I Defeated Cancer but Recovery is the Real Challenge

"I managed to laugh at cancer, it's the recovery that's so difficult," with these words Lea Geber opens her remarks, published on the 'Aish HaTorah' website.

"Chanukah. First light. The three couples and the six grandchildren are waiting for our traditional family Chanukah party. But I'm weak. Weaker than ever. Tonight, I need to give myself an injection - and even if I take Tylenol beforehand, I'll have a fever and be weak," wrote Lea.

A thought popped into my head: "Aren't you grateful you can celebrate Chanukah with your family?"

"Of course," I replied to myself. "After all, this year's Chanukah party will be like a personal thanksgiving feast. The last six months have been a roller coaster of surgery, chemotherapy, side effects, hospitalizations, medications.

"Seven weeks ago, I received the news: clean. Clean. What a beautiful word. The relief, the celebration. We left the operating room walking on air.

"Recovery is a great place to be, but it doesn't explain the tears that so easily fill my eyes. And what about the weakness, the exhaustion, the agonizing feeling that I'm a burden, that life itself is a burden, and where to go from here?" Lea continues to describe her feelings on the first night of Chanukah.

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"The kids are silently waiting to return to their routine, to get back to their life's rhythm. They are anticipating the Chanukah party, like every year.

"But it's not like every year. I'm tired. I feel hollow. I can't feel my left hand. I wipe away a tear and sink into the living room sofa," Lea continues.

"I looked out the window, saw her private garden withered. My heart constricted in sharp pain. When I was sick, the garden was flourishing and bursting with color and beauty. In honor of my first return home from the hospital, my friends came and planted, weeded, watered, and tended the garden - which became a lovely place. And now it's withered.

"So am I. Where is the fighter everyone admired?! I discovered it's quite easy to laugh at cancer. But recovery is tremendously difficult. What remains of me now, what remains of my life? Medications, with their side effects, that I'll have to take all my life, tests, follow-ups, a left hand that's impaired. I am an abandoned garden full of dead flowers."

"The party has arrived. We all sit around the table, the grandchildren playing on the floor.

'"Do you know that Chanukah was set only a year after the miracle of the oil jar?", my husband asked, "and something else interesting, when Chanukah was established, the war wasn't over. In fact, it lasted for years".

"What?!", I pricked up my ears. "Really?! When they lit the menorah, they were still in the middle of the war?", I asked.

"One of the sons-in-law answered and began a long explanation about the history of the Greek Empire, but my attention was already scattered.

"My gaze falls on the flickering flames, the sparkling silver menorah, and the light reflecting through it. Outside, night has fallen. The nights of Kislev are long.

"I close my eyes, and imagine the Jews of the land two thousand years ago. I imagine the hope, the faith of those families who a year after the miracle happened, fashioned a menorah and lit the candles, without knowing what the outcomes would be. Without knowing if they would win the war, if salvation would ever come. Lights of faith. Lights of hope.

"I look until my eyes blur with tears and a spark enters my heart. A spark of hope, despite the darkness of night, the pitter-patter of rain, and the howling winds, a spark of hope for whatever the future might bring," Lea concludes her heart-touching words.

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