My StudyWelcome to the Wider World of Nancy Conyers!  Yes, I’m taking the plunge and dipping into the ponds I’ve crossed and the ponds I’ve lived in and I’m going to start blogging.  I’m not sure yet how often I’ll be posting, but I do know I’ll be musing on the difference between traveling somewhere versus living there, and posting about things that have deep meaning to me after living in twelve cities on three continents in my adult life.  I’ll also be talking about the craft and process of writing, and the concept of being a writer/calling yourself a writer before you’ve been published.  I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

The Blog I Never Thought I’d Write

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When I started this blog at the beginning of the year, I thought my next post after Connection and Kindness would be about the differences between being an expat and an immigrant, about expat privilege and the people I’ve observed who don’t acknowledge their expat privilege. I have a long list of topics I’ve been keeping notes on and writing about  and I had a pretty good plan, I thought, for how I wanted this blog to unfold. Then, over the past two months, my whole world has blown up.

Everything in my life during the past 10 years has been defined by B.C. and A.D.–not Before Christ and After Death, but Before China and After Departure. Now the meaning of B.C. and A.D. has changed to Before Cancer and After Diagnosis because last week I definitively found out I have breast cancer. It still shocks the hell out of me to write those words. I have breast cancer.  And, the kicker is that I have a 6cm banana shaped tumor in my right breast that never, EVER, showed up on any mammogram or ultrasound.  My wonderful oncologist, Dr. Scott Karlan at Cedars-Sinai in LA, told me I’ve probably had breast cancer for seven to nine  years and it’s a good thing we caught it now.  Seven to nine years with no symptoms and no sight of the tumor. Unbelievable. In the past two months no less than seven doctors have given me a breast exam and not one of them ever felt that tumor. I’ve had three different mammograms and two ultrasounds.  Nothing.

The only reason I know I have breast cancer is because my beloved Libby made us get super duper physicals to start the year off on a healthy note in early January. She was adamant, forceful and insanely possessed about us doing CT body scans, which were an optional add on. Lighten up, Libby, I told her because I thought she was being more than a bit extreme, completely over the top, and I even tried to talk her into putting the physicals off until this summer but she wouldn’t let me sway her.  Bless her for holding fast.  Over the last 25+ years Libby has figuratively saved my life more than once–this time she’s literally saved my life. If we hadn’t done those scans, I would have waltzed away from that physical thinking the only thing I needed to do was lose some weight.  I just barely, by like three seconds, made it into the good category on the stress test.  My cholesterol was good, blood sugar was good, my mammogram was totally clean, everything was good.  As the doctor where we did the physicals said, “For someone your age and your weight, you did great!”  I am overcome and filled up with tears and love and gratitude when I think about how many more years I’m going to enjoy with Libby because she made us do those CT scans.

What the scans showed were five enlarged lymph nodes in my right armpit–one 3.2cm and the other four about 1.5cm. The doctor who reviewed our physicals with us said she wasn’t too worried since nothing showed up in my blood work and  my mammogram was completely clean.  She asked me if I had cats. Cats?  Yes, cats, because apparently there’s some disease people can get from their cats. No, no cats I told her, and this just gives me another reason to not care for cats.  Then she asked if I’d recently been sick because maybe the lymph nodes were fighting off some infection.  Nope, haven’t been sick. She told me, just to be safe, I should get the largest lymph node biopsied.  Since Libby and I were hopping on a plane the next morning to go back to Modena, where we live in Italy, we decided to deal with this when we got back there.

I’m not going to bore you with all the details of the last two months, nor draw you in to the anxiety, panic, fear, rage and utter helplessness I’ve felt in these last two months.  I just can’t go there right now.  But I do want to say if you are a woman, love a woman, or know a woman, please tell them this:  just because your mammograms are crystal clean and the radiologist tells you “everything looks great,” don’t believe it, especially if you have dense breasts.  If I can save one person’s life by exposing myself like this, it will all be worth it.

My friend Darren Plested posted this Ted Talk on his Facebook page.  It’s by Deborah Rhodes, a doctor who helped develop Molecular Breast Imaging (MBI) technology.  Please watch it and don’t trust your mammograms.  http://www.ted.com/talks/deborah_rhodes.html

Because of Libby’s insistence, and because of those CT scans, I will be ok.  It’s going to be a long haul, though, with surgeries, chemo, radiation, and estrogen blocking pills, but it will be nothing compared to what might have been if I’d trusted those mammograms.

Thanks so much for reading.

 

 

Connection and Kindness

IMG_0512I have been searching for connection and kindness my whole life without consciously realizing it. In 1995 when I took my first writing workshop with Natalie Goldberg at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, Natalie pulled me aside on the third day of the five day workshop, the day when I was sure my writing was shit and I thought I should gather my belongings and go home, and she told me, “You don’t even know how good your writing is. You just want to connect, your writing is about connection with people.” I heard her enough to stay until the end of the week, but I couldn’t really take in what she said. Nine years later when I moved to Shanghai I finally understood what she meant about connection, though I’m still working on getting what she said about the writing.

I was about 12 years old the first time I saw Blanch DuBois say, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”  I was mesmerized by Vivian Leigh’s rendering of that phrase and heard it over and over again throughout the years, saying it myself, hearing other people say it, and watching A Streetcar Named Desire numerous times.  On the surface, the line seems so simple and uncomplicated, one that anyone could say or write.  But like the title of Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem Kindness in her wonderful book, Words Under The Words, it is the words beneath the words of that famous line and the kinds of connection the kindness of strangers ignites that give it it’s deep meaning and resonance.

It’s the people who make a place isn’t it?  Place is important, just ask any writer, but it’s the people who pepper that place who make it come alive. Those people cling to your heart and alter the molecular structure of your daily life and your whole being when you live in a place that is not your country of origin.  I’ve found where ever I’m living, when I connect with local people through their acts of tremendous kindness first as strangers, then as friends, I form impenetrable bonds that will last a lifetime.

When I was getting my MFA at Antioch University in LA, Steve Heller, the chairman of the program, asked me to tell him in one sentence what my novel, A Walk In The Mist, was about when he became my faculty mentor.  I became flustered and sweaty and felt like I was sitting in a hot seat with an ejector button  he would push if I didn’t say the right thing.  “It’s about China,” I told him.  “No,” he said after a long pause, “it’s about what happens to the narrator while she’s living in China.”

Of course.  Steve was right.  It seemed so clear and simple when he said those words out loud to me, “it’s about what happens to the narrator while she’s living in China,” but I hadn’t seen that before.  Those twelve simple words suddenly made a deep and dormant connection to my writer self, and the novel took on new shape and form.  The narrator, Lisa Downey, I’d like to believe, became more alive on the page as she became more conscious of her connections to, and relationships with, her Chinese friends.  Lisa Downey, is not me, but she experiences some of the same things I experienced while living in Shanghai.  Like me, she is the recipient of much kindness from strangers and understands her life and herself in ways she never would have if she hadn’t moved to China.  Like me, when she leaves Shanghai for good, she wonders how any laowai (foreigner) could move to China and never make one Chinese friend, never make one heart to heart connection with someone or someones she will always  be connected to by an invisible thread.

Just as I finally understood  connection when I moved to Shanghai, I also finally understood kindness.  I mentioned Naomi Shihab Nye earlier and I only began to understand her poem “Kindness” during my time in China though I had been teaching it for five years in the US:

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

The second stanza, and in particular this line, “You must see how this could be you” stunned me in a way it never had before when I read it for the umpteenth time six months after landing in Shanghai.  I could see how this could be me.  Everything I hated as a child growing up in my family–inconsistent rules and punishments, having no money and having to scrabble for every single cent, not being able to rely on anyone or anything, even having bad teeth because who could afford dental care?–served me well during my time in Shanghai.  I understood the behavior most laowai scoffed at, laughed at, or were repulsed by, and once I had a baseline of capacity to communicate in rudimentary Mandarin, I could connect with my Chinese friends in the deepest and abiding way possible: by sharing stories.  I could hear theirs and they could hear mine.  We could see how “this could be you.”  We first made our connections as strangers, through kindnesses based on behavior, not on words, and deepened those connections by what Edward P. Jones calls an ancient compulsion–we told stories.

I hope to tell more stories here on this blog and hope to connect to you and hear from you. Thanks so much for reading.

My First Blog Post

My First Blog Post

The Wider World of Nancy L ConyersIt’s one thing to travel somewhere.  It’s a whole other thing to live there.

When you live somewhere that isn’t your birth country, you live in extremes.  You see more of the beauties and more of the uglies than a casual or trendy traveler does.   You experience many more highs and many more lows.  You are more of an insider and more of an outsider than you ever were, or will be if you return, in your home country.  You become almost agoraphobic and, at the same time, way more adventurous than you ever were in your country of origin.  You take nothing for granted because every single day you are out of your comfort zone and have to think about every single thing you do, every single place you want to go, and every single word you are trying to say.

So much of your daily life you consciously see – things that were second nature to you before you moved.

In the coming posts I’ll explore some of my favorite topics.  Thanks so much for joining me.

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