Keeping the Margins Clear

“The margins are clear.” These four words define this cancer survivor’s journey into understanding that it’s the spaces between objects, places, relationships, and ideas that leave room for living fully.

On my fourth day of a new job in August 2019, my colleague commented on my ringing phone. “Someone’s trying to reach you,” she pointed out. I was annoyed at myself for leaving it on. I didn’t want to be interrupted at work with a personal phone call.

It was the dermatologist I’d seen a week earlier to biopsy a freckle that had changed color. I’d forgotten I even went to the appointment. “Your results are back.” He paused. “You have a rare, aggressive form of skin cancer known as amelanotic melanoma. But, there is good news. You don’t need chemo right now. But you do need to get that tumor excised by a plastic surgeon right away. We won’t know anything more until we’re sure that the margins are clear.”

I stepped outside to continue the call privately. I stood quietly with my eyes closed in the sun. “Doctor,” I asked, “I’ll do whatever you say, but can I call you back after I teach my fourth-period French I class?” I wasn’t being noble in my job. I was hanging on to the only familiar and reassuring ground I knew.

When I called him back, I applied what I’d learned when I worked for an oncologist many years earlier. “Doctor, if you know any plastic surgeons who can take me soonest, I’d appreciate your contacting them.” “I have already taken care of that,” he said. “You’re scheduled to have the tumor removed at 3:30 this afternoon.”

There was no wait at the plastic surgeon’s office and before I knew it, she had me on the table, calling me “baby” and “sweetie” (which I found reassuring), and shooting anesthesia into my arm. It felt like having a conversation with a beloved aunt, who told me, “Yeah, you’re going to need to take tomorrow off, and I’m going to write you a note. Now, tell me about your favorite moment of teaching.”

It all happened that fast. Much slower to settle in was the realization of what it all meant: I was now a cancer survivor. And not just of any cancer, but of a rare, aggressive form. After a quick glance at a website for melanoma survivors, I knew I’d gone too far for my comfort level researching in Doctor Google. Instead, I decided I needed to focus on what brought me joy and gave me peace.

The call came. “Good news. The margins are clear.” Cancer hadn’t spread outside the tumor area. I caught it in time. My dermatologist also told me he would see me every three months for the first year, and every six months thereafter. That was four years ago. Three biopsies were called for through the years. Two revealed “atypical activity,” which in English means that these moles needed to be removed so we could make sure that “the margins are clear.” I still see him every six months.

It has taken me three Augusts since 2019 to understand that these four words; the margins are clear, have become my life’s guiding mantra. During that time, I’ve written a book draft, published stories in a magazine I love, become skilled at teaching French classes on Zoom, and learned how to make pasta by hand. I’ve found a daily writing group and have made creative practice a regular part of my schedule. How did I do these things I had only dreamed of?

I observed the energy people poured into their marriages, partnerships, social commitments, travel, and things to which they were giving priority. I followed their example by pouring my energy into growing my creative life in the same way. I cultivated space for it; which meant I had to rebalance, limit, and sometimes drop relationships and activities that didn’t nourish me.

It meant I had to stop “talking about” doing things and just do them. I kept my margins clear of platitudes. I learned to spot and avoid spiritual bypass. I learned to invite the silence to teach me what it knew, and what I knew. I learned to pay attention to the surfaces in my life–my writing desk, my classroom desk I shared with two colleagues, and the containers I used for safekeeping what was important, beautiful, and useful to me.

Specifically, I learned to keep spaces open on those surfaces and not cover them up or cram them full. Whether my calendar, my planner, or my countertop, I cleared, cleared, and cleared. I gave away, reorganized, or discarded items in order to keep the margins clear.

If we don’t allow for spaces between things, nothing new can come into our lives. I practice the ecology of my space on a daily basis. I’m learning to incorporate it everywhere and to let the silence between the spaces teach me. I’m learning to slow down my nervous system’s overarousal by making space for it to stay safe. These days, I refuse to be rushed, as I have learned how important it is for me to protect my space.

These changes are radical for me, but after much practice, they are taking root.