On one hand it’s a day I wish had no meaning, yet by the other, I am grateful for the ability to mark it.
A year ago I received the news of having colon cancer as stoically as I could, which is to say, I was a crumbling mess suddenly catapulted into a vacant, dark hole lacking hope. But it was not black. Way off in the distance was the exit and I find I lack the vocabulary to describe what it is like now to be shrouded by the light. Translation, after surgery and months of chemo, I am cancer free.
I didn’t get to this point alone and it is important to thank those who are responsible for my success.
First and foremost, my family; a stubborn husband, combined with kids who didn’t seem to register any difference, whereby my youngest still needed his evening snack and snug-a-bug. For those who’ve been there, you know how important those moments are—being needed and having to force yourself to be normal.
My mom and dad, siblings and in-laws. Mom, you’re a rock!
I won’t name names. There are far too many, but they have to be mentioned. To the doctor who found the tumor, you didn’t hesitate to take immediate action. To my surgeon, you will always have a special place in my heart. To everyone at the Sturgeon Hospital who ensured my care with compassion and a smile. My Oncologist who had just THE BEST demeanor ever. Thank you for bringing everything down to a level where, in my befuddled state, I could still understand and make informed decisions.
And what to say about ALL of the staff at the Cross Cancer Institute? You earn your reputation each and every day. From the reception, to the lab, radiology, to the chemo room, I never felt anything but hope. It became a community onto itself, my visits welcomed and chitchat never rushed.
During this past year I have longed for Nova Scotia—home. For the people who know me best. To all my family and friends, I must tell you, I FELT your well wishes and prayers. I am in awe of your capacity to reach out. I was surrounded with your affection and please never think for one moment that you didn’t make a difference—you did. Thank you!
For any who may have just entered or are in the midst of the vortex known as cancer, I send you my love. Embrace and allow the love of others to shield you against the unknown, scary future. And if I can leave you with only one piece of advice, it would be to remember funky socks. Every time I had to face the next round of chemo, I would ‘dress’ for the occasion because ‘it’ was not going to get to me. Part of my outfit included red, cool, or sometimes striped sock. They were my rebellion, my reminder of smiles and happiness, a secret concealed under my pants and in my shoes, but I knew they were there. They were a symbol of what ALL OF YOU gave me ... hope.
Thank you!
A year ago I received the news of having colon cancer as stoically as I could, which is to say, I was a crumbling mess suddenly catapulted into a vacant, dark hole lacking hope. But it was not black. Way off in the distance was the exit and I find I lack the vocabulary to describe what it is like now to be shrouded by the light. Translation, after surgery and months of chemo, I am cancer free.
I didn’t get to this point alone and it is important to thank those who are responsible for my success.
First and foremost, my family; a stubborn husband, combined with kids who didn’t seem to register any difference, whereby my youngest still needed his evening snack and snug-a-bug. For those who’ve been there, you know how important those moments are—being needed and having to force yourself to be normal.
My mom and dad, siblings and in-laws. Mom, you’re a rock!
I won’t name names. There are far too many, but they have to be mentioned. To the doctor who found the tumor, you didn’t hesitate to take immediate action. To my surgeon, you will always have a special place in my heart. To everyone at the Sturgeon Hospital who ensured my care with compassion and a smile. My Oncologist who had just THE BEST demeanor ever. Thank you for bringing everything down to a level where, in my befuddled state, I could still understand and make informed decisions.
And what to say about ALL of the staff at the Cross Cancer Institute? You earn your reputation each and every day. From the reception, to the lab, radiology, to the chemo room, I never felt anything but hope. It became a community onto itself, my visits welcomed and chitchat never rushed.
During this past year I have longed for Nova Scotia—home. For the people who know me best. To all my family and friends, I must tell you, I FELT your well wishes and prayers. I am in awe of your capacity to reach out. I was surrounded with your affection and please never think for one moment that you didn’t make a difference—you did. Thank you!
For any who may have just entered or are in the midst of the vortex known as cancer, I send you my love. Embrace and allow the love of others to shield you against the unknown, scary future. And if I can leave you with only one piece of advice, it would be to remember funky socks. Every time I had to face the next round of chemo, I would ‘dress’ for the occasion because ‘it’ was not going to get to me. Part of my outfit included red, cool, or sometimes striped sock. They were my rebellion, my reminder of smiles and happiness, a secret concealed under my pants and in my shoes, but I knew they were there. They were a symbol of what ALL OF YOU gave me ... hope.
Thank you!