The first time I went to The Wellness Community (a free resource center for cancer survivors, their friends, and family, in my area), I didn’t want to go. (I now thank my mother for encouraging me to attend it, in spite of my reluctance!!!) I was reluctant to go, because I felt that attending it would be too exhausting for me, and because I thought hearing other people’s stories might depress me.  During the “new cancer diagnosis” meeting, I concluded that my doubts had been confirmed:  Meeting other people like me, newly diagnosed—people whose lives, it seemed, were being torn away from them, ripped apart, by cancer—saddened me.  Then, upon hearing my own story, which I shared with the group, I became more aware of how severe my cancer was, and grew more certain that I was going to die of this deadly disease, growing even more sad.  My fever had increased, now so much so, that I had beads of sweat trickling down my body and visible wet pockets of sweat on my shirt.  (“Did anybody notice?” I wondered.) I needed to take a break, and so I did: I hobbled slowly to the bathroom, and back, for a drink of water to cool me. (A nice stranger assisted me.) When I returned to the meeting, and had cooled down, I realized that the experience wasn’t actually so bad, for I had also listened to stories of growth and renewal from those for whom lymphoma was news of the past.  These were stories of hope and healing, of strength and courage—stories that could fill me with amazement and wonder, stories that could inspire me, if I only chose to let them.  Indeed, I found it hard to believe—it seemed impossible, actually—that these joyful, exuberant, vibrant, strong people had been in my (and the others’) shoes, once upon a time.

After the meeting, a woman named “Christine Esprabens” introduced herself to me.  She was one of the joyful, vibrant, strong ones—and before I knew it, she had become my friend and taken me under her wing.  Little did I know, that in meeting her, I had met someone very special: I had met someone who was going to impact my life in the very best way, someone with whom I would be spending the next weeks, months (and now, years!) of my life, someone who was going to become my dear friend.

When I first met Christine, she showed me a photo of her from when she had undergone cancer treatment.   I could hardly believe that it was the same woman!   In sharing her photo and her story with me, Christine taught me that, in her, lay a great divide, a grand canyon, between the woman of today and yesterday—the transformative experience being the cancer experience, itself.   What the cancer experience had taught Christine made her life all the better! Christine became a beacon of light, of hope, for me.  I thought, “Wow, if she could do it, maybe I could, too!”

In the weeks that followed, Christine suggested that I attend the gentle Hatha Yoga class, taught by Joyce Gauss, at The Wellness Community. It was a class that she had attended while she had been undergoing cancer treatment—a class that had helped her. I thought I might not have the energy to take such a class, but Christine assured me that if I got tired, it would be no problem.  She told me that I could simply lie down on my mat, and no one would mind. With such wonderful encouragement, I decided to give it a try.  

Now, I present you with what I wrote in my journal (which I have edited) about my first yoga class—the yoga class taught by Joyce Gauss, which Christine recommended to me—at The Wellness Community:

 My Body is My Temple     

 One Life Lesson (of Many!) that I Learned at The Wellness Community

The human body is amazing.  I recently did light Hatha Yoga at The Wellness Community and it was an amazing experience, watching the body heal and feel. The words that came to mind were: “My Body Is My Temple.”

I went to Light Hatha Yoga—something I had never done before—at The Wellness Community (the name for the wonderful, nonprofit, community cancer center in my area) with my dear mother.   I looked around the classroom for cancer patients and could find none. I was the only one without any hair.   Everyone else had hair and looked renewed and fit and happy and energetic, whereas I was feeling totally run down—so run down that all I wanted to do was lie down—so run down that even talking proved be a massive drain on my body.

The Light Hatha Yoga classroom was a beautiful turreted, high-ceiling room on the Pacific Ocean with lots of windows and light.   (Stepping outside the building, one could see the ocean, and sailboats with colorful sails—pink of all colors!)  We had pretty purple mats—and mine with a green, couch pillow tossed upon it.

In the classroom, there was a tan and trim, though muscular, old man—perhaps 80 or 90 years old—wearing a marathon tee-shirt. There was a little boy—around age 11—with a huge smile. There was a beautiful woman with short brown hair and her 88-year-old mother.  There was a beautiful teenage girl with shoulder-length hair.  They were all here to do light Hatha Yoga!

At the beginning of the class, I could feel tears welling up inside of me, as a wave of self-pity came over me.  I was clearly the only one without hair—hence, the only one undergoing chemotherapy treatment—or so I concluded. 

Were the other cancer patients too exhausted to come? Did this mean I’m crazy or courageous for being here? Why was I the sole cancer patient in this class—a class for cancer patients!  “Where are the cancer patients?!” I asked myself. “Why am I the only one?!”

I immediately discovered that the pace of the class was too fast for me. I was steps behind and not doing all—maybe not even a third—of the steps, because I felt unable to.

Thinking about the 88-year-old woman and the 90-year-old man, I began to drown in self-pity again: “Why is it that THEY can do this, but I can’t?  Why am I the only cancer patient here? Why am I the only person undergoing treatment here?  Why do they get to live to 100 cancer free and not me?!”

Steps behind, and surrounded by exuberant 80 and 90-year-olds who could do the moves I couldn’t, I felt the tears welling up inside of me again. 

Then, I started thinking about my thoughts.  Realizing that I was drowning in a pool of self-pity, I started to visualize myself letting go of it: Following the guidance given to me in a cancer tape that I had listened to days before, I imagined a seagull flying over the ocean, dropping a big seed (the size of a walnut shell) into it.  I imagined the seed being dropped by the bird, falling through the air, splashing into the ocean, and then sinking down to the ocean floor, where it would never be seen again[1]. This visualization made me feel a little better. 

But then, something in me shifted, as we did some other yoga moves—moves that I could follow. There was this one, incredible move that felt amazing!  I lay with my shins resting on the ground, knees full bent, my forehead balanced on the ground in front of my knees, and my arms resting beside me.  As I lay in this pose, I felt like a holy person of prayer.  I felt like one of the yogis or the spiritual people of India. And I felt my spirit, my energy, my connectedness. This was a position of comfort beyond measure! As the instructor moved on to the next move, I stayed here, in this form, because it felt so incredibly good. There was a humming of sorts in my body. It just felt so right.

Then, when I continued on to the next move, I felt even MORE of a hum, and even better. In fact, I could FEEL the energy between—and in—my hands as I raised my arms up over my head. Each time I did it—raising my arms up over my head—where my hands would meet, I could feel this amazing tingle of energy.

For me THIS WAS HUGE! I concluded: “This was, and is, a tremendous sign of healing!!! I am healing!!!!!!! And with this sensation, I am reminded that Energy is REAL.  I know it’s real because I can feel it. And if it’s real, there is no reason to fear death and there is every reason to jump into life and to do more breathing and to do more Light Hatha Yoga!  The energy is real! I can feel it. I am healing! Rejoice!”

After the session ended, I heard a woman—the one who had brought her own mother with her—approach the instructor, saying something to the effect of: “It is so great to see you again!  I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve come back to visit you. Thank you so much for your classes. They did me so much good. It’s great to be back again after so much time has passed.  That time, when I saw you last, was such a long and arduous journey. Thankfully, it’s over and is part of the distant past!!!!!!”

It was as if she were remembering the pain of her cancer experience and the days she came to the yoga classes while undergoing chemotherapy.  It seemed clear to me that her cancer experience was the darkest time of her life. It also seemed clear to me that her mother, and perhaps the lessons from this class, had lifted her out of the darkness and that she had since fully recovered and had returned to the class as a tribute, a paying of dues, a thank you to the teacher. It seemed that returning to this class, although bringing back memories from this painful period of her life, made her appreciate having the cancer gone and her life back.  

I knew, then, that contrary to my imaginings, I had been surrounded by cancer survivors and caretakers without even knowing it!

I then imagined myself coming back to this yoga class with my mother and what it would feel like once my current situation becomes a distant memory.  “I CAN’T WAIT for it to happen! I CAN’T WAIT for this to become a distant memory!!!  I simply CAN’T WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

When this present reality of fighting cancer (or chemo side effects—if the cancer is gone) has become a distant memory, I will take my mother with me to thank this yoga instructor. I will have my hair back and my radiance will shine even brighter than it ever did before and my mother will be vigorous and unburdened, and we will continue to be full of love for each other and gratitude for life.  It may be next spring or this December or two or six or ten years from now. But we will return to give our thanks.

I give thanks to mothers.

I give thanks to LOVE and LIFE and HEALING.

I give thanks to BREATH, which, like LOVE, is the life force.

And …

I give thanks to The Wellness Community.

Without The Wellness Community, I would never have met so many amazing people, nor would I have learned about the transformative, restorative, and healing effects of yoga on both the mind and body. I have been doing yoga everyday now (on some days, all I do is “child’s pose,” an entirely relaxing pose!) since my first yoga class at Wellness. The practice of yoga has transformed my life in the very best way in that it has cleared my mind of cluttered thoughts (I can focus on what is important—well, most of the time), cleared my body of negative emotion (I am fearless—well, almost), and made my body strong (in some ways, much stronger than it ever was, even before cancer).