Dr. Ruth H. Lerman, a breast disease specialist in Royal Oak, Michigan, and two-time breast cancer survivor, has used mikveh, the ritual bath that throughout Jewish history has marked the transition from a state of religious impurity to religious purity, to aid in her own healing and the healing of others. She writes about the meaning of mikveh for women recovering from cancer treatment:

Mikveh is immersion in Judaism, immersion in G-d's support, immersion in the support of faith at a time when so much else has failed.

There is often a letdown when a woman completes cancer treatment. During the treatment, she is busy and the center of attention. Doctors, nurses, friends, and family flock around her. When she is done with treatment they are ready to celebrate and often don't realize that for her, this is just the beginning of coming to terms with the disease and the way it has changed her life. Visits to the doctor become less and less frequent, and after two years, many specialists won't continue seeing her. It is hard to make the transition from patient to well person.

Mikveh physically helps with this transition. The water calms the mind, blurs the vision, and muffles the hearing. It supports a woman's weight like G-d supports us. Mikveh shows her how to accept support, to receive help, to be vulnerable and open. It allows her to receive G-d's blessings despite the suffering she has endured.

Mikveh helps a woman to integrate the physical with the spiritual. As a physician, I am trained to focus on the physical body, but my experience has taught me that healing requires attention to the body, mind, and spirit. Mikveh helps women to be in their bodies and experience G-d. This calming ritual can allow a woman to look at and touch her breasts after surgery, radiation, or reconstruction. Besides the psychological benefits of this, it helps her to perform breast self-exam -- one of many hurdles that a woman faces in her journey to wellness. She has to go for annual mammography. She has to go to follow-up doctor visits and get blood work and wonder whether she should mention the nagging back pain that she's having. Will the pain lead to expensive, time-consuming tests? Will it lead to finding more disease? Will the doctor think she's neurotic? Should she continue to exercise with the backache? Will exercise help, or will it permanently injure her?

After a while, she may start to wonder: How much time do I want to spend sitting in doctor's offices and having tests? How much time have I got, anyhow? Do I want to spend it checking my breasts for more cancer? Why do I have to do this? Why me?