The Seasons of Cancer

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

I am thankful to retain so much of the child within me as I survive cancer, with changing seasons still wondrous. I love to shuffle my feet through fall leaves, marvel at birds at the feeder during a first snowfall, look for early spring ephemerals on a trail and let the summer sun and lush vegetation rejuvenate. Since cancer colored all seasons during my treatment, seasons helped to put emotional reactions to cancer into perspective.

Although a red flag was noted during a mammogram in late summer, it was not until fall that the full picture and treatment plan fell into place. Autumn, a season that symbolizes impermanence, was a good time for me to let go of a breast I had taken for granted. My first fall with cancer initiated a healing time as the season shared lessons about how to look past falling leaves and bare trees (and mastectomies) to greener days.

Winter, a time of symbolic hibernation, can take us deep into ourselves to gather emotional resources needed during hard times. Cancer, like hibernation, can bring with it an enforced rest time, even when we are working. I had to learn to accept the need to rest and hibernate a little as I tried to balance life, work, caregiving and my own treatment. Of course, I did not hibernate entirely. When I had to shovel snow from the driveway to get to treatment, I learned how strong I was as well as how to ask others to help me.

Spring, symbolizing renewal, reminds us of how nature itself is resurrection. During my cancer journey, flowers that had been dormant in the ground appeared to reward my belief in the certainty of seasons. It became easier to get outside for walks, essential to my mental health. By spring, I grew more accustomed to the routines of treatment. Because my mother’s hospice days spanned winter into spring, though, I continued to ponder life and death. When I exclaimed to my oncologist that I felt that my mother and I were mirror images, he said, “But you are going to get better.” I would, as a friend wrote to me, bloom again.

A joyful time of growth and sunny days, summer symbolizes gifts the earth can bring, from fresh and healthy vegetables to beautiful landscapes near or far. Although my summer with cancer was not easy, with radiation and continued Herceptin infusions as well as lymphedema, I found joy in knowing the cancer treatments were starting to bear symbolic fruit. Summer for those who teach or attend school also means a reprieve from routines. I cherished this respite as I enjoyed some summer fun, knowing healing was on the horizon.

The second autumn, despite the hope summer brought, was the worst time for me emotionally as the year started to weigh on me. The week after treatment ended, I sought help from a counselor to process my year. I let autumn remind me that the loss of both my mother and my old dog was part of life’s natural cycling. They had lived their long, good lives. Leaves fall, or tumors are excised, or loved ones pass away, and life (sometimes) goes on. (I say “sometimes” because many are given terminal diagnoses or pass away in fall, as is true of all seasons.) 

A lesson I have learned from thinking about the passing of the seasons is that even when life presents challenges such as juggling cancer with everyday challenges, the cycle of seasons reminds me of hope as I think of blessings fall, winter, spring and summer always bring.