A true story
I haven't really told this story before, because I wasn't sure what it meant. But now that treatment has started and I feel like I am fighting for real, I have a better understanding.
Three days before I was diagnosed, I had to do some videotaping for a StoryDisc project. I wanted to get a really good shot of the subject of the video, a condominium complex in the hills of Manayunk. The complex can be viewed from I-76, but I needed to find a spot I could drive to and set up my camera. I drove up into Belmont Hills and scoped out the best location. I found one spot, in the parking lot of La Collina restaurant, but of course I wanted to find something better, so I got some footage there and then drove on, up Belmont Avenue into Bala Cynwyd, straining to look on the left to see if there was anywhere to pull over.
There is a large cemetery on Belmont. It takes up most of the road along that side, so after determining there were going to be no other views, I turned into West Laurel Hill Cemetery. I'm pretty sure I was the only one there that day, and I moved slowly through the small roads that twisted through the rolling hills. It's a pretty setting, all green lawns and old trees, and it was a beautiful, clear day. Some gravesites had flowers in front of them.
Now, on the radio, I was listening to Fresh Air. At the back of my mind was the biopsy I'd had not two weeks before, which I was convinced was benign. But the topic of the show that day was A Personal Stake in Beating Cancer, featuring two oncologists, both cancer survivors, who are the current and past presidents of the American Society of Clinical Oncology. One is a breast cancer survivor. I admit that I only half-listened to the broadcast, partly because I was busy trying to find the best view, and partly because I did not even want to consider that this could be something that would be relevant to my life. My lump was benign; I didn't need to know anything more about cancer, or oncology, or surviving.
So, I'm driving around this cemetery, listening to two oncologist/cancer survivors on the radio, and I find the best spot: a muddy area right on the cliff with a brilliant view of the Manayunk hills and the condo complex. A big tractor was parked in the middle, and it appeared they were in the process of preparing and landscaping it for, well, future graves, I suppose. I drove into the mud, parked, got my camera and took some footage. It was really wet and yucky, and the mud stuck to my shoes. I got back in the car, put it in reverse, and the wheels spun. I was stuck. I was stuck in the mud in a graveyard, listening to two people talk about surviving cancer.
But I didn't panic! I rolled between first gear and reverse, and slowly the car moved forward and backward, and then out of the mud. I traced my way back through the rolling green hills and gravestones and out through the front gate, still listening to the Fresh Air interview. I remember Terry Gross asking them if they asked themselves, "why me?" when they learned of their diagnoses (they didn't). When I got home, it looked like my car had taken a mudbath. The wheels were coated in the stuff, and the mud went up the sides of the doors.
Three days later, I met with the surgeon who told me I had cancer.
I got stuck in the mud, folks. But it's not my time yet to get stuck in a graveyard. I'm not asking, "why me?" I want to look death in the face, and then I want to back away - for now, at least. I still have things that I need to do.
Three days before I was diagnosed, I had to do some videotaping for a StoryDisc project. I wanted to get a really good shot of the subject of the video, a condominium complex in the hills of Manayunk. The complex can be viewed from I-76, but I needed to find a spot I could drive to and set up my camera. I drove up into Belmont Hills and scoped out the best location. I found one spot, in the parking lot of La Collina restaurant, but of course I wanted to find something better, so I got some footage there and then drove on, up Belmont Avenue into Bala Cynwyd, straining to look on the left to see if there was anywhere to pull over.
There is a large cemetery on Belmont. It takes up most of the road along that side, so after determining there were going to be no other views, I turned into West Laurel Hill Cemetery. I'm pretty sure I was the only one there that day, and I moved slowly through the small roads that twisted through the rolling hills. It's a pretty setting, all green lawns and old trees, and it was a beautiful, clear day. Some gravesites had flowers in front of them.
Now, on the radio, I was listening to Fresh Air. At the back of my mind was the biopsy I'd had not two weeks before, which I was convinced was benign. But the topic of the show that day was A Personal Stake in Beating Cancer, featuring two oncologists, both cancer survivors, who are the current and past presidents of the American Society of Clinical Oncology. One is a breast cancer survivor. I admit that I only half-listened to the broadcast, partly because I was busy trying to find the best view, and partly because I did not even want to consider that this could be something that would be relevant to my life. My lump was benign; I didn't need to know anything more about cancer, or oncology, or surviving.
So, I'm driving around this cemetery, listening to two oncologist/cancer survivors on the radio, and I find the best spot: a muddy area right on the cliff with a brilliant view of the Manayunk hills and the condo complex. A big tractor was parked in the middle, and it appeared they were in the process of preparing and landscaping it for, well, future graves, I suppose. I drove into the mud, parked, got my camera and took some footage. It was really wet and yucky, and the mud stuck to my shoes. I got back in the car, put it in reverse, and the wheels spun. I was stuck. I was stuck in the mud in a graveyard, listening to two people talk about surviving cancer.
But I didn't panic! I rolled between first gear and reverse, and slowly the car moved forward and backward, and then out of the mud. I traced my way back through the rolling green hills and gravestones and out through the front gate, still listening to the Fresh Air interview. I remember Terry Gross asking them if they asked themselves, "why me?" when they learned of their diagnoses (they didn't). When I got home, it looked like my car had taken a mudbath. The wheels were coated in the stuff, and the mud went up the sides of the doors.
Three days later, I met with the surgeon who told me I had cancer.
I got stuck in the mud, folks. But it's not my time yet to get stuck in a graveyard. I'm not asking, "why me?" I want to look death in the face, and then I want to back away - for now, at least. I still have things that I need to do.
posted by Rachel Troxell at 2:55 PM
2 Comments:
Yes, you got stuck in the mud, but YOU PULLED YOURSELF OUT OF THE MUD TOO - you rolled back and forth - so, from chemo and bad days to in-between chemo and good days, who says you can't pull out of this too??!!
Connie G.
Rachel, your blog entry was like a trip back home! I was familiar with all of the places your wrote about. Can't tell you how many times I passed that cemetery! Your writing is so vivid, humorous, true. Amazing how we can laugh at the serious -- that's what makes it possible to get through tough times. Said your name in synagogue this morning, as I do every week.
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