Emotions & Cancer

Love, prayer, and a positive attitude have all been proven to aid the healing process, but I was surprised to learn about the power of anger – an emotion one wouldn't list as helpful for conquering a life-threatening disease.

Life dealt my close friend, Barbara, a double whammy at the beginning of January 2006. First came the diagnosis of diabetes, and then, within a few weeks, she learned she had cancer in her left breast. After many tests and consults with doctors, both in and out of the town in which we live, she suffered yet another blow. Both breasts held malignancies, one more advanced than the other.

Barbara's life became a series of medical tests, reams of literature to read, and doctors who offered clinical information, but little comfort. She no longer had a husband to help make those all-important decisions regarding treatment, so she turned to her adult children and a few close friends who acted as sounding boards. Our telephone conversations became more frequent than usual. Barbara is a strong person, and finally, she felt ready for the treatment agreed upon. There would be several months of chemo, then a double mastectomy, followed by a series of radiation treatments. It was not a program for sissies.

One morning in March, I called her and near the end of our conversation, I asked her if she'd cried yet. Her answer surprised me.

"No, I haven't cried," she said. "I'm not sad. I'm mad! In fact, I'm furious that this has happened."

I had shed tears more than once. The sadness was mine, not hers. How could I feel otherwise as I watched my good friend prepare to meet the challenge of her life? Not only did she have all the cancer treatments ahead of her, but she still needed to spend time learning more about living with diabetes, which she had to deal with on a daily basis. Maybe I should be angry like Barbara, but love and support were foremost in my mind, and fear became my silent companion.

Barbara started chemo treatments during the chill of early spring. Friends took turns driving her to and from the hospital 100 miles away. She hated depending on others, as she'd always been the one to help anyone in need. "It makes me so mad to have to ask people to do this," she told me over coffee one morning.

She faced the side effects of the chemo with funny remarks that helped put her support group at ease. Her hair fell out, and fatigue moved in. She continued to play bridge every week, showing up with a different wig each time. Her bridge partners graded the wigs and then voted on the very best style for her. The winning wig, ash blond, short, and framing her face, became the one she finally wore every day. She played cards, went out to eat, attended concerts and art showings while her hands shook with tremors, and she was weak with exhaustion. She didn't talk about her anger, but it simmered below the surface all through the chemo. Her clipped words and a hardness in her eyes belied the smile she wore in public. I believe her anger became the driving force to get through the three-fold treatment.

The double mastectomy interrupted summer, but in record time, Barbara took up her active social life once more. Humor served her well in this phase, too, as boob jokes popped into conversations frequently. She didn't verbally express anger, but I think that powerful emotion gave her the energy needed to go through the seven weeks of radiation treatments, the final part of her treatment. She insisted on driving herself to the appointments, remaining the independent widow she'd been for several years. Her hair began to grow back, but she was reluctant to discard her wig. "I look like a porcupine," she said. The wig had become a security blanket of sorts. Finally, one day in late autumn, she tossed it aside and faced the world with the shortest hairstyle she'd ever worn. "Here I am, World. Like it or not!"

When the New Year rolled around, Barbara greeted it cancer-free, had her diabetes under control, and had a smile on her face that showed in her eyes as well. I'd never been a proponent of using rage as a solution to anything. Not until I watched Barbara harness anger into a positive force that surely aided in her healing.

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