FINDING PERSPECTIVE AND MYSELF IN COSTA RICA
How a dream holiday helped Emma Cannon deal with life-changing news
When cancer comes back with no hope of a cure, there are certain non-negotiable rules. 1) Never google anything. Ever. 2) Live your life. 3) Allow those nearest and dearest to you to live their lives (even though every bone in your body wants to keep them next to you for ever). It’s Christmas Eve and I’m waiting on scan results. The news isn’t good and the scan shows ‘progression’ (in the world of cancer, this is the word you grow to dread). The treatment is oral chemotherapy that I am to start taking on Christmas Day. (Cancer does not respect public holidays, family celebrations or Christmas, apparently.) Nine days later, I can’t walk and I’m staring into the distance like a zombie. I break all my rules; I google ‘allergic reaction’ and ‘will I die?’ For the first time, just for a terrifying 30 seconds, I feel like I actually might want to die. I quickly rally; hopelessness is the one thing I know I cannot allow. My daughter Lily (who is home from university) announces she is going travelling for a year. My heart feels heavy, but I manage to put on a cheerful face and say, ‘That’s wonderful, darling.’ I feel wretched, but sometimes faking emotions is an essential part of parenting. After some of the darkest days, I miraculously make a full recovery from the poisoning (turns out the dose was too high for me). I am put on a lower dose of the chemotherapy and
I seem to be doing okay. ‘Make the most of it,’ warns my consultant, ‘these might not work for long.’ Got to love him and his pragmatic way of saying it how it is.
I decide to seize the day and book a two-week trip of a lifetime to meet Lily in July, who’ll be a third of the way through her travels. I can’t quite believe it; I’m going to Costa Rica.
In Costa Rica, they have no army, it was disarmed in 1948. My friendly taxi driver, Henri, tells me they prefer to spend money on health, education and environmental preservation. Their national motto? ‘Pura vida’, meaning ‘simple life’ – and frankly, it is precisely that simple life my heart longs for.
Within hours of arriving at the amazing Florblanca resort in Santa Teresa, I receive the following invite from a friend of a friend, who I’d asked to be put in touch with: ‘Hey! Tomorrow there is ecstatic dance 6.30 to 7.30 and I will play crystal harp and didgeridoo. If you can come, we can meet and have dinner with the group after the dance?’
Ecstatic dance? Didgeridoo? Why the heck not?! Lily and I go and have a joyful time dancing to the music with no alcohol. There is something beautiful and simple about moving to my own rhythm, being free and dancing with my daughter. Ecstatic indeed. As we spin in the half light, I see the absolute beauty of Lily’s spirit and her emerging feminine power. My heart is broken open once more. One of the hardest parts of living with cancer is witnessing the impact on those you love. Yet even through the pain and grief, you know that it is also a teacher. I understand then that cancer has taught me to love more deeply. We cannot protect ourselves or our loved ones from pain, but we can combat pain and fear with love.
Santa Teresa, once a sleepy fishing village on the Pacific coast, is now a paradise for surfing and yoga. Our hotel is directly on the beach; I hear the crashing waves as I lie in my bed at night. I wake early due to the time difference and meditate on the beach to the sound of the waves.
Spending this time with my daughter allows us to delve more deeply into our connection. Despite her young years (she is 23), I witness her maturity. We talk about important things. We lightly touch on our fears, but only in whispered voices before we move back to hope. I notice how she needs to help me up the steep climb from the beach; these simple observations are like medicine, as I allow myself to receive her love and support.
Next stop is El Remanso Lodge on the Osa Peninsula. The lodge is hidden away in the rainforest on the edge of a secluded beach; it is remote and difficult to reach.
‘ALL THAT REALLY MATTERS IS HOW DEEPLY WE LOVE’
We see birds of all different colours, butterflies, owls, hawks, lizards and monkeys. Our room has a view of the sea, its own dipping pool and a tree laden with fruit. We discover that spider monkeys visit daily to feast on the abundant fruits, and Lily and I delight in this daily ritual unfolding before us.
Of course, no experience is perfect. I become frustrated: that the sea is so rough I cannot swim in it; that for five days the rain is so relentless that I can’t go out in it. I observe my feelings and I’m fascinated that we humans are so arrogant that we think nature will perform for us neatly and perfectly.
Being in this wild and beautiful country has connected me back to myself; to the nature within me. I make a deep vow to look up and out more often. So much of living with cancer is being okay with the not knowing. There are things the oncologists tell me that fill me with fear. I try not to attach to the diagnosis of incurable. I live in the place between heaven and earth. The place where miracles happen and love conquers fear. But I do know that every decision that needs making will be made easier by connecting to the world around me, by taking a walk or a wild swim. There is a deep sense of peace that comes with knowing that, in the end, we will all pass, and that all that really matters is how deeply we have loved. Not even cancer can change that. This extra time with Lily allows me to dive into the bottomless pit of love I feel for her and my family. It reminds me that time is precious, we are precious, and love is a sacred practice. Without the horror of passing too soon, I am not sure I could have reached these feelings of love. My heart has broken open many times on this trip. To feel vulnerable is terrifying and freeing all at once, because love itself is terrifying and beautiful. The purpose of the trip hasn’t been to distract myself; it’s been to allow myself to feel everything I need to feel in order to heal deeply.
All my life, I have looked to nature for signs and meanings. In dark times, I have looked at the ocean to give me strength. In happy times, I have danced barefoot on the beach. I live by the cycles of the moon and the seasons, and try to respond to what life gives me with grace. When I resist change, I remind myself that summer did not fail because autumn came. I see beauty in the turbulent times and remind myself to really treasure the times when life is in flow. Costa Rica, you absolute beauty: thank you for reminding me that we are not part of nature, we are nature, and we are all part of this incredible cycle of life.