A woman's work

**Side Note: First of all, I must apologize, because while I'm filled with emotions and thoughts when I watch this video, my thoughts are not translating well into this blog...so please keep in mind that words cannot describe much of my emotions and feelings, and thoughts on this dance routine....**

This is why I love So you Think you can Dance so much. (And still have many more episodes to watch, so please do not ruin that for me. Do not comment on any episodes past when the top 8 perform....pretty pretty please!! :D I love DVR...)

I'm so touched by this routine. Melissa and Ade danced it beautifully, and put their souls behind their movement...when I watch it I don't see a dance, I see a story. I don't think you need a description of the story behind this routine, but just in case you don't see it....

It is simply a story of one woman who has breast cancer. But the movement translates further than that. For me, she has "cancer" not specifically any cancer, it could be breast, sarcoma, colon, lung etc. I feel like "she" could be a "he", as the emotions are very similar for either sex. The journey, and the experience is very different. For example, men can fit in with a bald head, while women tend to stand out. (Hair loss, however, is not necessarily an easy side effect to deal with for men, but in general it is not as devastating for men. Again, it is different). Of course, since the dance is to "A woman's work" the story is obviously more centered around a female's experience of cancer.

The emotions hit me like a slap in the face. Hope. Love. Support. Strength. Trust. Beauty. Grace. But also Anger. Fear. Loss. Grief. Uncertainty. I see all of these in the video.

I have watched the routine over 5 times now, and I still cry when I watch it. At work I see this too. We give chemotherapy on my floor, and I love my chemo patients. But, they do have cancer, and they do have good and bad days. Some of them don't make it through their chemo (they receive several cycles before "finishing" chemo). Some of them make it through, only to come in to the hospital to pass on. Some of them live longer than "expected." Some of them don't.

But most of them hope. Most of them live (as in be present for the moments that they have left.) Most of them survive, even if their "survival" is only a few years after diagnosis.

Unfortunately, though, sarcomas are usually found later on, and are therefore harder to recover from. This is difficult to remember when I am talking with a living, breathing, hairless patient, who aside from the tumor and the chemotherapy is otherwise healthy, happy, and full of life. My coworkers will mention things like "it's too bad" or "it's sad" but while I agree that cancer sucks, I don't necessarily feel like all is lost. Not until they are actually on their deathbed can I picture them there.

Maybe I'm naive. But I like to think of myself as hopeful. I think my coworkers think about the worst, to help to detach from the patient. To prepare themselves for the worst, because "the worst" has happened a lot on our floor. If they aren't as attached, and the patient loses their fight, the grieving process is easier. I think that is the theory at least. I don't feel like I'm hurting myself to form bonds with people who might end up of dying from cancer. Besides, it's not about me, it's about that person, who happens to have cancer. If I'm hopeful, they can sense it. At least that is what I believe. I prefer to think positively, and I think my patients appreciate that.