Seven Days to Dance

1

Breathe, just breathe.  That’s what I keep telling myself.  My throat feels constricted, I feel like my vision keeps narrowing.  The fluorescent lights seem to be burning my skin.  I can hear their buzz in the middle of my head.  I keep trying to will the pain and fear away.  Please stop this dream!  It’s like I’m watching outside myself.  I see a young woman sitting in a chair in a small doctor’s office with her hands over her eyes.  There is a doctor sitting across from her wringing his hands as if he doesn’t know what to say.  This can’t be happening to me.  The weight of the world has landed solely on my shoulders.  It is crushing me.  My fear is so heavy I can’t hold it up.   Who can I tell?  Who is going to care?  I am literally alone in this world.  My parents have both passed away.  I am an only child of two only children.  I have acquaintances but in the year that I have been here I haven’t really tried to get any close friends, I’ve been working too hard for that.  Breathe, catch my breath, oh my God, if I close my eyes hard enough they will stop my tears from coming.  I want to scream.  They are wrong.  They have the wrong person.  Just STOP, stop lying to me.  This can’t be real.  Is this your idea of a bad Joke?  No matter how hard I squeeze, my eyes start leaking.  I let go, I cannot fight it anymore.  I sob, I hold my breath.  I can’t catch my breath.  The walls of this small room are closing in on me.   “Why, out of all the people in the world, do I have cancer?”

“Sara, Sara come back to me here, you are going to be alright.  Settle down now, let’s talk about this.  Is there someone I can call for you?”

I hear myself say, “There is no one.”

I think I said it out loud.  I don’t know.  None of this is real.  It’s all a dream.   I have been really tired lately and must have fallen asleep during a movie and am dreaming about it now.  I hear someone from the movie talking.  They keep saying my name.  Who are they talking too?

“Sara, come on now let’s talk about this, everything is going to be ok.”

What in the hell is he talking about.  I’ve got Frickin cancer.  I’m under water; I can’t hear what he’s saying.  I’m swimming but can’t get to surface.  Breathe, I can’t catch my breath.  I am going to drown in my own tears. I sob, it hurts so badly. Why?  WHY? God dammit, WHY ME!  It hurts so bad I hold my breath.  I feel like I’m going to puke.  My body says, “You need to breathe,” I gasp in between sobs.  I feel warmth surround me.

“Sara, it’s me, Dr. Franklin.  Everything is going to be ok.  Just calm down.”

I have never felt this kind of sadness before.  I have never felt this kind of fear before.  It is like the world has stripped away all of its filters, all of its buffers.  It is pure sadness, pure pain.  I just want it to stop.  I want to be the person I was five minutes ago, naïve to such intimate feelings of life and death, fear, sadness, desperation and pain.  For the sake of God I’m only 28 years old.  Give me a break.  Dammit, this sucks.  I’m done being sad.  I’m pissed.  Who the hell does this guy think he is?  He probably has an online degree.  He doesn’t fricking know what he is talking about.  Son of a Bitch, he’s a bastard for telling me this kind of crap.  I am twenty-eight years old.  Cancer is what old people get.  I am visibly shaking now.  I can’t believe the audacity of this guy.  The buzz of the lights is so intense now that I feel it vibrating behind my eyes.

“Sara, settle down now, it’s going to be ok, talk to me, let’s work this out.

I finally look up from the palms of my hands and see the concern and kindness in his eyes and instinctively know that he is telling me the truth.  “How do you know its cancer? What Kind is it?  When am I going to die?”

“Slow down, we have a lot to talk about Sara.  Just take a minute and get yourself settled down.  Then I will answer your questions.”

I settle myself and make eye contact with him.  “So what is it?”

I can see he is visibly distraught.  He doesn’t want to talk about it about as much as I don’t want to hear it, but he does and he starts from the beginning.

“Ok Sara, if you remember about two months ago you came in to see me because you were having recurring pain in your left ankle, you assumed it was and old injury that just never healed correctly.  You are a ballet dancer in New York City so this is not an uncommon occurrence for someone of your talent and determined work ethic.  Over the last several months we have done the usual treatments for a chronic injury such as what we thought you had.  Nothing has been working so I ordered a CT scan of your ankle to see what the actual problem was.  We Did the CT last Tuesday.  I realize now that I probably should have started our conversation out with this history but I felt that you needed to know where all of this was heading.  I know that there is no way to prepare yourself for what you found out today.  I am sorry for being so blunt in the beginning.  From now on I think you will find that when you start to talk about life and death you don’t want it sugar coated and you definitely don’t want someone who will beat around the bush. The results of the CT showed nothing as far as an injury to the ankle area but the radiologist said that there was a moderate sized nodule in the ankle that is the most likely cause of the pain that you are experiencing.  He said that the only way to know for sure what it is, is to biopsy the nodule.  Last Thursday you had the biopsy.  I received the biopsy results yesterday.  Your diagnosis is Synovial Sarcoma.  The nodules usually start small and increase rapidly in size, which is why your pain seems to be increasing.  I know you have a million questions going on in your head, but frankly this is way out of my league.  I made you an appointment with an oncologist on Friday, which is tomorrow, and sent all of your results.”

“Am I going to die?”

“I don’t know Sara, I know that Synovial Sarcoma is fairly rare but it affects younger people usually before they turn thirty.  I am a general practitioner not an oncologist.  I know you have so many questions and I have so few answers.  I am truly sorry that you have to go through this.  I feel like I am kicking you out the door but where you need to be is at the cancer center.”

He gave me a quick hug and headed out the door.

He peeked back in and said, “Don’t forget to stop by the nurse and get your appointment for tomorrow.”

I will remember Thursday, June sixth for the rest of my life, whatever that means now.  At least it’s warm outside.  I walk out to the sidewalk and just start walking.  I don’t see or hear the traffic on the street.  The honking horns are like gnats that are buzzing around my head.  They are there but I don’t pay any attention to them.  There are so many people that it feels like I’m floating down a river and the water keeps brushing up against me.  Moving me in the direction it is going, funneling me down the tunnels that the tall buildings make.  I just let the current take me.  I just flow down the river not conscious of the rocks and boulders that gently push me back and forth.  I want to just blend in.  I want to be normal again.  Just be an average Jane doing average things.  What’s a person with cancer supposed to be doing anyway.  At first I keep my head down.  Lost in thoughts of why.  Wondering if everyone passing me by can see that I’m floundering, wondering if they can see my fear, if they can see my pain.  Do they feel sorry for me?  Do they even care?  Who am I but a Ballet dancer in New York City?  Sure my names in lights sometimes.  I am pretty good.  I’m not great by any means, better than average, but just a simple woman who had a dream and was willing to pay the price to realize it.  The newspaper guy likes to call me Indiana.  Partly because I came from Indiana, not generally a mecca for ballet dancers but I had a good teacher, she set me up pretty good so I could get into Julliard.  I worked hard, and stayed out of trouble.  Dancing is my life, all of it.  That’s all I do.  I practice, I perform, I eat, and I sleep, every day I dance.  And now I’m a ballet dancer with cancer.  What in the hell does that even mean?  I don’t know.  The other reason for calling me Indiana is my last name is Jones.  He thinks it is funny running around calling me Indiana Jones.  I don’t really like it.  To me it is like he made up a nice little porno name for the poor little girl who came to New York City to make a name for herself.  It really kind of pissed me off and made me work harder so one day I could rub it in his face.  It is starting to get dark.  I don’t even know where I am.  I have just been walking, lost in thoughts about my life, cancer, and my future.

I decide to look up and see where I am.  The city noise is deafening.  It’s like a blast wave that I have been ignoring for the last hour.  I smell the stench of civilization as it assaults my senses.  I see people everywhere and I am struck with the first thought that is not solely about me.  If I can be in so much pain, and have so much fear in me.  What are all of these people feeling?  It’s like a light switch went on in my brain, I am not the only person on the earth with problems.  It makes me wonder how long I have had my head in the sand.  I have been so determined to be the best that I can be that I have never looked up and seen what is out there.  I have never looked into someone else’s soul to see their pain.  I have never loved and lost anything.  Now I could die.  For the next hour I just walk and look into every soul that passes me.  Trying to figure out what are they feeling.  What are they sad about?  What are they happy about?  The river that I am in now is colored red.  I see eyes fill with anger, some with indifference.  I see eyes darting back and forth in fear.  Women holding purses close and men feinting courage that they do not possess.  I see the love of a mother for her child as she tries to keep him moving in the river.  I have been so selfish with my life.  Now I have cancer.  How much time do I have left?  I just want to cry.  Have I wasted my life?  I thought I was winning.  Maybe I have been losing the whole time and was just too stupid to know it.  I just want to go home.  I just want to go home and go to sleep.  I want to wake up and find that this has all been a very bad dream.  I am a dancer at the height of my career.  I am winning.  I hail a cab and head home.

I walk into my studio apartment and everything looks so different.  My ballet shoes hanging on the hook just seem like a distant memory of a better time.  I pass a mirror and see the reflection of someone who I once knew.  The silence that was always my comfort is now deafening.  I go to my small kitchen out of habit and open the refrigerator.  I haven’t eaten all day and should be hungry.  The emptiness that I feel is not in my stomach, but in my heart.  The leftover take out from last night doesn’t look appetizing at all.  I need to nourish my soul, but I can’t find anything to feed it.  I am lost in the surrounding of my own making.  What should feel like home and bring comfort only adds to the anxiety of what my life will be like tomorrow, or next year.  I feel like a shell that has everything that mattered ripped out.  I rush to get my clothes off and into my pajamas.  I just want to lie down, I just want to sleep.  I nestle into my bed and close my eyes hoping that when I wake up the cloudiness in my head will be gone.  Hoping that the sun will be shining and life will be back to normal.

I sleep a little bit and then wake up with a rush.  The quiet of the darkness is killing me.  I have so many questions with no answers. It seems like life is slipping away with no sound.  I am in a tunnel that goes nowhere.  A vacuum is sucking out all of the air.  I am gasping.  The air conditioning must be broke because I am drenched in sweat.  I tear off my pajamas because I can feel them burning my skin.  I run to the bathroom and splash water on my face to try to cool off.  Nothing I do has any effect.  I have a fever and no medicine will bring it down.  For the first time in my life I don’t see my future.  I see all the regrets of my past.  I see anger.  I see frustration.  I see despair.  I see my life balancing on the edge of a cliff that I can’t see the bottom.  I am panicking.  Just breathe, let the air in, and blow it out.  I can’t take it anymore.  I start to sob.  I try to hold it in but I can’t.  I won’t be this weak!  Just hold it in and it will go away.  I sob again.  I can’t hold it.  I let it go and cry.  I cry because I’m scared.  I cry because I’m angry.  I cry because I don’t know what else to do.  My heart is breaking for the life that I should have.  I cry until I have no more tears.  I am left numb.  A weakness that I have never felt comes over me.  For the first time in my life I feel that there is no hope.  No plan for my life.  No purpose.  I slowly fall asleep with nothing but a blanket filled with sorrow wrapped around me.

2

“Hi Sara, my name is Dr. Murphy, I am the one that Dr. Franklin referred you to.”

I have been sitting in this little room for thirty minutes.  If I hadn’t been looking at the clock every two minutes I would believe that I have been here for days.  Time has slowed down to a crawl.  I woke up at five-thirty and could not go back to sleep.  They sun is shining but that doesn’t seem to brighten the cloud that seems to have settled over my soul.  I showered but could not scrub hard enough to get the stink of a diagnosis of cancer off of my conscience.  I tried to eat some toast but just could not choke down my anxiety of what I would find out today.  I am on the edge of my seat and my patients have grown weary.  I need a plan.

“Ok Sara, I believe Dr. Franklin told you about the biopsy result and that the finding was synovial sarcoma.  After reading Dr. Franklin’s notes I see that he really didn’t know much about this and referred you directly to me.  So let’s start from the beginning and what synovial sarcoma actually is.  It is a soft tissue sarcoma that generally affects younger people, usually before they turn thirty.  It is relatively rare and survival rates have improved in the past 20 years.  Survival rates are also affected by where the tumor is located.  Yours is in your lower leg/ ankle areas.  This is a good thing as it is away from any organs.  Do you have any questions so far?”

I feel like I’m watching this conversation from the outside.  I feel detached from reality and don’t really understand a word he is saying.  I must have missed that day in school where they taught you everything you needed to know about cancer.  All I hear is gibberish.  I can’t really focus on what he is saying.

I just nod my head and say, “no, but what can we do about it?”

I really don’t care that much about what it is.  I want to know how to get it out of my body.  I keep having the sensation that something really nasty is slithering around in my leg.  I just want it out.  I want it gone.  I keep picturing a huge leech slithering around eating me from the inside out.  The dull ache that I have in my foot just seems to pulse with each bite that it takes.

“What are my options?”

“Most generally the first option is surgery to remove the tumor with a wide enough margin around it to insure that they removed it all and any lymph nodes that it might have affected.  There are mixed feeling on the effectiveness of chemotherapy on a tumor like this and it is generally not done at this stage but can be used if a metastases is found at a later time.  Radiation can be used either before or after surgery to either shrink the tumor itself or kill anything that is left behind after.  Most generally we can surgically remove the tumor and do nothing else.  There is a chance that it will metastasize at some point but it usually takes a while for this to happen.  On average you will have a good six to seven years before that becomes a worry.  You will have a checkup every six months to make sure that it has not come back.    My recommendation is for you to have surgery as soon as possible.  Do you have any questions about treatment?”

It feels like a whirlwind has blown up in my brain.  All I really heard was surgery.  Six or seven years, then what?  What in the hell is a metastases whatever?

I can’t seem to focus my thoughts so I say, “What is the surgery like?”

“For the most part I have been giving you good news, now comes the bad.  I had our surgeon take a look at your scans and give us his opinion of what would need to happen in your case.  His feeling is that with the size and placement of your tumor his options are somewhat limited.  He doesn’t feel that he can create a sizeable enough margin around it to feel reasonable comfortable with just taking it out.  His recommendation is that you have a transtibial amputation, meaning removal of your left leg below the knee.  I know this is a shock for you and has to be traumatic, but this is something we have to talk about and get going on so that we can get you out of the woods, so to speak, for the risk of metastases.  Most of the time it moves to the lungs and we would like to keep that from happening.”

I feel like I have been kicked in the gut.  I feel the bile start coming up my throat.  I feel as if I’m going to puke.  I haven’t heard a word he has said after the word amputation.  The whirlwind erupts into a fury and all I hear is the blood rushing through my ears.  My heartbeat is pounding in my temples; my head is about ready to explode.   Fear races through me.  I reflexively look down at my leg and try to imagine it being gone.  I see days of a bloody stump flashing through my conscience.  What in the hell is going on?  My tears start to well up again.  Why?  My sadness is wrenching my gut into a thousand knots as I try to comprehend my life with one leg.  Waves of nausea beat me down on my knees.  My head feels lite and the world swerves sideways, light is dancing off of the back of my eyeballs but cannot focus.  I come to the realization that my life as I know it is gone.

“Sara I know this is a lot to take in at one time.  Do you have any questions right now?”

I try to pull myself together.  I try to put two thoughts in order to try to answer him.  I finally find my voice and ask, “what if I do nothing?”

“Well Sara if you really want to live awhile longer that is not an option.  If you do nothing then the cancer will grow and more than likely get into you lymph system.  Once it gets in that system then it can go anywhere in the body.  Like I was saying before most of the time it goes to the lungs.  Once it is there and you go on untreated it won’t take long for it to take over.  I know this is not ideal for you but it really is your only option.  I have tentatively scheduled you for surgery on Monday the sixteenth.  That’s in ten days.”

I don’t know what to say or do.  I just slowly nod my head.

“Is that a conformation that you want to go ahead with the surgery?”

I get out a weak, “yes” as I fight back the intense need to throw up while trying not to cry.

“Ok, my office will be in contact with you about the particulars of the surgery.  Sara, I know this is hard.  Take the next ten days and try to understand why this may not be what you want, but in the long run it is what you need to keep on going.  Someday, something is going to happen that you will be very thankful for and you will realize that if you wouldn’t have had this surgery it never would have happened.  Your life is not worth keeping your leg.  Someday you will understand that this is a small sacrifice compared to the greatness of the things that lie ahead. Get some rest I will see you in ten days.”

He is gone.  I just sit there in the chair.  I don’t know what to do.  I have no agenda now.  I don’t know where I’m going literally and figuratively.  I have never, not had a direction to go, never, not had a place I needed or wanted to be.  Life feels blurry.  I can’t see past my nose and it is scaring the hell out of me.  My training takes over and I know that I must keep moving.  Usually that meant moving forward.  I’m not so sure how that will happen now, so I just take comfort in the motion.  I am doing something besides trying to comprehend what my life is now, who I am now.  What I am now.  I need to get away from this room.  I need to get away from this hospital.  Maybe if I move fast enough I can run away from all that has happened in the last two days.  I get outside moving at a fast walk.  I can’t or won’t stop my momentum and just have to run.   Down the street, to the next block, three blocks.  I can’t stop, if I slow down the reality of my life will catch up to me and I will drown in sorrow.  I come to a park.  It is pretty much deserted.  I run faster.  I sprint as fast as I can.  My lungs feel like they are going to burst, I have to stop.  I slow down and try to catch my breath but I can’t.  I sit down on a bench.  The sorrow catches up and I start to sob.  I let loose with everything that I have been holding in for the last few hours.  My shoulders heave up and down.  I have to get this pain out.  I have to let this fear drain away so that I can function.  I am blinded by everything that I don’t know about what my life was and is now.  My stomach contracts and I let out a moan.  It gets tighter and tighter.  It spasms in between heavy sobs and I grab my stomach and hunch over.  This is tearing me up from the inside out.  I can’t get any relief.  I let out another moan as I feel like I am going to be ripped in half.  This has to stop.  I have to get control.   I have to find something that makes senses in all of this madness.  The pain starts to subside and I begin to gain control.  I begin to feel the emptiness that this eruption of emotion has taken out of me.  The numbness returns.  The cloudiness in my brain returns.  I sit there blindly staring at nothing.  Not thinking of anything.  I am not living, not dead, just sitting on a bench in a park, existing.

3

“Hello there young lady, how are you today.”

I look up and am surprised to see an older man sitting next to me.  I never even heard him sit down.  After looking closer calling him older was an understatement.  He was pretty short but it was hard to tell because he was so hunched over.  There were so many wrinkle lines on his face it was like a road map of New York City.  I am so startled that I don’t know what so say.  My mind is not functioning yet and I am lost in thought about nothing.  He is dressed in nice clothes with a nice old man hat pulled down close.  Instinctively I could feel the kindness and calmness radiate from him.

“I’m sorry, what did you say,” I ask.

He smiles kindly as says, “How are you doing today?”

My brain is still fuzzy and I don’t really think about what I am saying and reply, “I don’t know.”

I don’t usually put my life or my emotion out there for people to see.  My usual response would be, “I’m doing fine.”  It wouldn’t matter what was going on, good or bad, that is what I would say.  I feel really vulnerable.  I feel like I’ve opened a gate that I cannot close now.  I just hope he doesn’t ask any more questions and moves on.  I must look horrendous. I’m sure he can see right through me.  I just let loose with a torrent of pent up emotion. I’m sure my eyes are a mess.

“Well if you ask me it is a beautiful day.” He says.  “Look around, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping.  I’m alive, that is all that really matters.”

I’ve been holed up inside my head for most of the day so far.  Not looking around, or at least not seeing what is around me.  He is right; it is a beautiful day out.  It is fairly cool for a June morning.  The heat hasn’t set in yet.  I feel the stickiness of my tears on my cheeks and feel like he is waiting for an explanation.  I don’t really have one.  I feel empty.  I really have nothing to say.  I am tired of contemplating my options; I’m tired of trying to figure out my life.  I am just tired.  What options do I have?  The options that I want are not on the table.  The options that I need are unimaginable.  I am so confused.  The more I think about it the sadder I become.  I just want to stop thinking about it and just walk away like it never happened.  The bad hair day seems so trivial now.  A blister on my foot seems like a minor inconvenience.  I feel a single tear leak out and roll down my cheek.  I am so tired of being sad.  The world seems so heavy.  I feel like I’m sagging, being pushed into the ground.  I am too tired to fight it, I just want to let go and let it crush me.  I close my eyes to surrender my will and then feel warmth on my hand.  It delays my fall for a fraction of a second, a pause in my decent into madness.  I start to fall again, and feel a squeeze.  It is warm; it is calling to me to come back.  The warmth is welcoming.  The pressure feels like it is wrapping around my soul and calling me back.  I just want to hold onto it.  I want to let it take all of the pain away.  I want it to wash this sadness from me and hold my soul tight until there is nothing left.  I am called to it, I feel myself leaning toward it.  I just want to fall in the pool and let it fill me with the light of its warmth.  I let the warmth hold me.  With each tear that leaks out the warmth takes its place.  I don’t move for a long time, I just stay in the warmth, let it refresh my heart, let my soul be filled.  My pain drains away and I am left with feelings of contentment.  Content to stay in this warmth and never leave it.

I slowly start to open my eyes and have the sensation of something rubbing my back.  It must be a tree branch swaying in the wind as I sit here in the sun.  I open my eyes a little further and see a knurled branch that seems to have become tangled up in my hand.  It is squeezing so gently.  I feel the warmth on my side.  It seems to be breathing with every wisp of the wind.  I open my eyes a little more and see a nice pair of shoe sitting in front of me.  They are attached to a small pair of legs.  Oh my god, the old man.  I take a deep breath and begin to sit up, embarrassment flooding my senses.  What have I done?  I sit up and cannot make eye contact with him.  How could I be this weak?

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear him say. “Sadness is a bitter pill to swallow if we let it hold our hands and our heart in chains only our mind can break.  Hold fast my young friend, for we cannot break the bonds of fear by running away from it, I can only imagine what has happened in your life, but this I know to be true.  Stand up my dear friend and face the wind that is blowing against you.  You will find that you are much stronger than you ever thought you were.”

I look up at him slowly and look into his eyes and see a kindness so strong the only way I can describe it is love.  Love for everyone and everything in the world.  I feel a gentle squeeze on my hand and realize that he is still holding it.

My instinct says to pull away, but before I can he squeezes a little bit harder and says. “You are not alone on your journey.  When your strength is waning someone will be along to carry your burden for a while.  It has been my pleasure to shoulder it for a while today.”

I have been content in my loneliness for so long I did not realize how much I missed this feeling.  I am engulfed with emotions that I haven’t felt in a long time.  Tears well up again only this time it is not sadness.  I am full of emotion because this man, this stranger has done one thing that I cannot do myself.  He cared, and I am grateful.

“My dear”, he said, “I am an old man and so I must be moving on or I’m afraid that I may not be able to get up and just be planted here.  I do want to give you a piece of advice in parting though.  Sometimes in life we need to take a pause.  We need to look at our life and see where we are going and where we have been.  We need to see what was important and what is important now.  We need to take a step back from life and for a brief moment see who we really are.  My advice is to take a journey.  It may just be down the street or around the world, but take it.  Find yourself in whatever is around you.  Find your happiness.  Finding it is up to you, but don’t be afraid to get help along the way.  You never know, someone might be on their own journey and it might be your turn to help them.  Let down your walls and find your hope.  Find your dreams where you never thought they might be hiding.  Life is not always what we want it to be.  But life is life, and it is not forever.  Make the most of it.”

He slowly gets up and pulls me up with him.  He gives me the best hug I have had in a long time.  It has so much caring wrapped up in it.  I feel that his love has enveloped me.  My tension is drained away, my fear is gone.  I still feel a tinge of sadness, but it is not for me.  It is that he is walking away and I am eternally grateful for his kindness.

4

I mosey around the park for a while.  I have never been here before.  For the moment, my mind is clear and I am seeing clearly.  It seems that hope has a way of opening our eyes to the vibrancy that life has to offer.  I hear the birds.  I see the most beautiful colors on the flowers, butterflies softly flapping their large wings.  I contemplate what I have been missing the last several years; I have been so focused on my dancing.  It makes me hungry to see what is out there.  In this moment of peace I realize that I am really tired.  I have not slept very well for a few days.  I get to the street and hail a cab.

I walk in the door and toss my keys.  I feel guilty that I am putting on my pajamas at three in the afternoon.  That is something I never would have done two days ago.  I would still be at the studio working on this and that, trying to be perfect for my next performance.  I linger as I take off my shirt.  It still smells of my stranger.  In a strange way it gives me comfort that he is still with me.  He is still holding me up when I feel myself falling.  I crawl into bed and slowly fall off to sleep still holding my shirt.  Holding on to the hope that the smell has given me, holding on to the thought that I still have a future, it may not be what I had planned, but it is still something.  Something to look forward too.

5

I slowly come awake.  I feel the warmth of the sun coming through my window.  I still have my shirt from yesterday in my hands, holding it close. I smell it again, I don’t know why but it calms me.  I remember that there is hope.  I remember that there is love in this world.  I lay there for a while thinking about what I should do today.  It’s Saturday.  If it was last Saturday I would have been up hours ago, ate a light breakfast and done some yoga to get things going.  I would already be at the studio putting the finishing touches on my performance for Sunday night.  It’s ten in the morning now.  I have been out for around nineteen hours.  I don’t think I have ever slept that long.  It felt really good though.  I feel refreshed, ready to do something today.  Actually I’m starving.  I haven’t eaten anything since Thursday.  I crawl out of bed and head for the kitchen.  Coffee sounds really good, and it smells even better.  I am trying not to think about cancer.  So far it’s working.  I just want to be happy today.  No pressure, no fear.  I want today to be simple.  Actually, I just want to dance.  I get dressed and grab my things and head to the studio.  I want to feel the air as it moves across my skin.  I want to feel the passion of the music as it penetrates my soul and we become one.  I want to glide across the floor and move with grace and elegance.  I want to be free.  Dancing has always been my place to forget about everything else.  It is where my mind shuts off and I fall into a world with no hurt, no pain, and no sadness.  It is where my passion comes out.  It’s where I feel, it’s where I breathe.  It is where I have been living my life.  This thought stays with me as I go through my dance.  As the music comes to an end I sit down facing the mirror and look at myself.  No, I look into myself.  I find that I have been living my life on this small dance floor for a while now.  I realize that if I walk out of these doors I cease to exist.  If I never left these walls no one would ever know.  I have been living only here.  I leave, but outside I am not living, only existing.  I only know it is raining because I am getting wet.  I have lost so much time hiding on this floor.

I think back to what my old friend said.  “Sometimes in life we need to take a pause.”  “My advice is to take a journey.” There are so many things I had planned on doing after my career was over.  I would never have dreamed that I would have to do them on one leg.  Maybe I need to put my life on pause.  Maybe I need to do somethings right now that I always wanted to do.  I have about fifty thousand in the bank.  If you never do anything besides work it kind of adds up over the years.  Maybe I need to take a journey.  Maybe I need to find the person that I have lost along the way.  Maybe I need to find some passion in my life, not live for my passion.  I don’t know but I do need to do something, I can’t sit around here and think about all of the what if’s and I won’t be able to’s.  I don’t have a performance tomorrow.  It is an off weekend.  Where would I go?  What would I do?  I have always loved to ballet dance but I have never danced in any other way, unless you count the awkwardness of a junior high dance or two.  I really haven’t done anything else.  I have watched other people doing all kinds of dances.  Hip hop, salsa, swing, country and western, they all look fun but I have never done any of them.  What if I could do them all?  Where could I do them all?  Do I have enough time?  Can I just leave? I am getting kind of excited thinking about it.  I haven’t been out of my two square miles in a couple of years.  I need a new beginning.  I need to talk to my producer.  I jump up and head for his office.

6

As I walk down the long hall I am getting kind of nervous.  My producer can be a nasty little man if the conditions are just right.  I know that part of it is that he is under enormous pressure just like the rest of us.  We are paid to perform and he is paid to make sure we perform.  I always try to be prepared, so I have not been on the beating end of the stick really, but, holy cow I have seen him rip some people up one side and down the other.  I’m not sure why I’m really nervous.  What is he going to say?  It’s not like he wants a one-legged ballerina hopping around on his floor.  I think I am more nervous about actually telling someone what is going on.  If I can keep my mind off of it then I can pretend it doesn’t exist.  Part of me doesn’t want anyone to know, but part of me just wants to get it off my chest.  Only three people know what’s going on and I don’t count.  As I approach his office I hear him talking.  All I catch is, “now get out of here and get you shit together.”

This ought to be fun.  I slow down a little and wait as Jill, another dancer in the show, storms out.  I’m pretty sure there were tears in her eyes but she flew past so fast I couldn’t tell for sure.  I take a deep breath and give a light tap on the door.

“What.” Is all I get as I slowly go around the corner of the door.

I say, “Hi Connor, it seems you are having a rough day.”

He gives me a smirk and says, “What can I help you with Ms. Jones.  I have a lot going on today I hope this is important.”

He has a pretty nasty attitude today and I’m half tempted to say I quit and just walk out the door.  I calm myself though because I really want to have a final dance next Sunday.

I reply, “Sorry to bother you Conner.  I have some personal issues that we need to discuss if that is ok with you.”

“Well spit them out, I don’t have all day”, he says.

Ok, if he wants me to just spit them out that’s what I will do.  “I am leaving tomorrow and won’t be back until next Saturday night, and Sunday will be my final performance.”

I’m not sure of the reaction I was expecting.  At this point I’m not even sure I cared that much.  All I know is that eight days from now none of this is going to matter.  He just sits there staring at me.  The tips of his ears seem to start glowing red after a while.  I think his fire is heating up and he is going to explode.

Finally he says, “Shut the door please.”

This takes me off guard somewhat.  Usually he keeps the door wide open so that anyone within a block can hear him yelling.  I’m so confused I make the mistake of asking him to repeat himself.

“PLEASE, shut the door,” he says again.

I scurry over and shut it.  This is definitely not going how I pictured this going, but I have never quit everything at once in my life before so I guess I’m in new territory any way.

He starts off and says.  “Ms. Jones I think you understand that you signed a contract for your employment.  This season is only a quarter done.  I must inform you that if you quit now you will be liable for buying out the rest of your contract.  If my memory serves me correct that would be a fairly sizable payment since you are our best and highest paid dancer.  As far as this week is concerned if you don’t feel the need to be here rehearsing then I somehow doubt you really feel the need to perform on Sunday.  This really doesn’t surprise me.  I have seen it before.  Small town girl gets home sick, wants her first love back.  She then goes crying back to Momma because it got too hard.  To be completely honest Sara, I never thought I would have these problems with you.  It’s really starting to get me fired up because I feel you are really letting me down.  I believed in you, Sara.  Why, why are you willing to throw it all away?  What could possibly make you want to leave?”

I thought I was in a better place today, but having this meeting has made everything real.  It’s one thing to think about your life changing.  It is something else entirely to be having it play out right in front of you.  I feel my tears start to well up a little and I try to fight them off.  The reality of today starts to hit me very hard.  I am sitting here quitting the one thing in my life that I have worked so hard for, the one thing that I have sacrificed so much for.  How can I just give up and throw it all away.  I feel one tear give way and roll down my cheek and just have to get it out.

“I have no choice,” I say.

He huffs a little and says, “You have no choice, Sara we all have a choice.  What, is your boyfriend giving you an ultimatum?  What could possibly make you think that the choice to quit is the right one?”

I hate my life right now.  I hate myself.  Cancer be damned, I can’t just quit.  I have to find some way to keep dancing.  I have to.  I can’t let go.  I can’t just leave.  What was I thinking, I am a dancer, and I have to dance.  Oh my god, I can’t dance.  It’s over.  Eight days, that’s all I have left.

Another tear falls and I say, “I have cancer.”

That’s all I can get out.  Everything else is stuck inside and won’t come out.  I hold my breath to keep everything in.  I look up at him and see confusion on his face.  My ears are ringing because I am trying so hard to keep it all in.

I read his lips; he says “you have what?”

Another tear falls and I get out, “cancer.”

His face falls, disbelief covers his demeanor.  “Sara, are you sure?  You look fine.  What is all this really about?”

Another tear falls but I feel so much better.  I have released the demon that has held me captive for two days.  Someone else knows.  I never thought that telling someone would be such a relief.  I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be telling Connor my innermost secrets but I am so glad that I did.  A burden has been lifted.  Someone knows my pain.  Whether he cares or not doesn’t matter.  By default he gets to bear my burden with me.  I am not alone.  I take a deep breath and gather myself.

“I have synovial sarcoma in my left leg near my ankle.  I must have surgery the Monday after next.”

He comes around the desk and sits next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.  “How long will you be out, when can you come back?”

“I won’t be back, Conner.  They are going to take my left leg below the knee.”

I see him sag.  His shoulders roll forward.  “I am so sorry, Sara, forgive me for all of the things I said.  My god I am so sorry.”

I can see that his eyes are beginning to shine.  He is truly sorry for me.  His sadness is genuine.  I have mixed emotions about this.  I am sad that I have made him sad.  I am mad that he is feeling sorry for me.  I have always prided myself on being strong and not relying on anyone.  I didn’t come here looking for sympathy.  Maybe some understanding, but not sympathy.

I look him in the eyes and he says, “what can I do for you, how can I help?”

“I don’t know what you can do for me except let me do what I ask.  I need this week off but I have to perform my last performance.  I just have to.  I need to get away from everything for a while.  I have to do something to take my mind off of everything that is happening.  I can’t just sit here.  I will go crazy.”

He sits in thought for a few minutes.  “Ok, you have your week, but I need you to be ready for your performance that Sunday night.  If it is going to be your last then it is going to be your biggest and best.  I am going to get out a press release that it will be your final.  I will have everyone here that is anyone.  Sara, I am going to make it the best night of your life.”

He said the last sentence with such tenderness of emotion.  I shed one more tear.

“Thank you Conner, I know we have never been close, but what you are doing means so much to me.  The last two days have been hell on earth for me.  I am glad I am not alone.”

I grab his hand and give it a squeeze.  He pulls me close and gives me another wonderful heartfelt hug like I got yesterday.  I relish in the moment for a while.  I never thought that I would need other people so much.  If nothing else this is teaching me that our condition, our human condition is made all the better if we let people in and don’t hold them away.  I get up to leave and he stands with me.  He grabs my hand again and holds it tenderly.

He says, “Thank you Sara for your wonderful work.  I will never forget you.”

He turns away with a tear on his cheek and I walk out of the door.

7

I feel a sense of relief as I walk out the door.  It felt like I at least made some progress today.  I am trying really hard not to think about what I just did.  If I think too hard on things it scares the hell out of me.  Officially I’m not retired, I have one more night, but actually saying the words and making the decision have been really tough.  In eight days I will officially be unemployed.  I have no work history, nothing to put on a resume that could make me employable.  Oh, and by the way, I only have one leg.  That is way scary for me so I’m just going to ignore it for a while.  I’m beginning to realize that I can’t process everything at once.  I seem to be putting different things in different boxes.  I pull one box out and try to figure it out.  Then when that is resolved, or I’ve had enough of it, I put it away and take out another one.  I figure that there are several that I just need to put into storage for at least a week.  I really want this week to be special.  I want it to mean something.  I am at a crossroads, a new beginning.  I really want to find out who I am now.  The box I really need to focus on right now is what I’m going to do for the next few days.  Where do I want to go, what do I want to do.  I know I want to dance; I want my last hurrah to be special.  I want to have fun and learn some new things.  I want to meet new people and see what I have been missing for so many years.  I don’t want this trip to be about cancer or about the loss of my leg.  I want it to be about awakening, maybe a little redemption for having my head in the sand for so long.  I want to learn to live my life again off of a dance floor.  In my mind it is almost scandalous to think about.  It is like cheating on my passion.  I feel like I’m breaking all of the rules I set for myself because I wanted to be the best dancer that I could possibly be.  For me it’s hard because for so many years that is all I have been focused on.  Dancing is who I am, it is my Identity.  In a few days that identity will be gone.  I try not to think about that part and focus on this being an opportunity to become whatever I want to be.  I have a blank slate.  I can be whatever I want to be.  Do whatever I want to do.

I can’t get some things completely out of my mind though.  What is the first day after surgery going to be like?  Every day for a long time I have got out of bed with the expectation of putting on my ballet shoes and dancing.  In a week what is going to be my expectation.  I’m sure for the first six months it will be just trying to figure out how to do things with one leg.  How do you get up and go to the bathroom on one leg.  I can just imagine myself waking up in the middle of the night to go, still be half asleep and hop right out of bed like normal.  When I fall on my face do I just roll over and chuckle to myself and say, whoops forgot I only have one leg.  Ahh, I don’t know, I’ve got to think of something else.  I finally get to my apartment and go inside.  I need to buy a plane ticket.  I sit down at my laptop and just stare at it for a few minutes.  I need to put some boxes in my head away and focus on what‘s important right now.  I close my eyes and just file things away for a while.  I open my eyes to the world that is open to me on my computer screen and say out loud to myself, “Ok Sara, here we go, seven days to dance.”