Milagro Moment(s)
About a year ago, I bought a prayer pocket necklace from the company Natural Life. I’m typically drawn to Natural Life’s ads because of their bright colors and happy vibe. I’d never had a prayer necklace before, or really a prayer-anything-object, but it struck me as something whimsical to have.
It’s a longer necklace with a simple chain. Hanging at the bottom, at heart level, is a brightly colored beaded pocket with a flowery mandala design. Accompanying the necklace are little metal trinkets, symbolizing things you might pray over, like health, family, goals, courage, success, love, faith, home, children, and travel. Maximizer-me was lured by the autonomy of the thing.
I did what I always do when I purchase something that I’m excited about using, that has any hint of perceived magic to it, or that requires a bit more special thought behind it - I deemed it Important Thing I Own Only To Be Used Carefully and Deliberately. I wore it exactly twice in the calendar year of 2022.
I don’t remember the details of either time I wore it, or what I eventually decided to put inside it those times, whether they changed or stayed the same. There’s only enough space in the little pocket to put maybe three or four trinkets and even at three, the pocket bulges awkwardly - particularly awkwardly if accompanied by a teacher lanyard and badge because of where the necklace hangs. Unless I switch to the retractable clip lanyard that a friend gave me, which I do sometimes when I want a break from the jingle-jangle of my classroom keys against my chest during every movement. When I do this though, I have to have faith (prayer!) that I can remember to then switch it all back to the neck lanyard at the end of the day. If I forget, there’s a good chance I will leave my keys and badge somewhere other than the routine hang around the gear shift in my car and won’t have them to get into the building the next day. It’s a whole thing. Maybe I should make a prayer trinket for mental stamina.
The only hint I have of when I wore it last was that it was on a day that I also went to a barre class after work. On these type days, I’d change into workout gear after my last class, exchanging the contents of the bag from barre clothes to folded work attire, adding jewelry or other accessories when applicable.
And then months and months of months-heavy stuff happened. Husband’s birthday. Family trip to Disneyland. A breast cancer diagnosis. Emergency dentist visit(s) when Arthur knocked his teeth out. Sixth birthdays. 45th birthdays. More family birthdays. Car maintenance appointments. Teeth whitening. Another school year starting. A major surgery and recovery. Trips to NYC. Halloween.
I never cleaned out my barre bag all those months, so the necklace presumably lay there between the sticky socks at the bottom that are rarely chosen. Despite its intent to be an Important Thing I Own, I honestly forgot the thing existed.
* * * * *
During a bookstore browse at McNally's in NYC back in late-October, I happened upon the book, "The Undying" by Anne Boyer. It was staff-recommended with one of those little handwritten blurbs that I gravitate toward when I'm otherwise aimless in a bookstore. I don't remember what the handwritten blurb said, but it must have said something that made me want to pick it up and investigate. I do remember seeing on the cover that it was a Pulitzer winner (nonfiction, 2020).
I opened it there in the bookstore, slowly backing myself into a little nook out of the path of other browsers as I read from some random page. Then another paragraph on another page. Then another. And another. Then I flipped over to the back and read some of the blurbs. It wasn't until several minutes in and about the fourth blurb on the back that I realized it was a memoir about breast cancer. A relatively recent one at that. I couldn't stop reading, standing there balancing the book against my opened fingers that were also wrapped around a pen I planned to buy, increasingly crouched into my makeshift hideaway, lost in my discovery. Twenty minutes or so went by before I forced myself to tuck the book under my arm and head over to browse the actual memoir section of the store, my original intent.
I wasn't completely sure I was going to buy it, but I also couldn't put it back on the shelf. Boyer is a poet and essayist, and "The Undying" is written in a sort of poetry prose form - short paragraphs that sometimes feel narrative and sometimes broken, stream-of-consciousness, lyrical thoughts. I took a closer look at the cover image - a snake entwined with a medical syringe. To the left of that, a list of words notch from measurement lines you'd find on the side of a medicine bottle. The word 'cancer' is positioned third from the bottom of the list, hardly noticeable until you're more invested in what the book is supposed to be about. Luckily, there is no soft, curvy graphic hinting at the shape of breasts (a personal cringe of mine) and there is no pink ribbon in sight.
Boyer was 41 and a single mom living paycheck to paycheck on a teaching salary when she found a lump and was soon after diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. It was one of the most dangerous kinds, requiring the most aggressive treatment. She survived, but the treatment almost killed her, leaving her with nerve damage and brain fog, among other terrible effects. "Her cancer was so aggressive that she was put on a chemotherapy regimen that could have killed her. It included infusions of Adriamycin - known as "the red devil," a scarlet medication so corrosive that there's a lifetime limit to how much of it someone can receive - and cyclophosphamide, a medicalized form of mustard gas." (New York Times review)
It was a hard read. I was either flying through it or taking it in tiny bits with long pauses (days) between them. It is relentlessly furious. It's biting. Most bits require a second go to really process them. I couldn't fully process all of it - I could sense my brain forging necessary distance and I'd switch to skimming through parts of it. The writing is just as aggressive as her cancer, a spotlight on medical capitalism, gendered politics, on the obligations of the sick to the public in the age of October pink ribbon marathons and hot pink football jerseys.
I'm glad I read it, but also a little not. If I was destined to read a breast cancer book, this was the one curated for me, combining research (it is heavily cited), literary finesse, and a Pulitzer Prize to anchor its notability. As far as processing it against my own experience, and so soon after, it only melted me down once. I've since re-read that part a second time and it didn't hit the same way, so it could've been the late hour (when I'm usually reading) or the kind of day.
I would like to share just one example that, once I read it, has really stuck with me, beginning the chapter titled, "The Hoax". In around 110 words, it's a good overall vibe of the thing:
- I come across a headline: "Attitude Is Everything for Breast Cancer Survivor." I look for the headline "Attitude Is Everything for the Ebola Patient" or "Attitude Is Everything for Guy with Diabetes" or "Attitude Is Everything for Those with Congenital Syphilis" or "Attitude Is Everything with Lead Poisoning" or "Attitude Is Everything When a Dog Bites Your Hand" or "Attitude Is Everything for Gunshot Victim" or "Attitude Is Everything for a Tween with a Hangover" or "Attitude Is Everything for a Coyote Struck by a Ford F150" or "Attitude Is Everything for Gravity" or "Attitude Is Everything for the Water Cycle" or "Attitude Is Everything for Survivor of Varicose Veins" or "Attitude Is Everything for Dying Coral Reef."
* * * * *
I took six full weeks off from going to barre classes after surgery. November 2nd, the day that I planned to go to my first class back, I was re-packing my barre bag as a reset. I dumped out all the sticky stocks and hair ties and out tumbled the prayer necklace, causing one of those quick inhales of, "ohhhh!" at the memory of its whereabouts.
Just after the necklace rolled out onto the carpet, next came the chosen trinkets that I had stuffed inside - goals, angel of protection, and children. Upon closer look, I noticed that the prayer pocket still had something inside - one more trinket that hadn't fallen out all these months - even through all the jostling in my car, in and out of my classroom, in and out of the barre studio.
I pulled the trinket out: Health.
It was a moment worth photographing, to tuck away in my memory for later. For a time when I get too grounded in what is.
I did some quick research to learn more about the necklace, as it was feeling indeed more magical than my whimsical intent. Its official name is a Milagro Prayer Pocket Necklace. 'Milagro' is Spanish for 'miracle'. On the necklace's packaging, which I threw away but looked up on Natural Life's website, I learned it was inspired by a trip to Mexico and its culture of using them for healing and prayers. There are 154 reviews, ranging from "I bought it because it's colorful" to deep spiritual connection. Many mention giving one as a gift, such as for graduation or baptism or for someone who is going through a difficult time. Isn't that lovely?
I've had a year of connection to jewelry. I've had a year of connection to people. To my family. To my work. To my friends, old and a few new. To myself. To new ways of thinking. A lot of it has felt symbolic, like finding evidence of a prayer unknowingly kept for you when you needed it the most. Or finding a timely book on a low-lit shelf that I was highly compelled to read. Or saving up to purchase a color-changing ring that would end up meaning way more than just a pretty stone and setting. I think it's all nudging me to pay more attention, to treat more of my life as Important Things I Own and Do with Care and Deliberation. Here's to a symbolic, year of meaning in 2023.
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