Harriet and Survivorship
May 7th, 2012 Posted in Featured
by Sarah A.O. Isenberg
also by Sarah: Transition, Cancer is a Catalyst
It’s with a heavy heart, a pit in my stomach, and tears in my eyes that I write this essay on survivorship. Yesterday, they buried a woman who played a pivotal role in my cancer experience. Her name was Harriet. She was a psychologist who worked with an organization dedicated to helping people living with cancer navigate the experience. From support groups to art therapy to journaling groups to qi gong, this community served as a haven for people living with cancer. A place to go where so much was understood from the get-go. Where there were no platitudes. Where people were real: They understood the gravity of the situation; that some of us would be lucky and survive the ordeal, and that some of us wouldn’t, but that the “ride” along the way mattered, so much.
When I was diagnosed in 2001 with my first breast cancer, I didn’t know anything about survivorship, but I knew, of course, that I wanted to be amongst the group that lived through cancer and came out the other side. I also knew that there were no support groups for young women living with breast cancer in the Boston area. I was introduced to Harriet through connections in the breast cancer community, and she agreed to create and facilitate the first-ever support group for women like me. Every week, a large group of young women showed up for this group. Harriet helped us guide ourselves through the experience, and if we were lucky, the “after.”
Harriet hated the “battle metaphors” people used to describe the experience of living with cancer. She thought, and I agree, that somehow surviving the battle carried a connotation of having fought hard and well, while dying at the end suggested you didn’t labor hard enough to win. Harriet reminded us that so much of cancer survivorship is luck of the draw. It’s happenstance: You happen to catch it in time, the treatments happen to work, you happen to escape metastases. You get more time, well, just because. She helped each of the women in the group figure out how she wanted to describe what was happening, how she wanted to frame the experience. And all the while, she helped us see the good around us – even on days when that seemed most impossible.
Harriet also allowed me to hold the meetings for the local chapter of the young women’s breast cancer organization I ran at her office. Here again, every week young women gathered and organized, reaching out to others and drawing them into the fold. Comforted by the warmth of understanding and togetherness in a time of deep despair.
And over time, because of Harriet, a very tight community of young women living with breast cancer was formed. That was over ten years ago, and yesterday at Harriet’s funeral, many of us were there. There were women missing, too – there’ve been many funerals over the years. That’s the penance of survivorship . . . you have to watch those you grew close to be buried. But Harriet taught me that the blessings of survivorship are rich indeed. And I see now that with every death (and the feelings of anger, terror and sadness each brings) comes a renewed awareness of how precious this time is, for all of us. Those living with cancer understand, acutely, that everything can change in an instant. That all you take for granted can be whisked out from under you by three simple words: “You have cancer.”
It’s not hyperbole to say that Harriet helped define my experience as someone who’s lived with cancer in the most pivotal and important way possible. She helped me to create and define my life after cancer. One that is much richer and better than before. Harriet “got” this. I’d never say that having had cancer was a gift, but Harriet gave me tools that helped me to acknowledge the gravity of my situation, while simultaneously squeezing goodness out of it. She helped me make lemonade. Revel in possibility. She introduced me to the power of hope.
And for all this, dear Harriet, you will live forever in my heart and mind.
Sarah Isenberg is a recovering lawyer, two-time breast cancer survivor and accomplished home cook with a penchant for whole foods, healthy living, green tea and black shoes. She lives just outside Boston, Massachusetts with her 8-year-old daughter, husband, and a fancy hamster named Ruby. Get the latest on what she’s cooking at Semi-Sweet: A Practical Guide to Healthy Living, or on the joys and trials of her dance with cancer at Be The Weeble. 
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