Our Words Matter

Weeks ago I had an important appointment at the University of New Mexico Cancer Center. It was a week before the inauguration (we all know which one), but we already knew what was coming. (And it has.) So when I got to the check-in desk and saw this new sign, I almost cried. Especially the last line…”being mindful of the energy you bring into this space.”

Stop. Read it again. Listen.

And hear it as an imperative: Be mindful of the energy you bring into this space. Any space. Every space. Be mindful.

As a poet, I think about words and appreciate them, one word at a time. As a memoirist, I craft them, curate them, string them together in paragraphs, scenes, and chapters to tell a story. But there’s something different about words + behaviors in the context of a physical space—and the energy field created by our words.

And that makes me think about the energy field created by the words I allow into my life, into my space. I invite you to consider that idea for yourselves. Think about what you let in, what you keep out, and what type of energy you want and need to carry with you into your world. It’s not my place to tell you what that looks like. I can only use this space to remind myself and anyone who visits to be mindful of what we say with our own voices, what we write with our own ink.

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So what was that thing about the cancer center at the beginning? Some of you may wonder about my appointment, a sort of “inciting incident” for this post (a post I started to write that very day).

In the spring of 2021, during COVID work-from-home days, I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer and underwent aggressive chemotherapy for twelve weeks, followed by a bilateral (double) mastectomy and a period of healing. I have been cancer-free since the surgery. But for breast cancer survivors (even those now without breasts!), especially those of us with hereditary breast cancer and the genetic mutation (BRCA-1 or BRCA-2), the first five years after diagnosis are a critical period for recurrence. So we undergo a period known as surveillance.

In my case, there’s nothing left to Xray or scan, so it’s just a physical examination of the chest and lymph glands. Mostly it’s a chance to catch up with my oncologist and her nurse so they can see their handiwork, sound the all-clear, and tell me how much my hair has grown (they were used to seeing me bald for quite a while). I love them dearly, but I’d rather sit across the table from them at our local coffee house than to sit on the table in a cotton gown open to the front.

This time, the nurse said, “I’ll see you in early 2026 for your final surveillance appointment.” Let that sink in! “After that,” she said, “I’ll put you on my long-term follow-up list and check in with you now and then.”

Maybe we’ll even meet for coffee and have a long chat at the cafe table. I’d like that.

Thank you for inviting my words into your space. It’s a privilege.