More From the Underworld

I had the impression after being diagnosed,that the world around me changed, almost as if there had been some suttle but impressive shifting of the layers of earth upon which I walked everyday. The "new" layout of the land had for the most part been there all along, but now it was slightly altered. My mortality, which had always been a given, now seemed to be a strange bridegroom that I was completely unready for. I now moved through my world with a new identity and I was sure everyone could see it, like a note pinned to my chest. "Cancer Patient," the note said. In case anyone missed the note, I was happy to share the news. I've never been great sitting on a secret. But this was also something more. I felt desperate. I wanted to shout the news so that maybe someone, anyone, might tell me, " Wake up, miss. You've been having some crazy dream and you're drooling on yourself." But in telling people I had cancer, I discovered a connected underworld of experiences and little stories that people told me back. It's true that having cancer is devastating, but I found it amazing that there was this undercurrent that had developed that flowed back against the loss, and I became aware of this from the first person I told who was a total stranger. My friend Steve and I were in Harvard Square on a sunny June Saturday, two days after my diagnosis. If you know Harvard Square, you know you don't have to pay for entertainment on a day like this. There were the chess players stationed at their cement tables outside of Au Bon Pain. The homeless kids shook their paper cups of coins,leaning against the wall of the bank. A white haired man played jazz guitar next to the newspaper vending machines, never lifting his eyes up to see who might be listening. Near the newsstand another man played Peruvian flute, his CDs splayed out for sale on a colorful blanket in front of him. Across the street people sat on a brick wall outside a cafe, passing time and being entertained by a young woman with henna painted hands and a sarong that fell below her plump belly and hips, which she gyrated in a provocative dance. The sensuality of the dance seemed slightly out of place on this sidewalk venue, even more so because of the lack of music to accompany her. Onlookers seemed hesitant to put money in the felt cap she'd placed on the ground. I admired her audacity but felt awkward for her at the same time. Audaciousness won me over and I placed a dollar in the cap. Then I rejoined Steve at the brick wall. After a few minutes we continued a slow stroll when a young woman sitting on the wall holding a handwritten cardboard sign caught my eye. She had the look of a well kept student, most likely Harvard. Her freckled face was beaming broadly as she waved her sign. A young man sitting next to her seemed to be her companion. On the sign was written "Will talk about anything for free." Steve and I looked at each other and chuckled. When I looked back at her she wasted no time asking me, "Would you like to talk?" Enjoying the playfulness of the moment, I said, "Sure." She was no beginner at the art of conversation, quickly taking the lead before any awkwardness set in. We started off with "Where are you from?" and she divulged as much as she inquired. I asked her if she was doing this for some type of research or school project and she looked at me directly when she said no. I believed her, for the most part, although it was certainly unusual. The young man at her side listened in but did not join our conversation, and Steve took a spot behind her on the brick wall. The conversation stayed easy but light for a few minutes and I felt impressed by the natural ease with which she was able to "talk about anything for free." There was a genuine warmness with which she engaged me and I had the impression of her as being far more open and also comfortable in her own skin, in spite of her youth, than most people. Then she asked me, "So, is there anything in particular you want to discuss, or anything you want advice on? Anything on your mind?" Steve shifted his position behind her and muttered, "Oh boy," causing both the young woman and her companion to glance his way, then back at me. "Well, funny you should ask," I said. And I told her. " I just got diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma. That's on my mind quite a lot." Her face took on such a genuine look of concern at what I'd said that I felt touched. Her companion looked equally concerned, for the first time registering his reaction. I felt slightly guilty for burdening these two young strangers with my bad news. But on the other hand, maybe the message on the cardboard sign she'd reached out to me with meant exactly what it said. "Its not a horrible cancer to have," I said. "Its curable. I have a good chance." But she surprised me. "My father just finished six months of chemo treatment," she said. "Well, how's he doing now?" I asked her. I wanted her to tell me he was ok. I didn't want to hear any other answer. "He's doing great," she said. I exhaled. "Oh, that's great! That's awesome." "I hope you do great too."she said. " You seem to have a good attitude." We spoke a few minutes longer. I told her that I loved that she was out here with her little sign. I thought it was so bold and unique. "Well, most people just look at me strangely and walk by." "I think it's a great idea," I said. "You have a great vibe about you. Your'e out here just spreading the love." I knew I was starting to sound like an old hippie, but it was the best I could come up with. What I really meant was that she was so incredibly beautiful and full of life and that she had been such a real pleasure to talk to. We said goodbyes. "You should make your own sign and do this too," she said as Steve and I walked away. I laughed. God, I wish I had that kind of moxy.