I’ve had many reflections over this recent full-blue moon on August 30th. Have you? Please comment if you have!
One reflection I had is, exactly two years to the date I started Chemotherapy to rid my body of breast cancer cells. So, this full moon reflection got me thinking.
Who hasn’t written something in the steamed glass of a shower stall? Maybe you transcribed your wishes, hopes, and grocery lists? Or prayers, poetry, thoughts, ideas. What’s beautiful about the steamed glass is that you can instantly wipe away your message if needed. Or if you don’t, the next time you shower and the words appear as the humidity hits, you’re reminded of your past shower scribbles.
I haven’t written a blog post about cancer lately because it’s not on my mind, or at least I’ve forced it to the back of my mind because I’m not actively battling it. I’ve put the sword down. I finished all treatments and surgeries over eight months ago, yet what comes back to me in memory blasts is the trauma, the battle I went through, and the messages I wrote on my shower stall.
I’ve wanted to move to a new abode that doesn’t remind me of what I went through as I battled through the drudgery of illness, especially in my bathroom and shower. Oh, that room saw the worst of it. And the best of it. If that bathroom mirror could talk…it saw a woman go through many physical and emotional stages of change; I’m not sure my reflection could dialogue it all. But the shower, oh, that shower.
Now, when I get in this shower with its fake but not gaudy white marbled wall tiles and glass sliding doors that enclose it, I remember that this is where I battled cancer with long warm showers or baths to ease my pain and discomfort. This is also the place I saw my hair fall out and swirl around the white bathtub before it made its way into the drain. This is where I sat on the shower floor, too weak to stand, for hours to alleviate the nausea and pain. It was also where I cried while I ached and wondered if I would ever get past this stage of my life. I would enclose myself in a safe cocoon of water and try to steam away the hell.
Back then, every time I stepped into the shower or took a long bath, I’d write love notes to myself on the steamed shower glass. I’d write everything from I love you, Laurie. Keep it together, stay strong; wow, this sucks; you can make it another week, another day, you can make it another hour. Sometimes, I’d draw flowers or anything pleasant. I wrote these things to myself, and then I would scratch them away because I felt if I wiped away the message in the steamed glass, I could remove the reality of what I was going through, but it wouldn’t get rid of anything. Because within hours, at the worst of it, I would be back in that shower looking for relief.
The shower became my respite, safe place, and elusive desire when I could not shower for weeks after surgeries when I could not get wet. Or when radiation side effects caused too much discomfort to be in a shower. At that time, I desired a shower or a bath more than anything in my life. When I couldn’t shower, I lost what felt like my best friend, my sanctuary. Mainly because I had nowhere to write my steamed shower messages to remind myself everything would be OK. Sure, I could write on paper, but being in my shower extinguished the pain enough and helped me feel I could write.
So, tonight, on this full blue moon, as I was showering, now healthy and beyond it all, I wrote myself love messages that have nothing to do with cancer; I wrote things like, Hey Laurie, remember to hug yourself. Hey Laurie, remember to stretch. Or hey, Laurie, feed the cats. Sometimes, I write my prayers for others I love on the glass stall.
Everyone can relate that the shower is a space that can spiritually wash away the day’s negative energies, but also, it’s the place where we can disappear when we need an escape. It’s where we can cry, sing, or laugh out loud. Or a place we can make love. Lord knows showers are an excellent place for that if you don’t slip. And a place to draw a heart in the steamed glass of your beloved’s name, and they do the same in return.
Showers are miraculous, and I am so grateful to be back in mine, even the one I fought in, because it’s different now. It’s full of gratitude. Instead of looking at my shower as a place of battle, I look at it as my championship court where I revel, celebrate, and write messages of achievement. And my to-do list.
© Laurie Markvart 2023
Laurie Markvart's Diary 