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And All Is Well: Jihan’s Story

© 2001-2006 Kathleen Adams. All rights reserved.
Reproduction prohibited without permission.

I.
My first hint that something was seriously wrong came on a Post-It note.

"I wrote these after writing group," Jihan scribbled. "Thoughts?"

"These" were about 20 short AlphaPoems, typed neatly in two columns over three pages, all using the word BREAST as an organizing theme. Individually, they were small jewels of expression. Collectively, they told a troubled story of a woman deeply concerned.

Jihan Matteson, 57, had been an active member of my Monday afternoon journal therapy group for over a year when she wrote these poems in January 2000. Already a survivor of breast cancer, she had used the writing group to map out the unfamiliar terrain of life after recovery. What she kept hearing in her writing was the maddening instruction to sit still. And in the stillness, increasingly, she received messages that all was not well with her breast.

As the poems and writings bubbled up from a place deep within, Jihan sought opinions and answers. She began with her colleagues and friends at Foothills Healing Arts Center, where she worked as an administrator. Some of the finest, most progressive healers practicing today are found at Foothills Healing Arts Center in Lakewood, Colorado, which houses the international headquarters of both the Healing Touch organization and the Center for Journal Therapy. Before long, Jihan had grim news: Her cancer was back, virulent and nasty. As referral led to referral, she landed at Denver’s University Hospital with a leading research oncologist, who diagnosed her with Stage 4+ breast cancer, metastasized to the liver.

Where does one turn, but to family, friends and faith? Jihan wrote an e-mail to her dearest childhood friend, Mary. Mary wrote back. Jihan wrote again, this time copying her daughter and son. Mary’s daily e-mails of support and strength became a lifeline for her. Exhausting as it was to try and keep her far-flung family apprised of her constantly changing medical situation, Jihan added more names to the "cc" field of her e-mail. She forwarded me one of her missives one day. "It sounds like you’re writing an e-mail journal," I said. "Can I be on the list?" The Monday afternoon writing group clamored for inclusion. So did others in her extended family. Before long, there were 30 who received daily updates on her treatment, as well as a window into her moods, thoughts, emotions, needs and daily life.

We shared in Jihan’s deepest internal discourse about the meaning of life and the reality of death. We were treated to delightful portraits of her baby granddaughter, Bella, as she grew from infancy to toddlerhood. As silent witnesses, we suffered the agony and devastation of chemotherapy and its aftermath. Nearly every day, sometimes more than once, we received e-mails chronicling Jihan’s struggle, strength and indomitable spirit. She was fond of quoting the medieval saint Julian of Norwich, and often ended her e-mails, "And all is well, and all is well, and all manner of things are exceedingly well."

In addition to chemotherapy, Jihan received weekly treatments of Healing Touch and Reiki, two energetic healing modalities. Each time she received a treatment, she wrote an e-mail journal entry about it, describing not only her own internal response but also the practitioner’s insights, instructions and procedures. As a journal therapist, I was elated to read this dual perspective, as I know that writing in detail about a healing experience does wonders to anchor it into the body at a cellular level. Jihan’s capacity to integrate and synthesize her healing experiences in writing, offered to an audience of concerned and compassionate others who were willing to simply witness and receive without judgment or argument, played a pivotal role in her healing process.

In August 2000, after she finished her first round of chemotherapy, and after eight months of weekly Healing Touch and Reiki treatments, and after hundreds of e-mail journal entries, Jihan’s CAT scans showed .... no trace of cancer in her liver or her breast. Her oncologist was frankly amazed. So, for that matter, were the rest of us, although we gladly embraced the opportunity to adjust to good news.

The treatments, and the healing, continued throughout 2000. She began a second, much less disruptive, chemotherapy protocol. Her weekly Healing Touch and Reiki sessions continued, as did her near-daily e-mail journal entries. Her family and friends still offered abiding love and support. Her laughter came back, along with her hair. Her granddaughter Bella celebrated her first birthday, mastered walking, and began speaking English. Jihan completed the year 2000 in a state of deep gratitude and peace. And standing as permanent testament and chronicle of an extraordinary year was a manuscript-length journal of grace and grit, surrender and serenity, courage and challenge, healing and humor. And all was well, and all was well, and all manner of things were exceedingly well.

II.
In February 2001, Jihan and I had a conversation behind a closed door. She was beginning to feel the stirrings of internal disruption. Although her tests continued to show no progression of disease, the voice of her intuition, as it revealed itself through writing, was cause for concern.

"If I die," she said, "I want you to be my literary trustee. Take custody of all my cancer journals, and see if you can edit them into a book."

A few weeks later, tests revealed many small tumors in her brain. A series of high-intensity radiation treatments followed. As her strength and energy dwindled, so did her journal entries.

III.
Jihan entered Hospice of St. John in June, after her doctor told her she had 4-6 months to live. She visited three hospices and chose St. John’s because it had a chapel, a cocktail hour and a chocolate cart. That same week, an ongoing dialogue I was having with a new publisher came to a place of tentative agreement.

IV.
My annual women’s writing retreat at Benet Pines, a retreat center tucked away in a remote forested area in south central Colorado, began on Tuesday, June 19. On Monday, I stopped by St. John’s on my way out of town. Jihan lay flat in bed, bald, beautiful, brilliant with radiance. She joked with me and told me to come back the next week and tell her all about "summer camp."

I returned home on Sunday evening. The next day, June 25, I received a call from Jihan’s daughter. "They’ve just put Mom on watch," she said. "Can you come right away?"

I could, and did. As I held Jihan’s hand, I read to her the prayers and notes written for her by women at "summer camp" and sang her a song about Julian of Norwich that a retreat participant had taught us:

   Ring out, bells of Norwich, and let the winter come and go,
   And all will be well again, I know.
   All will be well, I’m telling you, let the winter come and go
   And all will be well again, I know.

As I leaned over to kiss her goodbye, her eyes opened slightly. "I think I might have a publisher for the journal," I whispered.

Jihan died that evening.


The Center for Journal Therapy’s July Poem of the Month, "Perfection Wasted" by John Updike, is dedicated to Jihan Matteson.

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