Posts by Jacqueline Chartier

I have over 25 years of experience as a freelance writer and journalist. I was originally trained as a general assignment news reporter, however I've developed a specialization in profiles and feature length articles. I write on a variety of topics including history and heritage, arts and culture, the Canadian military and health care. In November 2011, I was diagnosed with cancer. My blog The Teal Diaries explores what it’s like to be diagnosed with ovarian cancer and to courageously battle this life-threatening disease one day at a time. It offers readers an upfront and personal account of one woman’s ongoing nightmare and celebrates her survivorship. More importantly, my mandate is to foster support for the more than 17,000 Canadian women who are currently living with ovarian cancer. My goal is to raise public awareness of this devastating disease and to promote early detection.

Reading Through Cancer

Photo by Ivo Rainha

With a bustling holiday season and another long winter both nearly upon us, I’ve decided to devote this post to the theme of literature and reading. For me books are like wonderful companions that help me through the dark, cold months. In addition, I often enjoy giving them as gifts to some of the people who are closest to me. 

While I’ve always loved reading, I never expected how much this passion would guide me through my cancer journey. In times of crisis books have helped me to feel more connected to other cancer survivors and to other human beings in general. The American literary icon James Baldwin put his feelings this way.

“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.” 

Here are a few of the books (both fiction and nonfiction) that have helped sustain me when I felt the fear, uncertainty or loneliness of living with an ovarian cancer diagnosis.

Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn

Originally published in 1990, this book has been through numerous editions, the author explores the role of mindfulness and how its practice can improve the quality of life for people with chronic illnesses. Jon Kabat-Zinn describes in detail the techniques he has used successfully with patients in the Stress Reduction Clinic at the University of Massachusetts Medical Centre. Learning to listen to your own body is vital, above all I came away from this book with an improved awareness of how my body responds to the emotional and psychological stress of having cancer. I’ve also acquired new methods to effectively reduce or manage the negative impact of such everyday stress.

Full Catastrophe Living is over 400 pages and covers a lot of territory, including the basics of both meditation and yoga. I can accept that some readers might be turned off by the length of this volume or by its allusions to certain tenants of Buddhism. Mindfulness mediation is frequently taught and practiced within the context of Buddhism, however it has been argued that its essence is universal. For this reason, it can be learned and practiced by cancer patients without appealing to Asian culture or Buddhist authority to enrich it or authenticate it. Advocates contend that mindfulness stands on its own as a powerful vehicle for self-understanding and healing.

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi 

I highly recommend reading Paul Kalanithi’s bestseller, When Breath Becomes Air, especially if you’re dealing with a cancer diagnosis. At the age of 36, on the verge of completing a decade’s training as a neurosurgeon, Kalanithi was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. One day he was a doctor treating the dying, the next he was a patient struggling to live. When Breath Becomes Air is a life-affirming reflection on facing our mortality and on the relationship between doctor and patient. I was often mesmerized by the author’s writing skills, almost a little envious that he could be both a talented physician and such an outstanding creator of non-fiction. There are passages in the book where Kalanithi perfectly captures what it’s like to suddenly be living with cancer.

“In a way though, the certainty of death was easier than this uncertain life. The path forward would seem obvious if only I knew how many months or years I had left. Tell me three months, I’d spend time with family. Tell me one year, I’d have a plan (write the book). Give me 10 years, I’d get back to treating diseases. The pedestrian truth that you live one day at a time didn’t help. What was I supposed to do with that day?”

Paul Kalanithi When Breath Becomes Air

The Emperor of All Maladies by Siddhartha Mukherjee 

After my cancer diagnosis I started to think quite a lot about the history of cancer, I realize that I owe my life to the oncologists and patients that have come before me. I developed an even greater fascination this topic while watching the PBS miniseries Cancer: The Emperor of All Maladies. The creators of this ground-breaking television documentary based their project on a work of non-fiction by renowned oncologist and award-winning journalist Siddhartha Mukherjee. Both the PBS documentary and Mukherjee’s Pulitzer Prize winning volume have one overriding theme. They bring to light that our current generation’s experience with cancer represents only a momentary chapter in an epic battle spanning thousands of years.

Maya Angelou The Complete Collected Poems

Maya Angelou (1928-2014) was an American author, screenwriter, poet and civil rights activist. I’ve always been an avid fan of her literature, now that I’m a cancer survivor I often find strength and inspiration through her words. During my stay on the cancer ward I kept a copy of Angelou’s complete poems by my bedside. My favourites include Still I Rise and Phenomenal Woman, at the lowest point in my life I would read passages whenever I was able to sit up in bed.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.


Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,   
The stride of my step,   
The curl of my lips.   
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,   
That’s me.

Give Us Some Respect

As a cancer survivor, I sense that lately I’m not always getting the respect that I deserve. The healthy and able-bodied appear to be increasingly apathetic, indifferent or self-centered concerning the needs of those of us with cancer. It’s a serious lack of respect that many in society are regarding us with, they treat us as if we are of little worth or disposable. This disrespect has come to a head in the past year or two, some experts even argue that our civil society has begun to deteriorate under the strain of the pandemic. It’s become every person for themselves or a Darwinian attitude that favours survival of the fittest. Here are a few fundamental ways that you should support cancer patients, as well as those with other chronic illnesses and disabilities.

Appreciate that we are at higher risk from COVID-19.

The pandemic is over or “we have to learn to live it” are becoming the new mantras as society becomes increasingly weary of the international health crisis. What’s fascinating to me about those who ask “how long do you plan to wear a mask indoors?” is that it hasn’t occurred to them that most of us who have survived cancer are comfortable not knowing the answer to that question. I’m used to living with unpredictability and not knowing what the future might bring. I can cope with the uncertainty of not knowing when this pandemic will actually end.

Not wearing a mask indoors right now is the perfect analogy for ableism, it tells me you believe you are invincible and take your health for granted. Your choice not to mask is a red flag that you don’t think about anyone beyond yourself. You can’t imagine that you’ll ever become disabled, or dependent on others. When you don’t wear a mask, and you look over and observe me masked, it reveals a great deal about you. It informs me that you are short-sighted and you think that if you survive COVID you’re fine. You don’t stop to consider possible long-term outcomes, such as organ damage, that might occur months or years later. 

Regrettably, I perceive your strong independence, and it’s the toxic kind. I can hear you making bold statements like “it’s not my fault if other people get sick” (maybe in fact it is). I see implications that my right to life and quality of life are not worth protecting. I get an uncomfortable reminder that you’re not in solidarity with me or millions of other cancer patients. 

Place us at the centre of a circle of support.

Being a caregiver or immediate family member when someone has cancer is enormously challenging, but it doesn’t equal the experience of the actual patient who has been diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. A technique has gained attention for dealing with a major life crisis, such as a cancer diagnosis. It’s called the ring theory of kvetching, and was named by the psychologist Susan Silk. When Silk first wrote about the concept in the LA Times in 2013, she drew on her personal experiences as a breast cancer patient. Once when she declined a colleague’s visit, pleading exhaustion, she was told, “This isn’t just about you.” “It’s not?” she wondered. “How is my breast cancer not primarily about me?” 

The main principle of Silk’s ring theory is that support, caring, comfort FLOWS IN. Kvetching, venting, complaining, requests for empathy, all of this only FLOWS OUT. The person or people with the serious illness, trauma, or other enormously challenging life situation — they get to complain outwardly to their first circle of support. The first circle of support, usually spouses, parents or other immediate family members do NOT vent — about the challenges, the loss of sleep, the emotional toll, etc. — to the person at the centre of the trauma.

Don’t come to us with unsolicited advice.

The truth I’ve come to accept is that I didn’t cause my cancer and I don’t have the ability to simply will it away. However, when my ovarian cancer was initially diagnosed, I was more desperate and naïve, more willing to imagine these things were still under my control.  I was hospitalized for over a month and a half at Calgary’s Foothills Medical Centre. When I looked into some of the other patients’ eyes, I could see them begging for a future, and I understood that they would do almost anything for the gift of just a few more months in this world. 

Looking back at the trauma I faced as a new patient, both my desperation and need for reassurance were justifiable. Unfortunately, some of the things that people either said or wrote to me during that time were highly inappropriate. Many of their suggestions worsened, or even exploited, my fear and vulnerability. In particular they reinforced the misconception that I could directly control the course of the insidious disease that had invaded my body. On occasion this might have been due to malevolence, but I still believe the leading cause of people’s poor advice was ignorance.

“The Thing Is” When You Have Cancer


The Thing Is

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

Ellen Bass


Poetry for me is often healing and cathartic. I recently encountered The Thing Is when it appeared in one of my social media feeds. The American poet Ellen Bass wrote it when she was in deep grief and it certainly resonated with me. When I researched the author, I learned that Bass has published nine poetry collections, the most recent of which is Indigo (Copper Canyon Press, 2020). In addition to her poetry, she has written several works of nonfiction, including The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

After reading The Thing Is, I felt as though the words had been intended for people like cancer survivors and their families. For those who haven’t actually lost something they cherish or someone dear it’s almost impossible to appreciate the poem or understand its meaning. However, for those of us who have felt the darkness of grief or had to abandon the lives we knew before cancer, we understand the poem completely. We get it. We not only get it, we’ve lived it.

As an ovarian cancer survivor, my life is forever altered, and it will be until the day I die. I’ve suffered, acquired a much deeper awareness of grief and pain, but I manage to still love life. Even in the darkest moments, there are still things to love; the majestic mountains on Calgary’s horizon, the green grass, the brilliant orange poppies that bloom in my backyard, my cat rubbing up against my leg while gently purring. Every season, every day, holds beauty waiting to be discovered.  I know. my family, friends and health care team would all want me to learn to love life fully again. It’s challenging, often still a work in progress, but I continue to persevere.

Cancer Patients Face a Health System in Crisis

“Since the pandemic’s start, we’ve worried about the health system’s dramatic collapse but, like my dying patients, we’re witnessing a slower death; a system imperceptibly degrading until one day, like a cancer-riddled body, it just stops working entirely.”

Dr. Gabriel Fabreau

Doctors, nurses and patient advocates in both Canada and the U.S. are sounding the alarm that after two years of COVID-19, our hospitals have never been worse off. This incredibly disturbing quote describing the health care system is from a recent opinion piece in my local newspaper. The piece was written by Dr. Gabriel Fabreau, a general internist and an assistant professor at the O’Brien Institute for Public Health at the University of Calgary. Fabreau argues that the quality of care in Alberta is degrading, increasingly unsafe and often without dignity.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer in November 2011 I was like many Canadians, I was proud of our universal health care but I had never really been required to test it. I had never dealt with a chronic or life-threatening illness before. I’d never even been hospitalized for surgery or seen the inside of a cancer centre. My innocence of what’s involved in being treated for cancer was shattered almost literally overnight. It took three surgeries and five cycles of chemotherapy to force my disease into remission, along the way there were too many outpatient appointments, tests and scans for me to count. I’ve currently logged thousands of hours in hospitals and seen dozens of physicians and physicians in training, that’s enough to consider myself an insider when it comes to the basics of Canada’s health care system.

Photo by Anna Shvets

Even a decade ago, long before the pandemic, there were many warning signs that the system was under strain. During my cancer surgeries I often felt an urgent need to leave the hospital and go home, I never felt relaxed or like I could take my time to heal. Even then, it may have been easier to define hospitals by what they are not. They’re not places for the sick to get well, not unless healing takes place in the brief interval of time that makes the stay a compensated expense. My hospital treatment was primarily covered by Alberta’s universal health insurance, but I needed my personal Blue Cross insurance plan as well. Through it all I was aware that hospital beds in Alberta cost around $1000 per day and that those beds are in limited supply.

I remember watching in surprise as some short-term stay patients were relegated to the hallway due to the unavailability of rooms. Unfortunately, what I witnessed was a typical example, an unpleasant reminder of how drastically the situation for patients and their families has changed in only a generation. Once hospitals were where you stayed when you were too sick to survive at home; now it’s become customary to go home anyway, cobbling together your own nursing services from friends, relatives and drop-in professionals.

Justifiably the deteriorating situation during the pandemic has me concerned. As a cancer survivor and someone who has relied heavily on health care, I’m becoming more worried each day. The reality is that if my cancer recurs or if I have to resume active treatment, I may not be able to obtain the essential care I need. Fabreau cites the growing deficit in cancer screening and follow up care as the most troubling to him.  “Most tragically, we’re seeing missed cancers, illnesses so advanced they are now incurable. We know delayed diagnosis and treatment increase cancer deaths. Canadian research predicts over 21,000 excess cancer deaths by 2030. Preventable deaths because patients couldn’t or didn’t have appropriate cancer screening.”

Photo by Cedric Fauntleroy

I’m enraged and disheartened because, as Dr. Fabreau explains, the disastrous situation that we now find ourselves in was mainly avoidable. Even before the pandemic, the supply of health care workers was becoming inadequate. Canada has among the lowest physician and an average nurse supply per capita among high-income countries. Both workforces are running on empty: over half of physicians and more than 75 per cent of nurses in Canada are burnt out. It’s now disturbingly obvious that action should have been taken years ago to hire, train and recruit more health care workers. 

Finally, to reduce hospital demand, we must stop pretending COVID-19 is over when it is not. The pandemic is far from ended, particularly for cancer patients and others who are immunocompromised. It’s true Canadian COVID transmission is cresting as we enter the spring and summer seasons, but that simply means we must use this short reprieve until fall to prepare. Governments and health authorities would be wise to use this time to focus on important initiatives such as improving indoor ventilation and uptake of vaccine booster doses.

The Cancer Playlist

For almost my entire adult life, I’ve had a deep and personal relationship with sound because I know how precious it is. Since my late twenties, I’ve been deaf in my right ear, the doctors think my sudden hearing loss was probably a rare side effect from an inner ear infection. Long before my cancer diagnosis I would miss a lot in casual conversation, so I gradually learned to read body language, lips or other important cues. I would manoeuvre my way through social settings as friends and family took part in choreographed dances to get on my “good” side. Unfortunately, when I became a cancer patient, I learned that many treatments damage the inner ear resulting in some degree of hearing loss. This is a possible complication even for oncology patients who initially have quite good hearing, but for some patients like myself the risks are substantially higher. For us cancer treatment often results in additional damage in one or both ears. Inevitably, chemotherapy drugs combined with surgery and months of hospitalization have rendered my pre-existing auditory condition worse than before.

Although I’m partially deaf, I refuse to let my circumstances prevent me from enjoying the benefits of music. I still listen to music as best I can and this has been especially comforting throughout my cancer journey. Like almost everyone I have an iTunes library, I frequently enjoy listening to the songs using over the ear wireless headphones. My ovarian cancer playlist currently includes the following tracks.

  • Rainy Days and Mondays
    The Carpenters and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
  • Handle With Care
    The Travelling Wilburys Vol. 1
  • (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman
    Aretha Franklin Love Songs
  • Stand By Me
    John Lennon – Gimme Some Truth
  • Imagine
    John Lennon – Gimme Some Truth
  • The Circle Game
    Joni Mitchell – Hits
  • For All We Know
    The Carpenters and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
  • Bridge Over Troubled Water
    Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits
  • What a Wonderful World
    Louis Armstrong – The Ultimate Collection 
  • Over the Rainbow
    The Very Best of Judy Garland 

Some cancer patients choose to engage in music therapy which is the use of music interventions to accomplish individualized goals. These patients are guided by a credentialed professional who has completed an approved music therapy program. Formal music therapy was defined and first used by the United States War Department in 1945. It helped military service members recovering in Army hospitals. The therapy may include listening, singing, playing instruments, or composing music. However, musical skills or talents are not required to participate, nor is perfect hearing.

Today music therapy interventions are used in a variety of healthcare and educational settings. Studies have shown that such therapies may help patients in many ways, including psychologically, emotionally, physically, spiritually, cognitively and socially. A short list of the potential benefits includes:

  • Lowering blood pressure.
  • Improving memory. 
  • Enhanced communication and social skills. 
  • Self-reflection. Observing your thoughts and emotions. 
  • Reducing muscle tension. 
  • Self-regulation. Developing skills to manage your thoughts and emotions. 
  • Increasing motivation. 
  • Managing pain. 
  • Increasing joy. 

I recognized many years ago that music helps me to deal with certain emotions that I’m feeling, this became even more apparent to me after I was diagnosed with cancer and experienced some of its devastating social and emotional impacts. For example, God Bless the Child by the legendary Billie Holiday is one of my favorite songs, but lately both the powerful lyrics and her exquisite delivery keep going through my mind. I like that God Bless the Child extols self-reliance while it condemns those who ignore us, repudiate us or treat us as inferior when we are unable to be self-sufficient. 

In her autobiography Lady Sings the Blues Holiday indicated an argument with her mother over money led to the song. Apparently during the argument, she said the line “God bless the child that’s got his own.” Anger over the incident led the renowned vocalist to turn that into a starting point for a song, which she worked out in conjunction with Arthur Herzog. In his 1990 book Jazz Singing, Will Friedwald describes the composition as “sacred and profane” as it references the Bible while indicating that religion seems to have little or no effect in making people treat each other better. Sadly, Billie Holiday was only 44 when she died—she had fought a long, terrible battle with alcohol and drug addiction.

What I Know About Cancer Survivorship

It’s been over ten years since my cancer diagnosis and there are still times when I ask myself soul searching questions about this disease, especially its impact on society and on individuals. A lot of what I’ve written about in this blog involves the terms that we use when we talk about cancer, take survivor and survivorship for example. Although these expressions seem to be embedded in the cancer lexicon, there is still confusion regarding their meaning. I personally believe the terms survivor and survivorship encompass the following truths:

1. You are always a cancer survivor.

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

As a woman who has fought gynaecological cancer, I’ve come to accept this commonly held view of cancer survivorship. 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.

2. No one is less worthy of being called a cancer survivor.

The commonly accepted definition of “survivor” within the cancer community is simply a person diagnosed with cancer. So once the terrifying sentence, “I’m so sorry, the biopsy shows that you have cancer,” leaves your doctor’s lips and pierces your soul, you officially begin life as a cancer survivor. I remember my first chemotherapy treatment and how insecure I was, part of me felt like I was less of a “survivor” than some of the other cancer patients who had been fighting the disease for years. I can laugh at the situation now, but I was rather worried that some of the veteran chemotherapy patients might be able to tell that I was a newbie. They would ascertain that I looked too healthy and had all of my hair! When I arrived for my first session, I noticed that the people around me seemed to have many types and stages of cancer—what is more, a good number of them in the waiting room exhibited full heads of hair.

3. Cancer survivorship means confronting loss.

Emotions such as fear, hopelessness and grief infiltrate the lives of cancer survivors. Most psychologists maintain that grief is a person’s normal, healthy response to a loss. Understandably, I grieved after my father died, he was only 63. But I was rather surprised to find myself experiencing similar feelings when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. As I came to terms with the devastating diagnosis, I learned firsthand that the loss that triggers grief isn’t always physical. You can experience sorrow if you or a loved one are diagnosed with a major disease or face a serious illness. It’s common to grieve the future plans you had made, or the ways life will change. Remember there is no “right” way to grieve, every cancer survivor is different. Give yourself time to experience your loss in your own way. Also understand that as a cancer survivor it’s important to make a commitment to yourself. You should make it a priority to take care of yourself emotionally, spiritually and physically.

4. Cancer survivorship is life-altering.

It’s been proven that when we are diagnosed with cancer our attention often turns away from the small and trivial distractions that surround us. Taking life for granted has become our culturally-induced default mode — we are trained to overlook the essential. As a cancer survivor I’ve ultimately been freed from this monotonous, addictive cycle. For example, I’m grateful for the oncologists who oversaw my case, especially my surgeon. I remain in awe of the fact that they literally saved my life, I also remember the nurses who were with me 24/7 in the hospital. I established a bond with several of them when life-threatening complications forced me to spend seven consecutive weeks on the cancer unit. Weeks in cancer time pass by like years, almost decades, but the magnificent oncology nursing team that I had somehow helped me pull through the agonizing eternity I found myself living .

I have a profounder awareness, one that allows me to truly appreciate the arrival of spring after a long hard winter. The sense of renewal or rebirth that is associated with spring has been heightened for me in so many ways. I appreciate the small wonders like a pair of finches building a nest in our yard and the poppies that bloom in the garden each June. Each day that I’m cancer-free is like a gift. It’s a miracle each morning when I wake up and become conscious that my disease is in remission and that I’m lying in my own bed. Sometimes I give a huge sigh of relief when I discover that I’m not in the hospital and there is no need to drive to the cancer centre for chemotherapy or a checkup.

Hospitals: What Every Patient Needs to Know 

What is it like to be hospitalized, I mean genuinely hospitalized for weeks on end until a tiny antiseptic room with curtains around the bed gradually becomes your home? For most of my life I had no real idea, but an awareness of severe illness requiring prolonged hospitalization can be one of the terrible consequences of becoming a cancer patient. In this blog post I’ll provide tips to cope with hospitalization and to endure the experience of being in a medical institution, specifically when undergoing major surgery.

First: Don’t let them diminish your identity.

The health care system and the medical establishment are especially challenging—we are made to feel anonymous and are often reduced to nothing more than numbers or charts, it hurts that we are being robbed of our individualism. I was personally made to feel an acute lack of identity when some nurses and hospital workers didn’t call me by my correct or preferred name. Their error would stem from the fact that I’ve always been called by my legal middle name, and not my first like most people. 

Loss of identity is the heart-breaking reality for many cancer patients as we find ourselves navigating the hospital or other medical institutions. We feel ourselves diminished and our individual worth slipping away. As patients much of our privacy and control is essentially gone, on a hospital unit we must wake when we are told, wear what we are told and eat what we are told. Often, we don’t have the luxury of a private room, we must share a room with whomever, they say we have to. 

In his classic New York Times bestseller Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End, Atul Gawande examines identity and how it’s often diminished for residents of hospitals and nursing homes. The author, a medical doctor, uses case studies and also discusses the reality of chronic illness and ageing within his own family. Gawande writes that the battle of being mortal is the battle to maintain the integrity of one’s own life—to avoid being so diminished or dispirited or subjugated that who you are becomes disconnected from who you were or what you want to be. 

The Foothills Hospital in Calgary is one of Canada’s largest medical facilities.

Second: You deserve compassion and respect.

The best doctors or nurses make time to connect with their patients, and they genuinely care about what you are thinking and feeling. For example, if their patient is feeling cold, they arrange for a blanket, if their patient is thirsty, they get the individual some water. Without addressing these underlying human needs, impressive hospital designs and state-of-the-art equipment are useless. After a while it’s only our humanness that matters, the luxurious seating and lighting become insignificant compared with medical staff who consistently treat those under their care with compassion and dignity. 

I remember an incident that occurred at one of the lowest points during my rigorous cancer treatment. It was the middle of the night and I’d already spent several grueling hours in the emergency room when I was finally sent for a CT scan. The radiologist performing the scan was very empathetic toward me. He immediately noticed that I appeared cold and nauseous, so he offered me a blanket as well as a small basin just in case I was sick. Next, he saw that my IV had been put in poorly by someone in the ER and that it required redoing. However, instead of replacing my IV before the scan, he explained that he didn’t want to put me through the unpleasant procedure right away. We ultimately used the imperfect IV line to administer the contrast solution for the scan and it held out unit after we were finished.

Third: Remember that hospitals can be dangerous. 

A recent study conducted by the Canadian Patient Safety Institute confirmed how prevalent accidents and medical errors are in hospitals. One in 10 Canadians have personally experienced a Patient Safety Incident (PSI), with many more saying a loved one has. Not surprisingly caregivers and those with a chronic illness were significantly more likely to have experienced a PSI, both personally and having a family member who experienced one. According to the study, misdiagnosis, falls, infections and mistakes during treatment were the most common types of PSIs. Meanwhile, those who had suffered a Patient Safety Incident most frequently cited distracted or overworked healthcare providers as contributing factors that led to the incident. 

Medicine as it is practiced now is so complex and time is so limited to healthcare providers that, even in the best hospitals, certain aspects of patient care can be overlooked or misconstrued. As a patient I quickly realized that I must be an advocate or have an advocate. Sometimes out of fear, pain or confusion I was unable to be my own advocate. This is why I believe it’s almost always essential to have a family member or loved one visiting you regularly and advocating on your behalf. However, the decision about which and how many visitors is still up to you. Remember it’s not your job to entertain visitors. You should encourage friends and family who understand your needs, and discourage those visitors who may not be completely in tune with you.

Sometimes Life is Beautiful

Lately I’ve been finding it harder to appreciate the beauty around me, this is understandable given that I’m a cancer survivor living through a devastating global pandemic. All of us are exhausted and demoralized as we begin the third year of an ongoing international health crisis. Even in these dark times, there are several ways to forge a deeper bond with the beauty that is in this world and I’ll discuss the most important ones here. 

Experience Beauty Through Art

There’s an emerging group of professionals who employ the arts to help people heal. The new field is called creative arts therapies, and it encompasses a wide range of modes of expression including art, dance/movement, drama, music and poetry. When cancer patients undertake these activities, whether individually or with the guidance of a creative art therapist, they stand to benefit psychologically and emotionally. Recently there’s been a trend toward simple or old-fashioned crafts and hobbies such as knitting. I’ve even used adult colouring books to relax and reduce daily stress. This concept started about a decade ago with the publication of Johanna Basford’s Secret Garden. 

More recently, I decided to take my colouring hobby a step further and enrolled in an art class offered through Wellspring Calgary. I acknowledge that some of my inspiration came from Nadia Chaudhri who created some lovely works of art from her palliative care bed. The Introduction to Watercolour course that I participated in had to be conducted online via Zoom, but I did my best as professional artist, Karin Huehold, taught about 20 online students some basic techniques. 

Experience Beauty Through Nature

I live in Canada and during the extremely long, cold winters I’m obliged to spend the majority of my time indoors, for me January and February are discouraging—sometimes almost brutal. It’s generally agreed that exposure to nature is extremely beneficial for people with cancer or other chronic illnesses, improving mood and easing anxiety, stress, and depression. Current research findings suggest that natural settings such as parks, wilderness areas, urban green spaces and gardens have the potential to improve both physical and mental health. Numerous health scholars claim that ecotherapy can promote wellness and healing. The practice is also known as green therapy, nature therapy, and earth-centered therapy.

About a decade ago, soon after I was diagnosed with cancer, I discovered a meditation technique called mindfulness. Being outdoors often helps me be mindful, I’m able to relax and to more fully appreciate the unique moment that I’m living in. Jon Kabat-Zinn pioneered using this method with cancer patients and other groups battling chronic pain or illness at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. Kabat-Zinn describes mindfulness as follows:

“Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally. This kind of attention nurtures greater awareness, clarity, and acceptance of the present-moment reality. It wakes us up to the fact that our lives unfold only in moments If we are not fully present for many of those moments, we may not only miss what is most valuable in our lives but also fail to realize the richness and the depth of our possibilities for growth and transformation.”

Find Beauty and Strength Within

When you are diagnosed with cancer, you’ll almost certainly have moments when you sense that your world is spinning violently out of control. The fundamental paradox for me is that I’m often in situations where I feel a sense of power, combined with courage and self-assurance. It’s as if I’m standing in life’s Category 5 hurricane and remaining resolute, steadfast and unbroken. I don’t aspire to become a legend like Terry Fox or to be anything resembling a saint or a cancer hero. But still, I’ve discovered inner qualities and personal strengths I never appreciated or properly acknowledged in myself. Subjected to the ultimate test, I’ve sometimes shocked myself with my capacity to overcome adversity and to confront physical pain and suffering.

Sometimes I wish that a magical force or mystic healer could transport me back to before I had cancer, but then I think that I’ve come too far and acquired too much. In the decade since my cancer diagnosis, I’ve realized how fortunate I am. I’ve been reminded that often, in our worst challenges come valuable lessons. Through facing the terrible realities of my disease, I’ve learned to be more conscious of living in the moment. I’ve learned it’s all right to pause in our hyper-accelerated culture, I’m allowed to take a break when I’m feeling worn-out. My new normal has also taught me I don’t need material things to make me happy and that family and friends are to be treasured. But perhaps the most valuable lesson I’ve acquired so far during my cancer journey is that life is all too fleeting.

COVID’s Second Bitter Winter

Omicron, the rapidly spreading COVID variant that seems to be more successful at evading the body’s immune response, is enough to break anyone’s spirt two years into the pandemic. But for many cancer patients it’s been like a punch in the face followed by a hard kick once we’ve hit the floor.

First, we must live with the awareness that COVID is far more dangerous for us than it is for ordinary people who aren’t dealing with a malignancy. The truth that cancer patients remain at a much higher risk of hospitalization and death from COVID-19 even if they are fully vaccinated, was recently verified by a small-scale study. The study, published in the journal Annals of Oncology, found that cancer patients had a 13 per cent mortality rate if they suffered a breakthrough infection. This important research was conducted by the COVID-19 and Cancer Consortium, a group of 129 research centres which have been tracking the virus’ impact on cancer patients. It’s considered to be the first study to investigate the risk levels for cancer patients who experience breakthrough cases.

The most demoralizing issue is that many individuals in government and society continue to abandon us, they treat the vulnerable or high risk as if we are inconsequential. For the past two years I’ve witnessed the casual selfishness of those who are considered healthy and able bodied. I’ve also seen cancer patients endure hardships that are far worse than what should be expected of them. Not only is there the prolonged stress of undergoing cancer treatment as anti-vaxxers picket hospitals, there’s also the exasperation of flip-flopping politicians who wield power over our lives. I’ve become incredibly frustrated with a number of provincial and state governments during the pandemic, because to me it’s disturbingly obvious that cancer patients, the elderly or citizens with chronic health conditions aren’t their priority. Some politicians will jeopardize our lives for their political careers and the economic advantage of a privileged few.

Official statistics report that globally about 5.5 million people have died of COVID-19. However, it’s still unknown how many deaths there have been indirectly as a result of the strain on heavily overburdened health care systems. Of course, individuals must take some personal responsibility for this problem, but governments are primarily responsible. In Canada almost 560,000 fewer surgeries were performed between March 2020 and June 2021 due to cancellations and delays, compared with the pre-pandemic period. Often, we’ve been reassured by government and health officials that it’s only elective surgeries that are being significantly impacted. But doctors and patients argue that the term “elective” is deceptive. For example, cancer surgery is not “elective” like a class in school. It just means you likely won’t die if your surgery happens on Thursday instead of Tuesday, unlike a burst appendix. 

Naturally cancer patients and their families are concerned about access to care as well as the potential disruptions to treatment as the pandemic drags on. Unfortunately, experts are now warning us that cancelled surgeries are only a single manifestation of this crisis. Two years into the pandemic some oncologists are seeing first-hand the “tsunami” of advanced cancers that are less curable than if they’d been diagnosed at an earlier stage. This increase is happening due to a combination of factors: 

  • Patients with cancer symptoms feared coming to hospitals, which are taking precautions to reduce the risk of contact with COVID-19.
  • People missed preventative screenings like mammograms and colonoscopies.
  • There were cuts to operating room time during lockdowns, slower diagnostic tests and biopsies, and reduced intensive care unit staffing for surgical patients.

Finally, it’s never been more isolating or lonely to be a cancer patient and the journey has never seemed more precarious. Those with advanced or incurable disease have had their lives impacted the most. “I knew that when they told me I was incurable, my years of life had shrunk down. I was not prepared to be robbed of experiencing them by being locked in my home for two years,” wrote one woman. “Of the few people that can visit, I have to warn them that I look very different. I’m a skeleton compared to the happy, size 14 I once was (and yes, I was happy at 14). Now my bones stick out all over. I need help getting up, and none of my clothes fit.”

Even during their medical appointments or hospitalizations, cancer patients are often required to abstain from close physical contact. This comes at a time in their lives when they probably need this type of support the most. “My family doctor delivered the diagnosis over the phone. Whenever I received bad news at the hospital, I walked to my car without holding anyone’s hand. The day of my surgery in July 2020, I lay on a gurney, my chest marked up with Sharpie where the incisions would be to remove my breasts, and waited for hours staring at the chair no one was allowed to sit in,” recalls Ann Cavlovic. Worse, wearing masks and other PPE sometimes means that even doctors and nurses are unable to offer the comfort of a warm hand in situations when a patient’s relatives are absent, trapped on the other side of the world or quarantined. As the longstanding slogan argues, no one should have to face cancer alone.

You Want Me to Do What?

“Are you someone who enjoys the unsolicited opinions of strangers and acquaintances? If so, I can’t recommend cancer highly enough. You won’t even have the first pathology report in your hands before the advice comes pouring in. Laugh and the world laughs with you; get cancer and the world can’t shut its trap,” wrote Caitlin Flanigan in her recent article for The Atlantic. 

If you’re a cancer patient then you’ll no doubt be able to empathize with the author’s lament on the subject of getting unsolicited advice. I know I’ve certainly felt high levels of frustration as people try to inform me how to live my life or deal with my disease. In some cases, the information we’re presented with is demonstrably inaccurate, scientifically unproven or even dangerous. After a decade of being offered personal as well as medical advice, caution and scepticism have become almost second nature to me. I inherently ask myself where is this information or recommendation coming from? Precisely who is telling me this, is the source an acknowledged expert in their field? Is what they are saying accurate, or could what they’re communicating contain a bias or a particular agenda?

Like most cancer patients I was particularly vulnerable in the months following my diagnosis. When my gynecologist gave me the results of my pathology report and said “it’s cancer,” I felt as if all that I knew and held certain about the world was suddenly obliterated or in doubt. Psychologists have observed that as human beings we tend to uphold something called the just world hypothesis or just world fallacy. We cling to the idea that the world is a fair and orderly place where what happens to people generally is what they deserve. In other words, bad things happen to bad people, and good things happen to good people. However, when an individual is diagnosed with cancer their sense of stability and belief in a just or fair world is often shaken— they can no longer rationalize much of what they thought was true. Some cancer patients become distressed, especially when they recognize that according to the just world hypothesis, they must somehow be responsible for their disease or deserve it. 

The truth I’ve come to accept is that I didn’t cause my cancer and I don’t have the ability to simply will it away. However, when my ovarian cancer was initially diagnosed, I was more desperate and naïve, more willing to imagine these things were still under my control. Looking back at the trauma I faced as a new patient, both my desperation and need for reassurance were justifiable. In 2012 I was hospitalized for over a month and a half at Calgary’s Foothills Medical Centre. The women’s cancer ward is predominately a place of bravery, triumph, heartbreak and tears. When I looked into some of the other patients’ eyes, I could see them begging for a future, and I understood that they would do almost anything for the gift of just a few more months in this world. 

Regrettably, some of the things that people either said or wrote to me during that time were highly inappropriate. Many of their suggestions worsened, or even exploited, my fear and vulnerability. In particular they reinforced the misconception that I could somehow control the course of the insidious disease that had invaded my body. On occasion this might have been due to malevolence, but I still believe the leading cause of people’s poor advice was ignorance.

I was recently reminded of some of the damaging words that were spoken to me by one member’s post in an online cancer support group. I nearly gasped in astonishment as, with a measure of composure, she conveyed the advice that she had just received from her oncologist. 

“He told me I needed to forget I ever had cancer, disassociate with all cancer friends or groups and eliminate thoughts of cancer and stress from my life to prevent recurrence,” she disclosed.

I was angry and astonished that such irrational advice had come from a cancer expert, an oncologist. What type of medical professional actually believes that cancer patients have the power to cause or prevent a recurrence simply by ruminating about their disease coming back or by not dwelling on it? This to the point of scolding patients for acknowledging their illness or the possibility it will someday recur. 

Of course, I don’t deny that a positive attitude and mental practices such as meditation can both play an important role in cancer recovery. Certainly, the mind is powerful and our attitude toward healing is important, but scientific evidence indicates that we cannot wish or ignore cancer away. 

The American Cancer Society and the National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health say there’s no evidence that meditation or support groups have a significant impact on survival rates. They can do all sorts of wonderful things, like reducing stress and allowing you to live in the moment instead of worrying about the next scan. However, there is no evidence that these methods will help you to achieve remission or slow the progression of the disease in your body.