By JAN LARSON McLAUGHLIN
BG Independent News
For 40 years, writing has been my refuge.
Journalism has gotten me through the deaths of loved ones, the divorce of unloved ones, the loss of a job, and the first round of cancer.
It’s always been a comfort to focus on subjects bigger than me – City Council and school board meetings, elections and police blotters. But when cancer returned to my body earlier this year, my steadfast ability to write seems to have deserted me.
After being worked on by four surgeons in the past six weeks, I started chemotherapy this week. Along with the reams of medical paperwork, I packed my ever-present reporter’s notebook.
But again my desire to write was nowhere to be found. For four hours, I watched others tucked under warmed blankets, having their personal poison pumped into their bodies to rid them of cancer. I wondered what cancer had robbed from their lives, besides their hair, energy and appetites.
It’s often in the middle of the night, when sleep escapes me, that bits and pieces demand to be written down, as my husband snores softly next to me.
I once again feel betrayed by my body bringing me cancer for a second time. I fear that I will worry the rest of my life about what it’s plotting next.
I am angry that my world has shrunk so, and afraid that I am becoming irrelevant when I have plans to contribute to my community for decades to come.
I am weighed down by guilt that my consistent reporting on my community – daily for 40 years – is now sporadic. My work partner David Dupont is ably picking up my slack, and my dear friend Julie Carle is filling in where I cannot be. It’s put more of a burden on BG Independent News staff John and Elizabeth Roberts-Zibbel, and Dustin Galish.
But I am buoyed by the kindness and generosity of many – the big hearts that keep showing up in my now smaller world. The jars of jam, freshly picked cherry tomatoes, flowers, books, and quilt that arrived on our front porch make me marvel at the goodwill of so many. A friend is knitting hats, and a fellow cancer survivor has made mastectomy shirts for me. My church, First Presbyterian, has kept our family nourished. And friends add further sustenance from Sundae Station.
Most importantly, I continue to be astounded by the strength of my family, who bravely returned to their battle stations in this round of cancer. My husband’s plans for leisurely retirement have been requisitioned for my cancer care – physically, mentally, emotionally. My children are more generous than ever with their calls, texts, visits – not to mention ice cream and chocolates.
I’m grateful for Brit Box, which transports me to places afar, to crimes and classics that offer a reprieve from cancer.
And I’m thankful for the Affordable Care Act, since without that our family would likely be financially devastated.
So as I return to my chemo recliner each week, I will take with me the good in the world … and my notebook, ready for my writing refuge to rejoin me.
