Hello. This post will be a little different than most of my previous ones. I don’t have a patient story to share with you this time. I do, however, wish to share how the cancer diagnosis of a colleague affected me. I can tell you up front it was with heavy impact.
“Can we go to Mexico over spring break?”
I received this question in a text message from my daughter last week. It was followed by two emojis: the please/praying emoji and the happy face emoji. My daughter sent me this text on the last night of a week vacation I was on with my best friend. My bestie and I had jetted off to an island far, far away from the typical cold of an Alberta winter six days earlier. We were getting ready for bed at our hotel trying to come up with a plan for the following morning. Neither of us wanted to leave our island paradise and we were trying to figure out how we could get one last snorkel in with some sea turtles and colorful fish.
When I read my daughter’s message, I involuntarily guffawed. My initial reaction was strong: no, with a capital “N” and “O”! Spring break was six weeks away. A spring break trip was not on my radar this year. It was much to close try to find any sort of decent deal on flights and accommodation somewhere. My brain did a quick assessment of all the busy things my kids and I had coming up: hockey provincials for my son in a city three hours away the weekend after spring break ended; gymnastics provincials for my daughter the very next weekend, also in a city several hours away; I was already booked to be out of town the weekend thereafter; not to mention I share custody of my kids with their father and I’d have to work around the time he has with our kiddos during spring break. I simply felt there was no way I could make a spring break trip happen.
I didn’t want to disappoint my daughter over a text message. Instead, I choose to reply to her with, “We can talk about it when I get home.” My statement was true. We would talk about it. We would talk about not going anywhere.
The following day my best friend and I did indeed find a couple of sea turtles to swim with. We hit a second snorkel spot to visit with some fish swimming offshore among rock and coral. It’s hard to beat the warm Caribbean Sea when it offers up perfect visibility and magical ocean creatures. We couldn’t have felt luckier to have experienced the awe of the underwater world together in such perfect conditions. “One Happy Island” delivered big time!
The next day found me back home in a pile of work with endless emails to get through. I was desperately wishing I was still floating in salt water, discovering nooks and crannies with my snorkel mask on. I came across an email sent a week earlier. I read it incredulously the first time. When I re-read it a second and third time, I had tears in my eyes.
The email was from a colleague. It outlined medical struggles she had been having, ultimately leading to multiple tests that diagnosed a cancer known to have poor outcomes. The diagnosis is still fresh, with many unknowns regarding what will ultimately transpire. Statistics are not on her side though.
News travels fast in the rather small oncology community. This colleague wanted to give us all a heads up in case we saw her wandering the halls as a patient. She would have clinic visits and treatment infusions and concerned questions would undoubtedly haunt her.
Her email was hard to digest. I imagine writing and re-rewriting that email was heart wrenching for her. I tried to picture what I might write in such a situation. I wondered if I’d have the strength to announce what she had announced: I have been feeling unwell for months. My greatest fear has been confirmed. I have cancer. You will see me on the other side of cancer care now. I am proud to be part of this team and trust you will do your best for me.
I’ve known this person for almost fifteen years. I respect this co-worker. Over the years, we have had intermittent contact for patient care issues. This individual works so hard and is a huge patient advocate. In our world, I think we all secretly hope putting our hearts and souls into the work we do might afford us immunity to being diagnosed with the “C” word, like we somehow can avoid it. But that’s not the case. Walking into a cancer centre with an identification card indicating we work there doesn’t give us a free pass on cancer. The reality of life is cancer can happen to any of us, in any season, at any age. My colleagues’ diagnosis was a big ugly reminder we have little control over what life throws at us. Karma does not have a direct line to the cancer Gods.
My colleague is my age. She is MY AGE!!! This is terrifying. It could well have been me getting this diagnosis. Thinking about this too much can be paralyzing. But not thinking about it is not an option for me. I can’t not think about the “what if it was me” scenario.
She asked for privacy. She asked for good vibes. I trust encouraging thoughts and prayers are coming to her in droves. The thoughts and prayers her diagnosis has my brain firing are many: Eat the cake. Stay a little longer for another episode of the show you are binging with your best friend. Have that second scoop of ice cream. Play the extra game of cards even though it is late. Hold that hug a few more seconds every single chance you get. Snorkel one more time before your flight takes off for home. Say “I love you” each time you part from a loved one.
My colleagues’ situation is a reminder to do the things that bring us closer to the sunlight.
Now, I come full circle to the question by daughter asked me: “Can we go to Mexico over spring break?”
I am sending hopeful thoughts and a bunch of love to my colleague.
Author Notes:
I have the privilege of seeing cancer patients every day. Unfortunately, in seeing them, I see them robbed of time. I see them with regrets. I see them leaving “to-dos” that never get crossed off their list. For one reason or another, it hits a little closer when I find out someone at work has been diagnosed; even closer if they are the same age as I am.
The impact cancer has on my life is infinitesimal. I want to make the most of every moment. I want a big, giant, happy life. I am driven to try to enhance the lives of those I love in all the small ways I can muster and when possible, all the big ways too. I want to blow up balloons and string up streamers and have confetti popping out of containers for absolutely no reason . . . just because. I want to really know, and feel deep in my bones, that life is a celebration. Of course, I know life can’t always be a party. We must deal with the doings we have to do each day. But the cancer I am around makes me want to strive for more than I expect out of life. Raise the joy bar. Then, raise it higher. Joy is limitless; so is love.
It’s important to remember, as my best friend frequently reminds me, making life bigger and better doesn’t have to come with an expensive price tag. Bigger might be taking a family walk by the river and talking about our dreams. Better could mean a delicious home cooked meal, seasoned with my favourite ingredient (love of course!) that makes the house smell yummy. A celebration could be your teenaged daughter staying off her phone for an afternoon and reading a book instead, or the fancy dance your son does on the couch when the Oilers score in the dying minutes of the game to tie it and send it into overtime.
I am grateful for the heavy impact my work has on me. It helps me see people, places, and things a little differently than I think I would otherwise.
I am curious to know, reader, what little or big thing will you do, or notice, this week to make sure you are living a bigger and better life?
