Unraveling, with Brooke Baldwin
Week 6: A health scare, leaky tears and love💗
Dearest Unravelers and Unravelers-to-be –
Hello from 30k feet somewhere between Los Angeles and my hometown, Atlanta. I’ll get to why I’m going there in a moment (hint: I love love ❤️). But first I had an unexpected, emotional morning. When I think of Unraveling… I think of those of us who — by choice or not — face a life-altering change or existential crisis: the loss of a job; a divorce; an illness. It’s the latter that I suddenly came face to face with this morning and filled my heart with so many of you. Last week I went for my yearly mammogram and ultrasound. It’s my fifth time getting a mammo and the first time I got the call after that wasn’t “you’re clear, see you next year.” Now before I go any farther — here’s the headline: I AM TOTALLY OKAY. Turns out I have a benign nodule / potentially complicated cyst in my right breast. But I got up and got to St John’s hospital early this morning, rode the elevator down to the Margie Peterson Breast Center and walked under a doorway that read “Cancer Center.” Cancer Center. This was a first for me — and not the kind of first I want.
2.3 million women are diagnosed with breast cancer each year worldwide — in the US alone that number is 264,000 thousand women, according to the WHO. Breast cancer remains the most frequently diagnosed cancer in women, and as we know, early detection is key. As I mustered a smile with the receptionist, who couldn’t have been kinder (I didn’t know yet that I would be given the all-clear) — I snuck a glance around the room. Who are these women? What are their stories? What about all the women who’ve come before them in this very room? And their spouses and children — some of whom they left, and left behind? I could feel them all. Tears started falling out of my face. I write it that way because for the first time (ever?) I wasn’t consciously crying — but my tear ducts bypassed my intellect and felt the fear in my body. I refused to lock eyes with Peter. He came with me, rolling our two big suitcases as we’d be going straight to LAX, bound for a weekend of celebration, which felt so far away. “So this is what it’s like… walking into a ‘cancer center’ and not knowing,” I thought. I strapped on my invisible armor — it’d been a while since I’d worn it. Racing into my old patterns. Tough girls only. I don’t want anyone to see my tears. Plus I somehow felt like an imposter… somehow knowing these kind souls in the waiting room had it worse than me. After a few minutes a nurse called my name, showing me to the changing area where I traded my clothes for a floral gown the color of Pepto Bismal, and off I marched to the room where I’d get this specialized ultrasound.
Gloppy warm gel and some circles later — boom. There it was. The culprit. A dark circle the size of a nickel on the screen. As my eyes darted back to the ceiling, tears fell out of my eyes. Ugh, why won’t they stop. I snuck wiped them away as the technician studied the screen. She nearly immediately reassured me it didn’t look like anything I needed to worry about. But she’d need to show my photos to the doctor who may want to come see me for further inspection. She left, and I immediately started counting ceiling tiles. I thought of my friends with stage 4 cancer — so entirely unfair. I thought of the women in my family who’ve had breast cancer. And I started making a list of all the things I shouldn’t put off…
After only a few minutes, the doctor came bounding in. More warm gel. Right breast. The screen. “You’re okay. It looks completely benign. These form and we often don’t know why. But we will have you come back in 6 months just to keep an eye on it.” More leaky tears. “Thank you. Thank you. And thank you for choosing this job.” I couldn’t help but think of all the times she didn’t get to say “it looks completely benign.” Those women. Their families. I raced back to the dressing room, tossed the Pepto robe in the bin and ran past Peter straight to the elevator. He grabbed our bags and threw his arms around me as I allowed myself to sob. Tears of gratitude. And yet… Both of us – so relieved. And yet… 264,000 thousand women in America. A forced Unraveling. Ladies, I honor you today. Your bravery and your resilience.
As I share this story, my mind goes straight to Suleika Jaouad, an author, artist and — self-described fierce advocate for those “living with illness and enduring life’s many other interruptions.” She wrote a beautiful book Between Two Kingdoms about her leukemia and – as she describes it – her trek through the wilderness of survivorship. (Perhaps you’ve seen the Oscar-nominated documentary American Symphony about her, her leukemia recurrence and her husband, Jon Batiste — it’s a must-watch.) On her bestselling book, I was so struck by what Suleika once told the NYT, which, to me, is Unraveling:
“I don’t see it as a cancer book, even though that’s the particular lens of experience through which I wrote it. It’s really about what it means to heal — what it actually takes to move forward when your life has been upended by some kind of rupture. I believe it’s impossible to arrive at adulthood without facing some sort of interruption, crisis or something as big and blinding as a life-threatening illness. But when you’re in that in-between place — when you don’t really know who you are or what’s ahead — it feels terrifying and lonely. But there’s also great richness to be excavated; in fact, those transitional moments have ultimately been the most powerful and pivotal of my life. So I hope my story invites people to reflect on the in-between moments in their own life. To think differently about them. To sit with them. To interrogate them. At different points in my recovery — and when I say recovery, I mean both physical and emotional — I kept thinking, ‘I can’t believe this is taking so long.’ I wanted to get to the other end — to get over it, to move on. But the in-between moments, though difficult, are sacred. They are rites of passage, and, rather than dreaded or rushed through, they should be honored. That’s what I hope people take from my book.”
It’s what Suleika said specifically about the in-between moments being sacred but to be honored. Whether it’s a terrifying cancer diagnosis or a career-ending blow from a boss or your first terrifying steps after leaving an unhealthy marriage… she is right. I challenge all of us (I’m speaking to myself here too) to honor her words and not rush. To sit in the deeply uncomfortable, often way too long moments of discomfort.
I heard someone wise once say “Spirit is in the breath.” That’s stayed with me ever since. Often when I’m in deep discomfort, the first thing I remind myself to do is breathe. Breath in. Breath out. And if I allow myself the time to really sit there… breath in, breath out… usually within a matter of minutes, I’ve calmed my nervous system, and I’m able to hear that little voice tell me what to do. I think of Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love. Remember the scene early in the book when she realizes she’s married to a man and living in a home and a life entirely of her own creation, as she put it, and yet… and yet… none of it was ultimately what she wanted, none of it was bringing her joy. She crawls out of bed one night, lies on the bathroom floor and for the first time says a prayer to God. She tearfully begs for clarity and guidance. And the response from God was this: “Go back to bed Liz.” Sometimes that’s all we need to hear… go back to bed, gentle reassurance to seek immediate peace… until the next direction and then the next. Get quiet. Listen. Trust.
When I see 444 it’s not dissimilar. Instead of “go back to bed, Brooke” — it’s “keep going, BB.” I was leaving the dermatologist this week and couldn’t find my valet parking ticket. It must’ve slipped out of my pocket. I described my car to the valet guys since my ticket was missing and watched one of them track down my car. He then yelled, loud enough for the whole garage to hear: “Is your number 444?” I wanted to yell back: “How did you know??!!” Turns out — that was the last three digits of my valet ticket number which is how this valet found my car. Clocks. License plates. And now the valet. Getting mighty creative. (Fellow 444’ers and followers of signs — thank you for your messages. I know you know.)
I’ll leave you with this: I’m in Georgia this weekend to celebrate one of my oldest friends (we met 34 years ago!) as she gets married. To the groom Aaron, I love you brother. You are one lucky dude. I’ll be standing at the end of the aisle in church Sunday as the maid of honor beaming with pride. Even though my I do became an I don’t last year, I love love. I’m still such a believer. (I’m also a believer in wedding cake — yummm.) Kathryn is my age. It’s their first wedding. She held out, y’all. And cliches are cliches for a reason: good things come to those who wait, indeed. Here’s to her re-raveling in love.
Sending big hugs and tears of joy this weekend from Athens, GA. Here’s to love and bravery and resilience.
BB✨
Hey Brooke happy Monday! Thanks for sharing. Yea cancer can be scary but it is usually benign if caught early, it's just important for people to have regular physical checkups with a doctor every year. I've turned 30 quite recently and now that I'm 30 I'm paying more attention to my health, I'm getting checked more often. Cancer can be dangerous if it's caught late, but if it's caught early it's usually alright. So just be sure to get checked with a full physical each year as routine, then you don't have to worry about it.
Hi Brooke, I’m so relieved to hear you’re doing well. Given my family history, I recently went for my first mammogram, and it came back abnormal. Since I don’t have a baseline, I’m staying hopeful and grounded. I’m coming back to your words here as a source of comfort. I have additional testing next week, and I’m holding onto hope. This experience has only reinforced the importance of advocating for early screening. If it turns out to be something, I’m ready to face it head-on.