17 year Anniversary of Radiation

I never ever imagined I would be writing about my 17 year anniversary of radiation.

Last night, a couple who were meeting me for the first time, asked, “What is life like now, after such a horrific experience?”

I replied that, even today, doctors are amazed to see me alive. My tumor was very complex, their expectation was that the cancer would kill me at the age of 39. Since I recovered from the treatment (which was a seven year process), each day feels like a bonus day. I gave them the example of a pinball machine, when you get a bonus ball, and it gives you another game. I told them that I feel I am playing the most amazing pinball machine, and am getting a bonus experience of life every day.

I recently had a break from temple life in South India. With my back having so much more mobility, this meant I could travel for the first time in 5 months. There was great food and company. Daily swims. Lots of rest time. Five days away from daily demands. I now realize, this break was a celebration of my 17 years anniversary.

Unknowingly, I returned home, just in time for the anniversary of my radiation treatment. The following night, I could not sleep. Usually, when this happens, I get out of bed and draw onto the paper whatever emotion is inside me. This creates a shift and I am usually able to sleep after that. But this night I chose to stay in the unease of not being able to sleep. What inspired me to do this is the book I have been reading, (The Presence Process, by South African author, Michael Brown) with a small group of friends online. It focuses on a simple, daily meditation of being here, now.

Instead of getting up to paint or draw, this night I remained in my bed, with the discomfort and sunk deeper into it. And as I felt further into the experience, I discovered the sweetest moment for myself - which you can read below.

The drawings here were made on the anniversary I completed brachytherapy treatment, seventeen years later. April 1st on a full moon of 2026.

Text from image above:

Seventeen year anniversary of radiation.

The body never forgets.

I can feel the horror within.

It has its own life, diluted by my integration into life.

Thank goodness, otherwise it would be unbearable.

Now I have learnt to sit with these strands of horror with the deepest compassion for the terrified being that shakes in there in horror.

A few nights ago, I could not sleep. I tried all my chanting, breathing (which usually knocks me out).

I wanted to get up out of bed and draw.

But I stayed with myself, in my body.

I sank deeper into the discomfort until I found the pockets (tiny) of horror and knew this feeling so well.

I looked at the date on my phone and saw that it was the anniversary of radiation beginning.

The body truly does keep the score.

Text:

In earlier anniversaries, it was different.

I can see my relationship to the experience has changed.

A friend spoke of integration into the body vs healing.

This resonated with me.

We are constantly healing - so many layers.

What about integration of the experience into the body?

This is what has happened in the radiation experience.

It has ‘gone’.

The body has integrated it.

The joys of life have supported this integration.

That is why the trees have been so important.

My connection with nature.

My connection with children (they have a great desire for fun) and connection with those I love and trust.

And the laughter and being a part of life.

All this has helped the integration of the experience into my body.

And the areas that still bubble or vibrate - the horror of the experience:

I have learnt to be still, to listen to it.

To be a witness of this incredible pain.

It is the deepest compassion I have felt for myself.

It is the most profound listening.