A Reflection on Hope from a Cancer Survivor

Felicia Mitchell is a survivor of stage 2b HER2-positive breast cancer diagnosed in 2010. Catch up on all of Felicia's blogs here!

Recently, an acquaintance who has not experienced cancer and I, a cancer survivor, had a disagreement about hope. Discussing how to move past despair over a horrific act shared widely in the media, I suggested (among other things) that we can hope. I was chastised, though, for invoking hope because my acquaintance believes that hope wastes energy on a belief in a nonexistent future. Such a philosophy may be helpful to some, but my experience as a cancer survivor leads me to have a different perspective.

Of course, to be fair, focusing on the present moment is not the worst path for cancer survivors. It can help us to avoid worrying about what comes next (a test, a scan, a metastasis, a death). Truly, we all know anybody on this earth does not know what tomorrow can bring, with or without cancer. As Matthew 6:34 observes, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” At the same time, sometimes the present moment is so awful that it is realistic to hope for tomorrow, even as that hope is balanced by logic and evidence.

Hope makes me think of a week during treatment I felt too bad to go downstairs to get clean sheets out of the dryer for my bed. Living in the present moment, I could have wallowed in how I felt. Remaining hopeful that I would recover, that I could withstand treatment, I did not let circumstances overwhelm me. Instead, I treaded metaphorical water. It is more realistic to say that I assumed (rather than knew) that challenging days would pass. I would get better. Assuming is a lot like hoping. I am always hoping for the best, or better.

Hope reminds me, too, of my brother when he had terminal cancer, his imminent death a certainty. He struck a deal with an emotion straddling hope and despair, knowing his death was inevitable at the same time he hoped it would not happen. I think it is human to think like that. Navigating a sense of hopefulness while acknowledging the gravity of a disease can, for many of us, make it easier to wake up each morning and put one foot in front of another.

This week I am especially mindful of words shared by a friend’s mother in a public Facebook post on the passing of her mom, whom she cared for during her cancer journey, diagnosis through hospice: “A life well lived is a precious gift of hope, strength, and grace. My mom did just that!” Hope, strength, grace: these are traits cancer survivors can help each other to hold onto. One thing about hope especially is that it does not always have to have the expectation of a promise fulfilled. It can, paradoxically, be an emotion experienced only within a present moment.

The paradox of hope is that a person can hope against hope, which is to hope with no expectation that what is desired will come. That was my brother. A belief in a realistic sort of hope can allow a cancer survivor to work through a hard year or to anticipate death with a lighter spirit. There is also the advice to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. My parents imparted that advice to me from an early age.

Emily Dickinson’s line “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul” is widely known. Truly, she reminds us that hope is light and airy, boundless yet contained within the soul or psyche. The poem’s ending is shared less, so I will repeat it here: “Yet never in extremity, it asked a crumb of me.” That is the thing about hope. Like love, hope can offer unconditional solace. I refuse to give it up.

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