It was a perfect gift from a perfect friend. Make it through the year of chemo, behave yourself, stay alive, and I'll take you to Grand Cayman," Joy promised. As the trip was planned and the time drew near, I wondered what kind of company I would be following a mastectomy and a year of chemotherapy. I felt worn down, to say the least, and somewhat out of touch with reality. It was still as though life was happening in another dimension just out of my reach. I could see it and hear it but not quite be a part of it.

No sooner had we arrived at our condominium than Joy asked if I'd like to learn to snorkel. "Yeah . . . er . . . uh, sure . . . sounds fun," I answered haltingly, not wanting to disappoint her. She didn't seem to notice how unenthusiastic I was.

"First thing in the morning," she said like a first-grade teacher.

The next morning I had my first and only snorkel lesson-in the swimming pool. Either I was a fast learner or Joy was a good teacher; perhaps both. I was good! I was ready to spend the day snorkeling-in the swimming pool! Joy had other ideas.

"See that dark area out there?" she asked, pointing out to sea. "Think you can swim that far? That's a reef and the snorkeling there is great. Your flippers will propel you through the water pretty fast and I'm a strong swimmer; I can save you if you start to drown."

"I barely swim," I answered. "I'll give it a try." I kept worrying that I would disappoint her; after all she had spent a lot of money on this trip, and I knew snorkeling was important to her. Off we started. I was amazed at the help the flippers gave me, and we truly did glide through the water. It didn't take long to be so caught up with the underwater panorama that I forgot my ineptness at swimming.
Nothing prepares you for some moments in life. Seeing the underwater world-a reef and the sea life it sustains-for the first time was an experience I'll never forget. The colors were spectacularly brilliant, almost neon. It seemed not only was I seeing colors and hues previously unknown to me, but new kinds of vegetation and creatures as well. It was a whole new world I hadn't even known existed.

We must have seen hundreds of types of fish. Joy wore a waterproof card attached to her wrist that helped us identify the various marine species-from octopus to flounder, from needlefish to barracuda and parrot fish. We managed to talk underwater through the air tubes.

" . . . orn ih," Joy would say as she pointed to a colorful, nubby fish and then to the corn fish on the card. Sometimes we stopped, stuck our heads out of the water, pulled off our snorkels, and had a real conversation-and I didn't sink! I couldn't believe how buoyed up I felt, almost as if a magical power was undergirding me. I didn't even have to tread water.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I said. "I really don't swim much at all. I have no idea why I'm not sinking." Joy's eyes went to the front of my bathing suit where the prosthesis on my left side seemed to buoy up, practically under my chin. I glanced down as my thoughts caught up with hers.

"Do you think that's what's holding me up?" I pointed to my bosom. "Let's find out!" With one swoop I grabbed my prosthesis out of my bodice and tossed it in Joy's direction. The next thing I knew, I was going down as my "breast" was heading in the direction of South America!

Disregarding my mouthpiece, I gulped an enormous mouthful of saltwater before I remembered to use my trusty flippers to propel me back to the surface. I came up sputtering and frantically glanced toward shore, only to see hotels that looked like miniature markers from a Monopoly game, and sunbathers the size of gnats.
Fortunately, Joy was able to save me and my "breast," practically at the same time; by then, however, I was sure I couldn't possibly make it back to land.

How did I swim this far? I wondered as I held on for dear life to the artificial breast with both hands; how will I ever get back to land? Finally I managed to poke the prosthesis back into my bra and flail my way back. I fell face first in the sand and panted like a dog after a Frisbee game. I thought every breath would be my last; then it occurred to me that it would be far more dramatic to die snorkeling than to die of cancer.

The next day I was ready to try again. This time we went out on a dive boat. . . . We walked the beach and gathered shells, talked, and gave each other facials. . . . We slept on the screened porch and awakened early to the crashing sounds of the ocean.

Until my week in Grand Cayman, my whole psyche was an out-of-whack camera, and the image through the viewfinder was a blurred, distorted refraction of light and movement. Cayman was the repair shop that restored my capacity to focus. The vivid primary colors of the windsurfers against the greens of the ocean jumped at me. My sensitivities returned, and I can still remember the contrasting feelings in my body-skin burning hot from the driving sun and then tremulous shivers as I saturated myself with the chilling aloe lotion. The tingling, slightly painful peel of a facial mask brought back other forgotten sensations-the thudding of my heart against my innards as a shark swept through the waters; the ocean pulling me down, down, down; clinging to that stupid artificial breast and knowing I'd hang on as long as necessary because I wanted to live. These intense feelings became the talisman of my recovery!

Sue Buchanan is a breast cancer survivor and author of the book, I'm Alive and the Doctor's Dead. Sue's story is an honest and humorous revelation of the everyday realities she faced during her battle against cancer. This excerpt from her book is used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. Copies of the book are available through Zondervan (800) 727-2480 or your local Christian bookstore.