your life.
• Turn to support groups that instill hope not fear.

The poet Rumi wrote, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Many people who experience life-altering illnesses desperately seek this light in hopes of illuminating the road ahead. For some cursing the darkness is a necessity and the first step, while others jump headlong into the unknown. All paths are open, and the inherent meaning-making nature of the mind and spirit kicks in as a reflexive response to life’s uncertainty.

One does not have to join the ranks of those who insist, "Illness is the best thing that ever happened to me” to experience lessons both profound and mundane when encountering disease. It was years into my own cancer recovery that I understood that the answer to the question “Why me?” was “Why not me?” The initial shock of that answer was replaced with an equanimity stemming from the realization that life was not out to get me and that, like countless others, I too had become a firewalker and would do my best to provide comfort to those who would follow.

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