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I just learned from Folha American actress Shannen Doherty, Brenda in the TV series Barrados no Baile, died this Saturday (13) at the age of 53.
I uttered a resounding “no” which caused my companion to look at me through the living room window and ask if I was okay.
– No – I tried to say – Brenda is dead!!
This isn’t out of any nostalgia for the nineties. It’s not even because I follow the lives of celebrities very closely.
That’s because, like her, I have breast cancer. I am afraid, I celebrate life, and I believe.
But unlike Shannen, I’m still here.
****
What determines a cancer patient’s chances of survival?
As my father would say, “n plus the kappa factor,” none of which is included in the merits of this column. Between concrete and fluid, proven and hypothetical, under-researched, measurable, inferable, anecdotal.
In 2015, at age 44, Shannen was diagnosed with breast cancer.
That’s when he decided to share his journey publicly. “It makes it easier to live with cancer if I know I’m helping at least one person,” he told Entertainment Tonight at the time.
I learned of her story in late 2017, when I received my own diagnosis.
Since then, sometimes I’ll go to Google to see what happened to her; sometimes I don’t even want to look at it. I myself am going through a major transition and learning how to navigate a world of uncertainty. Learning to act through night terrors, to be strong and sensitive at the same time, to ask for help, to respect my limits, to understand my fears, to develop more ease, to look at myself in the mirror, bald and skinny, with a little more sweetness.
In 2020, when Doherty revealed that her cancer had returned in an advanced stage (“I was petrified, I was so scared,” she told “Good Morning America” at the time), he had been in remission (disease-free) since 2018, I did the math.
Any patient knows what I am talking about.
“So I still have about 5 years”, I thought instantly.
Then I stopped thinking. Such is life, such is the crazy horse of thought. The reason I meditate every day is: not to stop thinking, but to learn not to follow all my inner thoughts. Yes, yes.
Finally, in 2023, Shannen announced that the metastasis had reached the brain. I counted them again and solved them again.
I’ve practiced this silly math in other cases, both close and famous. The head tries to scan all available information in the environment to survive.
Yes, celebrities are flesh and blood. They suffer and die. Yes, money does help. Yes, Public health systems lack rapid, high-quality diagnostics It primarily affects the most vulnerable populations, and that’s a huge problem.
And, yes, most importantly, no one knows the future—even though death comes to everyone.
****
Of all the contributions that cancer has brought and continues to bring to my life, without a doubt one of the most valuable is learning to let go.
This is not just an apprenticeship that is completed with a diploma hanging on the wall, but an ongoing practice. Not only with intrusive thoughts related to the disease, but also with hurt, fear, guilt, limitations, desires, expectations, and frustrations. For me, for others, for transportation, everything.
Letting go opens up space, opens up the path. In and out. It can be playful, it can be imperfect: the possibility of release. Letting go is also forgiveness, not every day we are okay, not every day is beautiful, not every day is a breeze, and by the way, not every day we are able to let go; but we continue to walk here.
I just said all this to myself while cursing thirteen generations of Pharaohs after burning my Sunday lunch.
As I wrote this column, I was distressed by the cognitive difficulties that have clouded my reasoning since cancer treatment (and are now exacerbated by perimenopause), which have caused me to read and write and rewrite every line 408,538 times, fearing that I was losing my judgment.
When I learned of Shanann’s death, I felt a mixture of compassion and primitive fear rising in my soul.
Shannen left, and we followed. With burnt food, light tears, and the imperfections of the days, we rode big and small. May they be bright, and may our hearts be bright.
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