#3 What about work?
If you're newly diagnosed and worried about coping at work, drop anchor and give yourself the gift of a little time and space to absorb the shock.
Receiving a cancer diagnosis is something that literally up ends your boat, throwing you and the entire contents of your life into deep water. It's not a gentle rocking, it's not a up & down rough ride, it's worse than something that causes sea sicknesses. It's a wave big enough to cause a complete capsize. At least for awhile.
My maiden name "DellaBarca" can be directly translated to "of the boats" because my Italian family were fishermen by trade. For me, my vocation (or my work) has become synonymous with the image of a boat. Not a big fancy boat, but the hand-carved wooden fishing boats like my grandfather built.
A boat is a symbol of my family's trade and it is my way of visualizing my efforts, my investment into the world, my pursuit of purpose. Work is not my identity, but it certainly provides me with a vessel to contribute to something greater than myself. I'm fairly altruistic at heart and prefer to "work" for outward impact than for in-coming funds (this lofty intent was more achievable in my days before children, when we weren't paying every sports fee under the sun). Purpose and impact are what motivate me and have helped shape the vessels/vocations I've sailed in so far.
My Diagnosis Day occurs on a Friday afternoon and, it just so happened, that on the Saturday, I was booked in to facilitate a full day communications workshop with a gorgeous team of Pacific women and men, who do some incredible work in their community. On Thursday, the day before Diagnosis Day, I had done all the prep for the workshop - 22 sets of worksheets printed, coloured pens, post-it notes packed, powerpoint presentation ready...Me and my boat are all set to go sailing. There is great work to be done! Little did I know I was sailing into a storm.
And then I was in the water; capsized; floundering. Without a life jacket.
So you know what I do? I willfully deny the news (tuck it down, bury, blur, ignore), so that early Sat morning, less than 12 hours after receiving the shocking notice of my mortal nature, I drive out of my driveway and off to serve a mission greater than myself. What about work? Well, what about it? Life goes on, right? The world keeps spinning... and I am a very proficient swimmer.
Not true. My brain is starved of oxygen. My body feels the weight of the water all around me. My spirit is literally drowning in despair.
And I put on my lipstick and carry right on pretending.
The feedback forms from that day would tell anyone else that I did a great job. It was an engaging workshop. The content, commentary and connection was fantastic. More than passable. Good. Maybe even inspiring.
But, I felt like I was in a bubble the whole day; separated from everyone in that room by a wall of pain and confusion that they had no idea existed. I felt like was there, but not there; a stand-in was having conversations on my behalf, filling in for me; me but not really me. My brain seemed to work at a snails pace, sluggishly processing questions and hesitantly responding with answers. Barely following but not leading. I was in shock. Confused. Capsized.
My inner being just wanted them to know, to apologize: "sorry I'm so useless, that I'm not on form today - but I've got an excuse - really - a good one - I've just been told I have an incurable cancer and I have three young kids who I might not get to raise to adulthood!" Except they suspect nothing as I maintain a professional poise.
There is something to be said for autopilot - we are incredible at doggy paddling for awhile. Keep. That. Head. Above. Water. Just. A. Little. Longer.
You know what? I could have not gone to work that day. The world, their world, my world did not need me there. They would have completely understood. If they had actually known that was going on, they would have kicked me out the door (with a hug).
No, my being there was more about me feeling the weight of responsibility... ...for their learning?
Deeper than that...responsibility for our income...
Probably deeper than that...responsibility for my kids life...
Getting towards the bottom of it ....responsibility for my survival...
Just a bit deeper still... the responsibility to not let anyone else down/drown with me!
There, that's it. I'm carrying the responsibility of my own impending mortality and its' impact on everyone around me and I need to stay in control of something just a little longer. I CAN keep my head above water - just you watch me!
Alone, on my drive home, with no more busyness to ignore my predicament, I finally sink. On my way down, I realised I'm not doing a service to anyone; the C word is going to undo me, like it or not, and there will be a lot of snot and tears in coming days and weeks.
So, after telling my kids, and after talking to God, I had that brave conversation with my colleague; I told her that I needed some time to get my head around my diagnosis and she helped me clear my calendar. And it was the most freeing thing I could have done for myself. Acknowledging, not only my boat, but my whole world had been turned upside down and I now needed time to reorient and find my bearings. That's not weakness, that's a strength that comes with honesty.
Courage, Love and Legacy
CLL is cancer. Cancer is cancer. A chronic, terminal or curable diagnosis is still a diagnosis. And a diagnosis will rock our worlds in a seismic shift kinda way.
That took awhile to sink in for me. Probably right through the first week after diagnosis I was still on auto-pilot; managing, controlling, maintaining; keeping everything and everyone else around me buoyant. But that was unsustainable.
"Courage is not an absence of fear, but stepping forward despite the fear" (Kris Vallotton). Of course it can be scary to put your hand up and honestly say, "I'm sinking. I know I have responsibilities, but I also need some time out." But I encourage you to do it anyway.
Because people actually appreciate it when you do. Suddenly you've empowered them to have a role to play. They can help. They can shout out "man over board" and throw out a lifeline. My colleague couldn't believe I went to work that Saturday; was kindly incredulous that I hadn't called her and tagged out. People are so willing to step up and step in when we need them.
If we have the courage to ask.
If you're newly diagnosed and worried about work, drop anchor and give yourself the gift of a little time and space to absorb the shock, before trying to head out in the boat again.