My bone marrow began sending me messages long before I Learned to listen..I was exhausted, pale, drained, and tired all of the time. I eventually landed myself in the emergency room, and was handed a full membership to the cancer club. I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, an incurable blood cancer.
That was June 23, 2009.
As it turned out I was very fortunate. I beat the statistical odds and circumstances were in my favour. After four months of chemo and steroids, I was able to use my own stem cells in what is called an autologous stell cell transplant.
My stem cell transplant was a journey to my very core. It's like witnessing a rebirth. It's awe-inspiring and essential. Visualizing those 'yellow' cells stream their way back into my bone marrow opened my eyes to the singular power stem cells bring into our world.
But I was also reminded of Michael Pinto the undertaker in Bombay.
'Grave Problems Resurrected here'
That's so not gonna happen. Not on my resurrection.
My passage through illness taught me that the knowledge of the curative properties of stem cells needs to be shared to offer hope of renewed life. If you knew what medical science can do with stem cells, and if you saw what I did in the labs, through microscropes, you too would feel like using both hands to scoop those secrets out into the world.
Occasionally I gloss over my past cancer club membership--my treatment, my illness—but then I am remember what a profound reboot my body has gone through, and I remember why. It's true that the deepest crises are moments of great opportunity; an event that shocks you into seeing with your heart. It is a place that combines survival with celebration.
And its not over. I have so much more to do. I need to make surviving cancer matter. I need to use my voice to ensure Cancer patients have hope, access to treatment and information and most of all, the ability to empower themselves and not be reduced to a statistic.
To take the miracle, the promise, the hope, out into the streets.
And then there are moments when the work is to be be still.
To be quiet. To replenish and allow my body to take the lead, as happened when I fell ill with a virus two weeks ago. So many flights, a too packed schedule and irregular hours took a toll. I felt the first tickle in the back of my throat after I landed in Hong Kong, ready to unpack a lifetime's worth of belongings and launch into another new adventure with my hubby. But when my body sends a message, now I pay close attention.
My body was saying 'stop this post-human pace- remember: Grave problems are NOT resurrected here.'
There are other things far more important which you can only understand from stillness.
And from illness.
So says my message in a bottle.
I was so grateful for that message. We coax ourselves into believing the head knows what's best, but really we can only access deeper understanding when the soundtrack of our mind, the insta-judgements, and endless stories we tell ourselves is turned way down.
When the noise inside and outside ourselves is dialed down, we have a chance to access inner guidance, redefine success, and to gain a more insightful perspective on what your life's work should be. ''To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.' said Ralph Waldo Emerson, and reflection is one of the best tools to accomplish this.
Why do we feel so compelled in this world to always be productive? And how do you measure the intangibles, but non-negotiables, of your quality of existence? Happiness? Self-actualization? What are the metrics involved? Can we move back to a place where we trust our own inner compass?
When was the last time you checked- your inner message centre. Is there a red light blinking?
How long can you avoid opening that bottle?
