Mary Sansone is a two-time survivor of acute myeloid leukemia. Catch up on all of Mary’s blogs here!
My passion is to feel passionate. I guess this is what people say when they describe themselves to a potential employer: “I am a passionate and intelligent person.” Rather than specifying an activity, cause, or curiosity, they use the adjective to describe their overall sense of self.
Maybe that’s a cop-out. Should we be pinpointing our passion? After experiencing a bone marrow transplant to combat a recurrence of acute myeloid leukemia, my disposition shifted. I was always passionate about animals, but having survived acute myeloid leukemia (AML) twice, I was struck more frequently with the vast wonders of the world. The moon and stars, the communicative ants, the shark fin in the water, the way people behave, languages, the seemingly impossible medical accomplishments. You get it: jaw-dropping.
But let’s go back to the AML recurrence diagnosis and treatment time.
While in the hospital, I admired many who were passionate about fighting the disease. My BMT-ward-roomies would pray constantly and conjure healing. They would fervently manifest recovery. “I am at war with cancer!” I cannot say that my body loudly screamed for renewal; my attitude was “whatever happens, happens.” I wasn’t depressed, just tired.
Bored and sick, I picked up my watercolor paint set, gifted to me by a friend. At Level 1, I attempted to draw flowers. Then I pushed the brush to create people. I started to pencil outlines of me and my two sisters doing something cute or hilarious during our childhood. Wet rivers of color gracefully collided within the lines to give our characters texture, shadow effects, and emotion. So started “The Sister Series: The Early Years.” We were toboggining, camping, jumping on beds, walking through forests, and performing crooked arabesques in tutus with attitude.
I also have two brothers. They didn’t get much paint attention, but lots of love.
The painting diverted my attention from the nausea and noise of the machines. It elevated dopamine levels, removed my longing to smoke, and made time go by faster. Every day, I had something to look forward to. This was a huge deal. Spending weeks in an enclosed bone marrow transplant ward during COVID would have been claustrophobic and lonely. Being sick while isolated with nothing to do could have sent me into a god-awful depression. For me, depression felt even more overwhelming than the cancer itself.
The watercolor set came out every day. Before I knew it, week three post-transplant arrived. I would be leaving the hospital and going to my brother’s home for months of recuperation. While at his house, and still unable to work, I continued to paint, write, walk, and hope.
I just celebrated five years post-transplant. My younger sister and I went to a painting class and used acrylics to create a sea turtle. My work was still amateur, but her turtle looked like it had a fever.
Even though I don’t paint routinely anymore, I use my adult imagination now more than ever. The passion I acquired while in the hospital now manifests itself through writing and wonder. At the risk of being called a granola granny, I gasp at the planet. I never knew we could see Venus in the sky until now! I am in awe of wildlife – particularly whales, elephants, and sharks. With only complicated and difficult access to these creatures in the wild, I take time to revel in the mystery of crows, mating crickets, and my own cat. Pretty much any plant or animal, and the universe. Kinda grandiose.
I intend to express my continued passion, gratitude, and wonder through painting, reflection, writing, travel, donations, and volunteerism. If you are in the hospital, put a pen or paint to paper if you can. Let your mind flow with imagination.
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