By Jim Bradford
For the entirety of my life I have had a physical connection to the ocean. I grew up in a small coastal town in Massachusetts called Hull. The town is a 7 mile long peninsula that at one point is less then 300 yards separating the ocean and the bay. Virtually every coastal storm creates a physical divide in town and those that live in the bottom 1/2 of the peninsula are ground locked at times for weeks.
Many would find that type of situation would be unacceptable and would avoid living in such conditions. Those that were considered true Hulluions not only dealt with the inconvenience but welcomed the adventure that a NorEaster would bring. I was one who embraced the chaos and loved the challenge of living in a place that was so susceptible to floods, evacuations, and the bonding that would happen amongst those that remained.
Because Hull was considered a tourist town, the state allowed for children at the age of 15 to work in various capacities. At the age of 15, I became a certified lifeguard and spent my summers serving the town as the lifeguard at a small beach in town called Gunrock. I would spend 8 hours working on the beach and then would stay and enjoy water skiing and boating until dark. On days that I was not assigned to work, I would walk to the beach and spend hours enjoying the ocean.
Being New England the days of beach going are limited. The cold, rain and cloudy weather would keep visitors away. While some of the businesses may have been disappointed, I would love it. The bad weather would bring a change to the ocean, the waves would grow, the colors would change and other than some brave surfers with their wetsuits no one would venture on to the beach. For some reason, which I did not understand or even contemplate at the time, there was something very peaceful when a storm arrived.
It was a physical connection that I related to. While there may have been a subconscious connection, I never connected a relationship between my mental health and the Ocean.
During my 68 years I have moved away from the ocean multiple times but something always drew me back. The beauty, the ever changing scenery, the storms, the colors, the people enjoying the ocean and the various wildlife that lived in, on and around the ocean always was in the back of my mind. I knew all of this but never did I connect a mental health component to what I was enjoying.
Late in 2022, I was diagnosed with lung cancer. This was not my first time receiving a cancer diagnosis but this was different. With each of the other occurrences I was not nervous, I didn’t have any fear. Not that the previous instances (mouth cancer and melanoma) do not have possible negative outcomes but my family had a history of these cancers and while each have had varying outcomes, mere melanoma did not bring the concern that Lung Cancer was creating.
One of my difficulties was the obvious harm I had created myself by being a 40 year smoker. The guilt was an unknown emotion that I was going to have to live with as well.
After a 7 hour procedure to remove a lobe of my right lung, followed by 6 days in the hospital dealing with various complications, I arrived back to my home in Plymouth, Ma. “America's HomeTown”.
My home sits on Plymouth Harbor. I spend hours every day looking out on the docked boats, lobster boats coming and going, brave individuals kayaking in between docked boats and of course a replica of the Mayflower. When I walk out front, there are miles of walking trails bordering the waterfront. As you walk away from the harbor, the ocean becomes more forceful. The breakwaters built years ago to protect the harbor coastline continue in force for downtown, but not to the areas surrounding it. The diversity of the ocean is amazing.
A significant part of recovery following lung cancer is walking. I was told a 20-30 minute walk, three times a day would be what I needed. The middle of January, on the waterfront, with northeast winds and plunging temperatures was going to be interesting.
When I woke up on my first day back in my home I left my house dressed with multiple layers and ready to handle the cold. What I did not expect was how the 20 degree temps would cause a significant shortness of breath and how I needed to walk at a very slow pace. Within 10 minutes I was exhausted and fortunately there was a bench situated facing the ocean. There was no doubt that I would need this bench in my future walks. As I sat down a lobster boat came into view. I could see the ice on the sides of the ship and the 4 crew members huddled in the small cabin. I leaned back on the ice cold bench and closed my eyes.
That was a particular moment that will stay with me. With my eyes closed I could see the ocean and the rolling waves. I could hear the seagulls screaming out and while conscious that my eyes were closed I started to see all of the colors of the ocean and a calm came over me. I began to cry (still with eyes closed). It was not a cry of sadness, it was different. I wasn’t cold anymore, my breathing was not cut short, the wind against my face felt comforting.
I don’t fully understand the feelings I was having on the bench, but I did feel a calmness and a sense of relief. I stayed on that bench for over an hour. All the while my eyes closed I would have constant views of the ocean intermingled with wonderful memories of my daughters and my wife.
I went home that morning with a great deal of curiosity and a sense of calm. Later that day, I once again dressed in layers and planned my second walk. Once again I stopped by the bench, sat down, closed my eyes and almost instantaneously the views of the ocean were so vivid and clear. Again the cold disappeared and the comfort that I felt was similar to the morning.
I have learned after months of recovery that every time I was close to the ocean, I have been able to simply close my eyes and something occurs that I can only describe as being a blanket of comfort. I can be on the bench, or my deck overlooking the harbor or when I venture to other coastline areas.
My road ahead is unsure. There are amazing doctors and nurses as well as treatments that I have come to understand and utilize. Each of those are incredible and the advances they are making are fantastic. The one thing they can not do is to deal with the mental aspects of lung cancer. The ocean has given me the ability to calm my mind, to look out and remember all of the memories that the ocean has given me and still provides me with the blanket of comfort that gives me the peace I need to continue to love life.