My Cancer Surgery: A Story About Trust

In April 2020, I found myself in pre-op, unknowingly about to start my adventure with the cancer which had been hiding out in my small intestine. Despite the working plan of doing a quick and “easy” laparoscopy to remove what we thought were adhesions causing obstruction, I was terrified to my core at the thought of my body (and soul) having to endure surgery.  I was aware that going into the operation with a calm, confident, and grateful demeanor was central to having a better outcome and an easier recovery. 

But despite this knowing, and the very pure desire to shift myself into a calm and measured state, I just couldn’t get there. 

I was in a room full of other scared people, separated by curtains, yet I could hear and FEEL the expressions of their fear and pain. The nurses were swirling around at a high pace, with loud voices and hurried instructions. All of my belongings including phone were in a bag somewhere else, so I was cut off from communicating with my loved ones. My scheduled surgery time approached, arrived, and passed by and I stared at the clock for an extra hour, literally vibrating with fear, shaking harder each time footsteps approached my dim curtained space.

At one point, my surgeon came in to review the procedure and obtain consent to advance the surgery if necessary, a possibility which had never crossed my mind (yet turned out to be exactly what happened when he discovered it was one of 17 tumors, not an adhesion, causing that blockage.) My terror increased.

When he asked me if I had any final questions, I did the only thing I knew how to do to address my fear. 

With my whole body shaking, my words getting caught in my throat, and tears rolling down my face, I barely squeaked out this deeply vulnerable question: 

“Will you please be gentle with me?”

I will never forget his reaction. He put down his papers and looked at me, I mean really looked at me, with deep eye contact. I saw tears well up in his eyes as he contemplated how to answer. For a brief moment, the chaos went quiet. He said, “no one has ever asked me that before.” After another pause, he went on to say  “I will be honest with you...much of what I have to do is not gentle. But I promise, when I can be gentle, I will.”

This was an extraordinary answer, which created a very important shift for me.

Did it make my fear go away? Well…no. After he left I continued to shake with dread, so much so that when they finally wheeled me into the surgical suite and asked me to scoot onto the table, I was so frozen with fear they had to lift me over. The anesthesiologist joked around with me, and I did not like that. There was a hulking figure with his back turned at the far end of the room who never bothered to turn and introduce himself, and I did not like that either. I was put under in a state of terror and as I drifted off, I was ashamed of myself for not being able to get a grip, and I REALLY did not like that. None of this was what I had envisioned, planned, and hoped. 

But that interaction with my surgeon turned out to be the one lifeline I could hold tightly in those moments...he had seen and heard me. He had promised to be aware and gentle whenever possible. 

I was terrified but I TRUSTED him.

I didn’t trust him because he was an experienced surgeon with a stellar reputation. 

I didn’t trust him because he was my husband’s colleague. 

I didn’t trust him because he was calm and seemingly untouched by the sheer magnitude of what he does everyday. 

All of these things were, of course, comforting but…

I trusted him because he was honest and transparent with me beyond any need to remain a business-as-usual, this-is-no-big-deal, all knowing and super skilled doctor. He listened to me and answered with candor and tenderness, and without any protective or dismissive ego. 

I trusted him because he was willing to be a feeling human, and he was willing to connect with me, a fellow feeling human. In my own mind, I had gone from just another body that needed surgery to a real person.

And while that feeling of trust did not erase my fear, it is what helped me endure it and get through what needed to be done.

So what does this story have to do with MFR?

I would like to submit that even though we are not performing surgery, there may be times that our patients are on our table with an extraordinary amount of internal chaos and vulnerability. We are working with places in their bodies and minds which have been the holding cells for emotions and sensations that were too painful or scary to fully feel in the moment, so they were stashed away until a safer time arrived. Sometimes, this safe holding place has been so secure, so hidden, and so strongly locked that a body and soul has endured twisting, ratcheting, ignoring, forgetting, and injury just to keep fear safely locked in the realm of the subconscious. 

It is imperative that when we are bringing awareness and witness to these scary places so that they can open and heal, we must be willing to be authentically connected and trustworthy.

Connected NOT through our education, or years of expertise, or technical skill, or how well we can communicate and teach. These are important, but secondary.

We must be connected through recognizing our shared humanity. Through transparency and mutual vulnerability. Through compassion and resonance. Through our willingness to be partners and not leaders in their process, without hierarchy, and with the kind of empathy that comes from our own experience and not from our intellect.

There is no level of education that can substitute for the kind of trustworthiness that comes from our own willingness to be present as a fellow feeling human being. 

Want to explore this a bit? Here are some questions for you to contemplate how your own experience informs your presence with others:

-What qualities help you in trusting others? Is it what they say? Know? Do? Show? Share? Feel? How do they communicate their trustworthiness?

-What vulnerable experiences have you brought to the table to inform your sense of shared humanity? Are you able to allow your protective ego to take a back seat to bring honesty to the resonance you create?

-What is the difference between connecting through your intellect vs. connecting from your heart? 

-Do you feel that you need to have had a huge trauma in order to be able to deeply connect with someone as they process theirs?

-Do you believe that your patient’s ability to trust you is dependent on your level of experience and expertise, or might there be something else at play?

-Do you practice what you preach? Do you get treated? Do you participate in deep self-reflection? Do you allow yourself to be authentically vulnerable with anyone else or do you hide yourself away? 

-Think back to times when someone you trusted let you down, either in big or small ways. What happened, was there a disconnect between their words and their actions? Were their priorities for staying safe or maintaining a hierarchy in the relationship creating dissonance? Which parts of their distance from your feelings and needs hurt you the most?

These are hefty questions. Take your time with them. Journal, daydream, contemplate, sketch...and if you want to explore through some human connection, I am here for you and ready to listen and share the journey alongside you.

Real healing happens in the absence of hierarchy, and in the presence of love and trust. Thank you for the work you are doing to become deeply connected to yourself and others. This is sacred.

My soul is learning and shining right next to yours✨

With love,

Tara