Going For It

Lately I’ve been experiencing an intensified dread of wasting time but seemed to be doing more of that than usual. This added to my recent tendency to watch Law and Order, even though I hate shows with female victims, and made me wonder if I’m beginning to suffer from what studies show breast cancer survivors are particularly at risk for: depression.

So last week, when at 3:30 p.m. I got a strong urge combined with an irresistible window of opportunity to drop everything and go to Florida, I rented a car, packed my bags, loaded my paints, and was cruising south on I-75 by noon the next day.

Sometimes I just have to trust my instincts. After all, it’s not every day I am presented with such a clear solution to murk. In addition to a growing sense of underlying blues, I’d been about to dive under the bed until the holidays were over, my habit in years when I don’t get my kids for Christmas.

Something had to be done. Depression is a well-known problem for breast cancer survivors, and for me it’s nothing new. I’ve been there enough times before to inspire me to do everything possible not to go there again.

I know the signs. I know that when I frequently complain but find something impossible with every single one of my friends’ many suggestions, that I’ve got at least one foot in a funk.
That when no novel will hold my attention, and I wonder if I should bother painting or writing any more, or maybe I should sell everything and move Australia, I need to take a step—almost any step—out.

I don’t always know exactly which direction to step in or exactly what to do, but I do know sort of what to do, and that involves the beach.

Always, the beach. Birds are good too. Birds, stones, shells, bare feet, cries of gulls and terns. Sunlight. Palm trees. Heading toward water is a specific thing to do, a place to start, to pull myself up by my bootstraps.

And so, now on my sixth day, I am on the way up, with a lot of help from friends. I have, among many other pleasures, beaten two kids at poker and enjoyed a slide show of photos from my friend Marie Marfia’s trip to Italy. One photo was of a statue of an ancient breast exam at Stresa.



I have also been astonished by a potato cannon powered by a bicycle pump which turned a spud into a projectile, been wined and dined by a cousin, a real NASA rocket scientist, and his family, and painted abstract wonders with spirited a nine-year-old.

I have enjoyed four Florida beaches between Jacksonville and Cocoa Beach, and will dig my toes into a national seashore within the hour.

Blessed is she who knows where to find her joy.

For more about breast cancer and depression, read PJ Hamel's blog.

Find out more about Mary Blocksma on her website. Read her full breast cancer story, from diagnosis through radiation, on her breast cancer page.