Cancer isn’t our fault.

One of the most disturbing revelations for me after being diagnosed with cancer was the amount of guilt and blame there is surrounding the disease. We still live in a society that subtlety, or even openly, tells cancer patients that it’s our fault. Two years ago, before she was Alberta’s provincial leader, Premier Danielle Smith made a shocking comment in which she essentially blamed cancer patients for their condition.

Smith’s now infamous comment was made during a podcast with naturopathic doctor Dr. Christine Perkins. The two were discussing healthcare and their shared belief that there’s a need for both mainstream and naturopathic medicines.

“Once you’ve arrived and got stage four cancer and there’s radiation and surgery and chemotherapy, that is incredibly expensive intervention — not just for the system, but also expensive in the toll it takes on the body,” Smith reasoned. “But, when you think everything that built up before you got to stage four and that diagnosis, that’s completely within your control and there’s something you can do about that that is different.”

We aren’t simply on vacation or short-term sick leave.

Ordinarily healthy people tend to assume that having cancer or a serious chronic illness is comparable to a couple of weeks spent recovering—perhaps from a slight injury or minor surgical procedure. This attitude probably stems from genuine ignorance, far too many people don’t understand the impact that cancer and cancer treatment have on the human body. Still, it can be devastating when co-workers or relatives imply that you are lazy or enjoying a relaxing break. “Why aren’t you back at work yet? It must be nice to be able to stay home all the time.” 

We can’t just resume our lives as if nothing happened.

Some pundits seem to think that, once we regain some of our strength and physical health, we should put the fact that we had cancer behind us and simply carry on with life. While I’m currently in remission, those dark days of surgery and chemotherapy have permanently changed my body and affected my psyche. In addition to a fear of recurrence, I’ve had to accept physical changes. These transformations include the fact that my abdomen is severely scarred and that I have significantly less energy or vitality than I did prior to undergoing cancer treatment. It’s also worth mentioning that, like so many other cancer survivors, I’ve had to deal with disability. In my case, I had substantial hearing loss prior to my cancer, but the chemotherapy drugs that were used have spitefully robbed me of even more

We don’t need medical advice from non-experts.

When I was undergoing treatment, I can remember getting angry when people other than my cancer care team would try to give me medical information. “If I want information regarding cancer or cancer treatment, I’ll ask for it,” I thought. The many articles from newspapers, magazines or online publications that I received from people who had never personally had cancer were annoying. For the most part these pieces were irrelevant and unnecessary. Also friends and family should be careful when presenting teas, potions or homeopathic remedies to treat cancer. When some individuals gave me a gift basket with ginger and dandelion root, I didn’t bother to explain to them that these nutrients are specifically mentioned on a list oncologists give to their patients. Ginger and dandelion root do not combine well with many traditional chemotherapy drugs, and therefore I was told to refrain from using them during active treatment with Carboplatin and Taxol.

Our cancer journey doesn’t end once our treatment is over.

As a woman who has experienced gynaecological cancer, I’ve come to accept one commonly held view of cancer survivorship:

“Cancer survivorship begins at diagnosis and covers the physical, psychosocial, and economic issues of cancer, from diagnosis until the end of life.” 

First, I accept the all-encompassing notion that’s presented in this definition because cancer does impact every single aspect of a person’s life. In retrospect, I also believe that my survivorship began that moment in my gynecologist’s office when he told me the devastating details of my pathology report. 

Simply being diagnosed with cancer made me a survivor, from this perspective I didn’t have to wait until after I had completed a full year of treatment or until I was officially in remission. Before the surgeons at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre cut into my body, and before the first drop of chemotherapy solution ran ominously into my veins, I was already a survivor in the eyes of the cancer community. I appreciate now that I’ll always be part of this incredible, strong and resilient group.