I walked into a wall the other day—literally. It capped a morning filled with frustration and empty of equanimity. The day began at 5:15 AM as I prepared to leave for Boston for my yearly mammogram and visit to my breast cancer oncologist. I had a lumpectomy in 2018 and I get a mammogram and check in with the doctor every year to make sure cancer has not returned. I left by 6 AM for my 8 AM appointment to give me some extra time before my visit to relax and almost immediately ran into heavy traffic on the turnpike. I turned on my GPS and it recommended an alternate route. I remember debating whether to take the exit it suggested but decided to follow it even though it was different that my usual one and was routed through town roads rather than the highway. These roads were also congested. They were also unfamiliar to me and I wasn’t confident that the directions were correct. The longer I drove the worse it seemed to get.

“Calm”, I told myself, “Smile, it’s ok to be late, but as I looked at the estimated arrival time on my phone and it got closer and closer to 8 AM I got more and more agitated. I did not want to miss this appointment which had been very hard to get. More than a year had passed since I had last seen the doctor.  Finally, very stressed I arrived at the hospital at 8:03, got valet parking, and was in such a rush that the valet had to come after me to get the key for the car. In my haste, I forgot to give it to him. When I arrived and my blood pressure was taken it was so high that the doctor took it a second time to ensure it had dropped. In-breath, out-breath: Agitation.

Appointment with the oncologist over I felt relief and walked through the building to go to my next appointment which was for a mammogram. The imaging center for the mammogram was in a different hospital that was a 10-15 minute walk to get there. I had to change floors as well as buildings and go over a few bridges.

I walked meditatively feeling my feet connecting with the floor. I arrived, filled out the paperwork, and when I was done a lovely receptionist sat down next to me and softly whispered that I was two weeks shy of a year to take this test and my insurance wouldn’t pay for it; I’d have to return for another visit. 

 I try to make one visit when I go to the cancer center. I now see two oncologists, one for lymphoma which I’ve been treated for since 1995, and one for breast cancer which was diagnosed and treated in 2018. Now I’d have to return not only to see my other oncologist but for a third time to get the mammogram.

My calm disappeared once again. This was TOO MUCH. We handled the situation, the receptionist and I, she very compassionately telling me she’d squeeze me in after the two-week period and I decided to see if I could change the appointment with my other oncologist so I could do both appointments on the same day. Success, but calm hadn’t yet returned.

I remembered the bridges I needed to cross to get back to my car but at a busy intersection of corridors, I became confused. I kept walking hoping to find my way—mistook the glass wall between corridors for a door and slammed into it nose first.

A person in a white coat behind me witnessed this, came up to me and asked, Are you alright?

Dazed, I said, “Yes, I just have to sit for a bit.” I was not alright.

The wall was very hard and thick. It did not shatter but my composure did. I found a comfortable chair by a window and sat and let myself tear up and not feel OK.

I found a comfortable chair by a window and sat and let myself tear up and not feel OK. “Let it be” I tell others. I am filled with gratitude that I am alive. I survived a stem cell transplant, two recurrences of lymphoma and breast cancer but… I have written two books about maintaining perspective Here for Now: Living Well with Cancer through Mindfulness and Being Well (even when you’re sick). I have been teaching Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction and talking about impermanence --how aging, sickness, loss, and death are part of the human condition—and we are responsible for our actions and their consequences but sometimes past experience is overwhelming and triggers a stress reaction. 

Being human means sometimes we hit a wall and…just need to stop and sit. What the mind knows and the body feels are not always in sync. The traffic, the fact that a colleague of mine suddenly died in the last week and being in the hospital again all accumulated and … it was too much. . .for a while. 

After I sat I continued to walk through the bridges I had previously come through, I stopped at the gift shop and treated myself to a bar of Lady Godiva chocolate, continued on and remembered the healing garden in the hospital, went in, and sat by the orchids until I felt calm enough to drive safely home.

No one likes to admit vulnerability and that includes me. We are all tender and sometimes things are just too much. I often quote Thich Nhat Hahn, a Vietnamese monk and wonderful teacher who contributed greatly to bringing everyday mindfulness into the world. He talks about every moment being a precious moment. In a recent class after I recited this, I was asked, “What happens if it isn’t precious?” 

“That’s a time for compassion and kindness,” I responded. Joan Halifax talks about “strong back, soft front” and it’s useful to remember that everything passes. So, dear friend, I write this blog—let’s give thanks for what we have and be loving to our soft tender spots—and thank each other for walking down the path of life together. Every moment is a precious moment…and it will change.

Join us for the Aging with Wisdom group where we will explore the questions: HOW DO I MEET THE UNWANTED? HOW DO I NURTURE MY VULNERABLE SELF?