One sunny Saturday you’re driving along, radio blasting, feeling fine. You’re in the groove, hurtling happily through time and space to wherever it is you’re headed, when suddenly, in a screech of tires and brakes, everything changes.
You find yourself crashed into the ditch, lured by some tricky flash of sunlight, with your car totaled and your body hurt and sirens wailing in the distance. And as you wait for help to arrive, fear floods your heart like a stain. Your entire Universe has flipped on its side, and suddenly you’re looking at things from a completely different perspective.
That’s what happened to me. Except I wasn’t in a car.
I was in a hotel room. A posh one at that, paid for by my publisher. I’ve never seen so many fluffy white pillows piled up on one bed, or been privy to such crisp creasing of the sheets.
I was in Denver, promoting my latest book at an industry tradeshow, when my life first flipped over. I’d had a busy day of meeting and greeting, and now was dressing for a dinner with my publisher and a few other authors.
I was feeling good indeed, in this lovely hotel room where fluffy white towels seemed to reproduce at will. I’d just showered, and now my body was clad in one towel, my wet hair wrapped in another, and I twirled in front of the grand mirror in my room, happily thinking of the evening to come, when suddenly I spotted something on my shoulder.
It was like that car crash. One moment I was fine.
The next moment, I was most definitely not.
I stared at this funny mole on my shoulder, and I knew right then, things were about to go horribly wrong. “I have cancer,” I heard my mind say to me, in a deep, gut twisting kind of way. And fear flooded in like a tsunami.
I stood there in my towels, gaping at this mole I’d never noticed before. It was brown black. Scabby. Weird. Like something that didn’t belong on my body, like something that was not of me: a strange, dark, evil thing.
I have cancer, I repeated in my head, even as I dressed for dinner. And then more hopefully ... I will get rid of this cancer. I will get it removed immediately, when I get back from Denver. There’s still time. I’ll go to my doctor and get it removed, and all will be well.
There’s still time.
As I dressed for dinner, I worked to let my worries go. After all, I’d only just noticed this mole. Surely there was still time to change its course. Surely I could just head back home, have it removed, and the problem would be solved.
I headed out of my hotel room, confident this problem would go away.
But the Universe had a different plan...
Excerpted from Intuition, Cancer & Miracles: A Passage of Hope & Healing
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