My Path

How does one know what their path is in life? I thought I knew mine. I was certain that I did. What I never completely understood is that a path can twist and turn. It is seldom straight nor is it seldom smooth. And many times - even when you think you are on the right one - you are led on an altogether unexpectedly different one. And this is where my story begins.

My brother was diagnosed with mucosal melanoma about 12 years ago. The news came to us on a stunningly beautiful July day when life was simple and I thought I had it all figured out. I did what everyone tells you NOT to do. I googled it. What I read seemed to be a death sentence. He was away on vacation at the time and had no access to a computer while I searched every website imaginable. As a result, I spiraled into panic and became a quasi-expert in mucosal melanoma by the time he returned home. What ensued over the following years can only be described as a life altering journey. Quite simply, my path was rerouted. I went from being an at-home mom with five children, to being a constant fixture at my brother's side at Dana Farber. Doctor appointments, scans, surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy, follow ups, car rides and conversation; REPEAT. And what needs to be noted here because my brother is grace and courage personified, is that there was almost always laughter - his.

As I was going through this experience, I decided that when my youngest child got to first grade, I would then give part of myself to Dana Farber and volunteer in some capacity there. That day finally came in the fall of 2012. I arrived at my interview and told the volunteer coordinator that I wanted a very "hands on" position. I love people. I love to physically touch people and to be touched. She looked at me and laughed and said that she had that exact position. She looked at me and laughed and said that she had that exact position. It is called the "Hands - On Program" and it is implemented by the Zakim Center which is the integrative therapies center at Dana Farber. It simply is training volunteers to massage patient’s hands while they are receiving chemotherapy.

I was thrilled; this was exactly what I didn't know I was looking for. I poured myself into it and loved every minute of my Wednesday afternoons at Dana Farber. All the while, my brother was in remission. My children loved to wish me a great day on these days because they were aware of how happy and privileged I felt to be going there. And again, somewhere along the way my path took yet another turn. Many of the patients whom I saw each week would assume I was a massage therapist. I would laugh and correct them and tell them no. Others still would ask me questions about massage therapy and cancer that I was obviously not qualified to answer, as well as share personal stories of their own experiences with it. All the signs were in front of me and couldn't be ignored. I was led to this path. I did not seek it out. It was not going to be easy. There were friends and family who couldn't understand what I was going to do. Massage school? At 49 years old? I told them the truth. I never expected this to happen. I thought I knew my way. We don't - none of us.

I was given a gift. I knew that I was meant to do this. I realized that all of a sudden the only thing that made sense was that I wanted to pursue a career in Oncology Massage. I wanted this with every ounce of my being. I want to be able to physically touch these individuals. I want them to feel a little better and a lot less alone. People like my brother, who on a stunningly beautiful summer's day got a phone call that changed his life, and mine.

Many years have passed since. My brother continues to be in a complete remission; this is miraculous. I continue to love my journey and those remarkable clients I’ve had the privilege and honor of walking with. “By touching a body, we touch every event it has experienced. For a few brief moments we hold all of a client's stories in our hands. We witness someone's experience of their own flesh, through some of the most powerful means possible: the contact of our hands, the acceptance of the body without judgment, and the occasional listening ear. With these gestures we reach across the isolation of the human experience and hold another person's legend. In massage therapy, we show up and ask, in so many ways, what it is like to be another human being. In doing so, we build a bridge that may heal us both.”Tracy Walton, "The Health History of a Human Being," Massage Therapy Journal, Winter 1999.