Crushing the Third Wave

It’s around lunchtime on a windy spring day as I walk into the building and begin navigating the checkpoints that have been setup for the COVID vaccination clinic. As I make my way to the old gymnasium in the former children’s hospital, I’m relieved that I have managed to book an appointment—after several months of waiting it’s finally my demographic’s chance. Like hundreds of thousands, I had to first wait in anticipation while following the latest updates from the Alberta government concerning a complex vaccine rollout plan. 

I’m intensely aware as I’m about to be vaccinated, that our province has one of North America’s highest COVID-19 rates. Of course, it’s a dubious distinction and our third wave outbreak has garnered international attention in the media. In recent weeks American. television networks such as CNN have covered it and so has the venerable British newspaper The Guardian. As a cancer survivor and someone who is potentially vulnerable to complications from the virus, I’ve become extremely angry and frustrated.

Many physicians and leading public health experts have argued that it didn’t have to become this bad and that Albertans shouldn’t have to go through this nightmare. The third wave has been terrifying, especially for those of us who are not young or perfectly healthy, On the day that I’m ready to receive my first dose of Pfizer vaccine, Alberta has around 570 active cases of COVID-19 per 100,000 residents, more than twice the Canadian average. It’s the highest rate recorded anywhere in Canada at any point during the pandemic.

Regrettably, the province is now mired in its third major round of restrictions since the pandemic began last March. The latest surge has forced the reintroduction of strict, sweeping public health measures, closing all schools provincewide and temporarily shuttering many non-essential businesses. Most experts are citing a variety of contributing factors to explain exactly how we got into this situation or why Alberta’s third wave has become so severe. Here is their general consensus of what went wrong:

  • A premature easing of public health restrictions
  • An underestimation of COVID-19 variants 
  • An inequitable vaccine rollout
  • Non-compliance and non-enforcement regarding health restrictions
  • Refusing to prioritize the province’s schools and teachers

For the time being, I’ve joined a steady stream of hopeful Calgarians at the vaccination centre. There is light at the end of the tunnel I tell myself as I enter the gym and a woman takes my registration confirmation number and asks for my ID. Suddenly, I’m not just thinking about myself or my immediate geographic region, but the entire world. I wonder how many people will also get vaccinated today—both in Canada and around the globe. I believe in science and I understand mass vaccination will be one of the keys to ending this unprecedented pandemic that has claimed millions of lives.

Naturally there are segments of the population that are hesitant or sceptical about the new COVID-19 vaccines and are unsure if they should be immunized. History reveals that vaccine scepticism is as old as vaccines themselves. Increased resistance to compulsory smallpox vaccination during the 1870s and 1880s exposed the fragility of trust in both the political and medical establishment. The most radical opponents to vaccines used demonstrations and publishing to rally their cause. The situation is similar today, many doctors and infectious disease experts acknowledge that their work has been made more challenging due to the anti-vaccine movement. 

As I meet the diligent young nurse who is about to administer my injection, I know I trust both her and the medical and scientific community. Perhaps it’s my experience as a cancer survivor that allows that trust to come more easily. Sometimes I marvel that I’m alive because of medical science and what it’s capable of in the fight against cancer, during the search for a COVID-19 vaccine my sense of wonder was renewed. Never before in human history have vaccines for a pathogen entered final stage clinical trials and received approval for distribution to the public so rapidly. To me this doesn’t mean they cut corners or that proper clinical trials weren’t conducted it’s only a testament to what the scientific community can accomplish when it works together toward one crucial goal.

Following my shot, I get up and move to the waiting area full of masked and freshly immunized patients. As a routine precaution people are asked to wait for at least fifteen minutes after their injection before leaving the vaccination centre. As I sit in my socially distanced chair, I think to myself that I will probably remember this moment for the rest of my life. Someone said that the stories you hold on to about the pandemic will be colored by your own experience—but also by the experiences of those around you. In a way we’re already shaping our future pandemic narratives—the stories we will tell as individuals, as communities, as societies, and as nations about this epoch. 

Cancer Diagnosis and Identity: Who are you?

One of the most significant mental health issues that I’ve recognized, both in myself and other cancer patients, is what the disease does to our self-identity. It’s as if we have to fight to remain ourselves after we are diagnosed with cancer. There are days when I feel caught in the middle of something. Although it’s true that ovarian cancer has substantially influenced my lifestyle, and to some extent how I view the world, it’s not all I am—I’ve struggled to make even those closest to me understand this paradox. My self-identity is not entirely unchanged, but I will always remain so much more than a cancer survivor or an oncology patient.

Regrettably, over the course of my journey, I’ve learned that our society still has misperceptions about chronic illnesses, such as cancer. and that there is still indignity for those of us living with such conditions. For instance, one family friend became rather reclusive when she was informed that I was going through cancer treatment and behaved as if a cancer diagnosis might be contagious. She further assumed that all chemotherapy patients loose most of their hair and offered to loan me an old wig she had. But then, this legacy isn’t surprising considering the profound fear, confusion and stigma surrounding cancer for centuries. Until relatively recently the word was hardly spoken in public or said out loud. It’s no wonder that some of us living with cancer still choose to avoid revealing our illness to anyone outside of our inner circle of family and close friends. We don’t want to be viewed differently—we just want to be normal, not defined by the disease. 

Of course, 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 middle name, and not my first like most people. I read a short poem recently that almost perfectly captures the feeling that I had on the cancer unit. Names by Wendy Cope describes a woman as she moves through life’s stages, the author deals with themes such as self-identity, ageing, illness and death. 

Names 

She was Eliza for a few weeks
When she was a baby –
Eliza Lily. Soon it changed to Lil.

Later she was Miss Steward in the baker’s shop
And then ‘my love’, ‘my darling’, Mother.

Widowed at thirty, she went back to work
As Mrs Hand. Her daughter grew up,
Married and gave birth.

Now she was Nanna. ‘Everybody
Calls me nanna,’ she would say to visitors.
And so they did – friends, tradesmen, the doctor.

In the geriatric ward
They used the patients’ Christian names.
‘Lil,’ we said, ‘or Nanna,’
But it wasn’t in her file
And for those last bewildered weeks
She was Eliza once again.

This poem becomes 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. 

Similarly, Bonnie Annis, a breast cancer survivor and contributor to Cure magazine, recently wrote about the identity trap that we find ourselves in. “Just because a disease comes knocking on the door, does a life necessarily become drastically changed? Sometimes, perhaps, but not always,” she insists. “Taking time to hold tightly to identity can actually help with the ability to get through cancer. For example, if a person fails to remember how resilient she was before cancer, she may find herself struggling to keep her head above water when things get tough.”

Annis concludes that none of us escape cancer unscathed. It’s a life-changing and life-altering disease, but allowing it to become our identity is not an option. We’re all too precious and too different to live within the confines of the world of cancer. We can’t afford to give it the power to rob us of our identities.

What Cancer Patients Most Need to Hear

Looking back on my almost decade long journey as a cancer patient, I’ve come to recognize that there are certain validations and reassurances that I wish to receive. I’ve also discovered that there are some fundamental psychological and emotional needs that are common in people who are living with cancer. Here is a list of what I believe we long for from our friends, family and those closest to us 

We need you to reassure us that our cancer isn’t our fault.

It’s been well documented that many cancer survivors have feelings of shame or guilt, particularly around the notion that they may have played some part in causing their cancer. Moreover, people often subtly, or not so subtly, blame us for our disease. Friends, family members or strangers often do this unwittingly, in an attempt to rationalize a painful reality and to cope with it better themselves. 

There is a difference between taking responsibility for the consequences of our actions and feeling like we deserve to be blamed. It may be true in some cases that a patient’s lifestyle or health care choices increase the odds of getting cancer or contribute to cancer progression. No doubt in such circumstances changing certain behaviours may improve their health. However, allowing a cancer patient to absorb blame and feel shame will almost certainly make matters worse. Instead, it’s better if we do not let shame and guilt keep us from moving forward. Feelings of guilt should never stop a cancer patient form getting the support they need and deserve, or from living in a healthier way. 

One cancer survivor said in a Globe and Mail newspaper interview that he thought healthy people should never give cancer patients health advice. “There’s nothing worse than being sick and getting advice from the healthy, because it’s almost like insinuating you did something to make this happen to you,” he explained. I firmly agree with this statement, and I become extremely angry when someone who has never experienced cancer tells me how to live my life with the disease. I’ve decided shame and guilt are unnecessary burdens to carry. Indeed, from everything that’s known about the emotions and health, acceptance and forgiveness are what we need to cultivate and enhance healing, not self-condemnation and self-blame.

We need you to validate our emotions, especially the unpleasant ones.

In took a cancer diagnosis for me to finally realize how essential validation is for a person’s mental health, especially their self-esteem. To validate someone is to recognize or affirm their validity or worth or the worth of their feeling or opinions. To validate someone often means using both your words and actions to make them feel valued or worthwhile. 

You might want to begin by acknowledging that cancer can be a terrifying experience and a diagnosis of this disease is usually a turning point that will alter a person’s life forever. I hate when people try to deny this fact or minimize it by giving me false reassurance. The truth is I don’t know if I’m going to be fine, you don’t know I’m if going to be fine, even my oncologist doesn’t know for certain if I’m going to be fine. Instead, I feel comforted when people use phrases like “I believe in you.” or “I’m pulling for you.”

We need you to be specific when you offer us assistance. 

“Can I do anything to help you?” Your overall intentions for asking a cancer patient this question is likely noble and your heart is in the right place. However, the phrasing of this question is frequently too vague or broad. The person undergoing cancer treatment is probably too overwhelmed to think of something specific, furthermore they don’t want to feel like a burden. Instead, it’s recommended that you ask if you can perform some task in particular for the person. “May I pick up some groceries for you?” or “I’d like to make you dinner tomorrow night.” are good examples of things you might want to say. Even scheduling routine appointments is difficult for an individual facing surgery or chemotherapy, so it might also be fitting to take the initiative. Many of us facing cancer treatment would be delighted if you offered to make some telephone calls or send some e-mail messages.

We need you to acknowledge our losses. 

Sometimes I view my cancer diagnosis as a series of losses, for example I’ve been forced to abandon or reassess many of my long-term professional goals. I lost numerous clients when I was unable to work for approximately a year. By the time I had undergone several major surgeries and then struggled through chemotherapy treatment, I had realized how stressful, competitive and deadline oriented my field of freelance journalism can be. I had to make the decision to step back from the relentless demands of trying to do assignments all the time.

Allow us to cry, to feel numb, to be angry, or to feel however we’re feeling. These emotions hurt, but they are natural and normal. Grief is a person’s normal, healthy response to a loss. I’ve discovered firsthand that the loss that triggers grief isn’t always something physical. You can experience grief 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, everyone is different. Give us time to experience our loss in our own way. 

What 2020 Has Taught Me

This year’s global pandemic has taught me many valuable lessons, some of them I had previously learned by being a cancer patient but had almost forgotten. Ironically, I’ve found that cancer and a pandemic have much in common in terms of the emotional and psychological impact that they have on an individual. The world order has been shaken by this once in a century global crisis and I doubt that we will ever go back to the exact same existence that we knew before. People will divide their lives into before and after the pandemic like I now divide mine into before and after cancer. An article in the British newspaper The Guardian compared the COVID-19 pandemic to a magnifying glass, noting that it has illuminated deprivation, inequalities and political unrest, while reminding us of the power and beauty of nature and humanity.

Here are some of the issues that the pandemic has shed a light on for me:

We are surrounded by a materialistic and competitive culture. 

As I was forced to spend more time at home or in solitude due the pandemic restrictions, I was reminded of what is essential or important. Too many of us can’t imagine life without frequent trips to shopping malls and beauty salons, if we’re younger we don’t know what to do when our weekend isn’t spent going to night clubs and parties. Meanwhile, the pandemic has allowed some of us to regain focus on what really matters, things like our relationships, our sense of self, perhaps in the end our definitive contributions to this world.

The gap between Canada’s richest and poorest continues to widen. 

“There’s a convenient fiction perpetuated that Canada hasn’t experienced the great extreme inequalities of wealth at the top end that the United States has,” a report from Canadians for Tax Fairness said. “It’s true that our wealthiest don’t have fortunes at the same level as Jeff Bezos or Warren Buffett, but the number of Canadian billionaires has increased at a far faster rate than the number of American billionaires and their total wealth has also increased at a much faster rate.” The pandemic hasn’t stopped the wealthiest from growing their fortunes. The report found Canada’s 44 wealthiest people, all billionaires, grew their wealth by a total of $53 billion between April and October of 2020. 

The sick, elderly and disabled continue to be marginalized.

Figures compiled by the Canadian Institute for Health Information uncover the devastation of the pandemic on our most elderly and vulnerable citizens. During the first wave of the pandemic, more than 80 per cent of COVID-19 deaths in the country occurred in long-term care homes and retirement homes. During the second wave, seniors in nursing homes and residents of institutions once again bore the brunt of the pandemic. This was despite vows from federal and provincial governments to make improvements, changes aimed at preventing the second wave from ravaging long-term care facilities. Tragically the pandemic has revealed the systemic failures in how the world’s most developed countries choose to respond to aging, disability and the need for end of life care. 

The lowest paid people in the country are essential to its functioning.

As COVID-19 has invaded the country’s communities, there are many Canadians who cannot — must not — stay home and avoid it. Among them are the recognizable and well-paid heroes, the doctors, nurses and paramedics. These essential workers always have to be there in national or local emergencies, and they have risen to the call time and again. But in 2020, Canada’s essential workforce expanded its ranks. It now includes people who never expected to be on the front lines of a crisis, workers whose jobs have been traditionally invisible or undervalued. These truck drivers, grocery store clerks, cleaners, personal support workers and municipal workers had little time to prepare themselves for their newly dangerous roles. They entered the pandemic without masks, face shields or plexiglass barriers. Along with those in health care, they’ve had to learn on the job how to protect themselves from the virus. A lot of them have gotten sick. And yet, they show up day after day.

Science and medicine are the greatest wonders of our time.

I’m alive because of medical science and what it’s capable of in the fight against cancer, during the search for a COVID-19 vaccine my sense of wonder was renewed. Never before in human history have vaccines for a pathogen entered final stage clinical trials and received approval for distribution to the public so rapidly. Just one year ago, when the death toll from the coronavirus stood at one and neither it nor the disease it caused had a name, a team of Chinese scientists uploaded its genetic sequence to a public site. That kicked off the record-breaking rush to develop vaccines. It’s difficult to associate anything to do with this pandemic with good fortune, but the fact that the culprit was a coronavirus — one that was strikingly similar to others that had previously leapt from animals to people — meant scientists could quickly rejigger vaccine projects in the works for those. It was almost like swapping a blue Lego for a red one in their assemblies.

Cancer Survivorship: Tips for the Long Haul

On November third I’ll mark the ninth anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, sometimes it feels like yesterday and other times I see it as a lifetime ago. So much has changed in the world since that afternoon when I was told that I had both uterine and ovarian cancer; I feel that in many ways I’ve become a completely different person. The “new normal” has become my reality, however there are still days when being a cancer survivor is difficult, terrifying or lonely. Here I’d like to share some of the strategies that have helped me through the long haul of cancer survivorship, it’s always a struggle even though my disease is currently in remission.

Remember how you found motivation when you started your cancer journey.

When you’re first diagnosed with cancer, you’ll definitely have moments when you sense that your world is spinning violently out of control. The fundamental paradox for me as I underwent surgery, hospitalization and chemotherapy was that I was often put in situations where I felt a sense of power. To my surprise, I witnessed myself exhibit exceptional courage and self-assurance. It was sometimes as if I was standing in life’s Category 5 hurricane and remaining steadfast and unbroken. I don’t aspire to be a legend like Terry Fox or to be anything resembling a saint or a cancer hero. But through those dark days I discovered inner qualities and personal strengths that I never appreciated or properly acknowledged in myself.

Advocate for your needs using assertiveness.

As a cancer survivor you should never stop being assertive when it comes to ensuring that your needs are met, be direct, non-aggressive and specific with your requests. As an ovarian cancer survivor, I understand that women living with this ruthless disease need love and support and we deserve to be treated with empathy and compassion. We shouldn’t have to endure abusive or toxic relationships, especially when it involves a spouse, caregiver or other family member. Of course, navigating the complex and overburdened health care system also requires patients and families to advocate for themselves—it can sometimes literally mean the difference between life and death. I so often felt ignored or regarded as a medical case number, that the occasions when I was treated with dignity or compassion are especially memorable to me. The best medical professionals still find time to connect with their patients, and they are genuinely concerned about what we are thinking and feeling.

Focus on what is essential in your life.

I’ve come to the conclusion that cancer itself doesn’t make us see what’s meaningful; we see it when our attention 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 feel like years, even decades, but the magnificent oncology nursing team that I had somehow helped me pull through.

I’ve noticed that I can 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 now. 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. I give a 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.

Build your passion into your post-cancer life. 

Even after a cancer diagnosis upends your life and disrupts your usual routines, it’s important not to abandon your interests and hobbies or the things that you enjoy doing the most. I enjoy writing and I still do that as much as possible. 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. Some adults are even using colouring books to relax and reduce daily stress. 

Connect with a mentor or support group.

There’s a familiar proverb that states that it takes a village to raise a child. I think that this can be modified to assert that it takes a village to properly support a cancer patient. When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer nine years ago, I was suddenly faced with a whole new array of complex needs. It was sometimes necessary, or in my best interest, to accept the assistance of my family members or inner circle of friends. During treatment I also had access to social workers, psychologists, dieticians and other skilled professionals to provide support and guidance. Even this far into my cancer journey, I still belong to several online support groups for women with ovarian cancer and take part in fundraising events.

The Things That Are Not Okay

DOCTOR:  I am sorry this is the news I have to be telling you. 

ME:  It’s okay.

DOCTOR:  No, it’s not okay. Nothing about this conversation is okay. 

…in that sacred moment, this doctor gave me permission to be honest. That’s how I’ve been comfortable being so open about grief.

— Shannon Dingle


When you’re diagnosed with cancer there is sometimes a tendency to try to remain strong and stoic and to not complain or “burden” others with your illness. I think this predisposition might be more deep-seated in women because of the way we are socialized. Many of us will reply that things are okay or attempt to act like everything is alright in situations that are completely unacceptable. I’ve made a list of some unacceptable situations that are, in my opinion, not okay and they should not be painfully tolerated by people living with cancer or any other serious illness. I’ve made it my mission to call attention to these injustices—I try to call them out whenever possible. 

Spouses or Family Members Who Do Not Offer Support 

As an ovarian cancer survivor, I understand that women living with this ruthless disease need love and support and we deserve to be treated with empathy and compassion. We shouldn’t have to endure abusive or toxic relationships, especially when it involves a spouse, caregiver or other family member. Unfortunately, I’ve heard of women whose husbands or partners don’t support them emotionally through their cancer journey. Some spouses complain when a woman’s cancer treatment interferes with family holidays or social activities. A few will even have the audacity to grumble if their sick partner is unable to perform her regular domestic work or maintain certain household responsibilities. 

Medical Professionals Who Lack Compassion or Empathy

To me the best doctors take time to connect with their patients, and they genuinely care what we are thinking and feeling. During my hospitalizations, I was so often ignored or regarded as an insignificant number that the occasions when I was treated with dignity or compassion are especially memorable to me.  I will always retain one particular memory from during my months of rigorous cancer treatment.

It was in the middle of the night and I had already spent several grueling hours in the emergency room when I was finally sent to diagnostic imaging for a CT scan. The technician performing the scan was highly 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 inserted poorly by someone in the ER and that it required redoing. However, instead of changing 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 until we were finished.

A Culture of Guilt or Shame Surrounding Cancer

I’m still inspired by the words of the late American sportscaster Stuart Scott. “When you die, it does not mean that you lose to cancer,” he said. “You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live,” There’s a controversial, yet commonly held, view that a cancer diagnosis is a war or a battle that must be won. The problem with this philosophy is that it places the burden almost entirely on us patients. If we die or if our cancer ultimately recurs it’s because we didn’t think positively enough or we just weren’t strong enough to will it away.

Many healthy people think that if they are diagnosed with cancer they will be treated quickly and then all they’ll need to survive is a positive attitude and a fighting spirit. They are wrong. In my opinion, a person’s cancer outcome will depend almost exclusively on medical science. If someone’s cancer progresses, it’s a failure of the medical treatments that are currently available to them, plain and simple. I know plenty of women who’ve succumbed to ovarian cancer and they were among the bravest and most resolute people on Earth. Ultimately, they are no less survivors than those of us who are lucky enough to be “cured” or to enjoy decades of remission.

A Lack of Progress in the Treatment of Ovarian Cancer

According to the Canadian Cancer Society an estimated 3,000 Canadian women will be diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2019. An estimated 1,900 will die from the disease. Mortality rates for ovarian cancer have declined only slightly in the forty years since the “War on Cancer” was declared. In Canada, the five-year net survival for ovarian cancer is approximately 44 per cent. This means that, on average, only about 44 per cent of women diagnosed with ovarian cancer will survive for at least 5 years.

The survival rate remains dismal compared with most other types of cancer, this is essentially because the majority of women aren’t diagnosed until the disease is advanced and has spread beyond their reproductive organs. There is no reliable screening test for ovarian cancer and the early symptoms are often quite vague. For years, women and families affected by ovarian cancer have advocated for greater government funding of research into this disease. The indisputable fact remains that knowledge about ovarian cancer is still not as developed as it is for many other cancers.

When Having Cancer Means a Fresh Start

Psychologists have observed that a cancer diagnosis is for most people a major life event, mentally we tend to divide our life into before and after we had cancer. For me it’s definitely been like that, in many ways I feel as if I was given a clean slate or a new beginning. First, becoming ill with cancer has required me to both analyze and redefine the relationships I have with those closest to me. In many cases I’ve had to set new boundaries, as I will no longer tolerate toxic or unhealthy relationships. Some personal and business relationships that I had before are finished, as a rule I no longer remain in contact with people who were unable or unwilling to support me throughout my cancer journey. 

Now that I’m a cancer survivor, I’ve become more sensitive to the characteristics of toxic people and how they mistreat others. I choose to avoid them whenever possible, meanwhile I set boundaries and keep my composure when I’m in situations in which I must associate with them. I recently came across a fairly accurate description of what it’s like to be in such a relationship, it can be a relative, a friend, your boss, or a work colleague. The harmful individual likely demonstrates at least some of the following characteristics:

  • Nothing you can say or do is good enough.
  • They comment on the smallest flaw or perceived imperfection.
  • They drag up your past and won’t allow you to grow or be different. 
  • They act like they are flawless and never make mistakes.
  • They leave you feeling guilty and ashamed of who you are.
  • They are critical, controlling and don’t think about your needs.
  • They violate your boundaries and never respect no.
  • They don’t care about your feelings and they like to see you suffer.
  • It’s always about them and what they think and want and feel.

Of course, evolving relationships are just one element of my new life as a cancer survivor, I’ve been forced to abandon or reassess many of my long-term professional goals. I lost numerous clients when I was unable to work for approximately a year. By the time I had undergone several major surgeries and then struggled through chemotherapy treatment, I had realized how stressful, competitive and deadline oriented my field of freelance journalism can be. I had to make the decision to step back from the relentless demands of trying to do assignments all the time.

At first it was hard to adjust to my new normal as far as work and income are concerned, but now I often relish the freedom and the time I have to relax and enjoy other things. Of course, there are still periods when I’m extremely busy, I’ve been required to learn a great deal in recent years. It’s been said that going through a cancer diagnosis and then undergoing treatment is a learning experience equivalent to a university degree. I carry an abundance of knowledge regarding the Canadian health care system, cancer, and gynecological cancer in particular, gleaned from the terrible events that I have been through. 

Finally, the way I view myself and the world has changed enormously as well. I’ve learned by necessity how to live my life day by day, and sometimes even moment by moment.  I’m always mindful of the present and what it has to offer me, I’ve also noticed that I rarely use words like “someday” because I try to avoid talking about future plans in vague or uncertain terms. Most healthy people I know take the future for granted and think of it as something that will always be there for them. In 2012 I spent over a month and a half on Unit 42 at Calgary’s Foothills Hospital. This 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. As a cancer survivor I’ve discovered how precarious tomorrow really is and that you can’t always depend on someday.

A Unique Kind of Fear

Finding out you have cancer, I can personally attest, is a unique kind of fear, but I believe this feeling is heightened even more for women who learn that they have ovarian cancer. It’s among the most feared and deadly cancers, one that tends to inhabit our worst nightmares of the disease. That is why patients with gynecologic cancer, especially ovarian, are frequently warned not to Google their condition or research it online. Admittedly most of the information that is available on websites is general or focusses on worst case scenarios. Oncologists are eager to remind us that broad statistics don’t take into consideration an individual patient’s age or overall health. In many cases the data presented is likely to overlook a lot of specific variables. Even so, when I go online the numbers pertaining to ovarian cancer are enough to terrify me.

Devastating Statistics

Ovarian cancer is the eighth leading cause of cancer in women, according to the World Health Organization. Nearly 300,000 women worldwide will develop it this year. On a global scale their prospects are often bleak, it’s estimated that one in six will die within three months of diagnosis and fewer than half will be alive in five years.

Each year about  2,800 Canadian women are newly diagnosed with ovarian cancer and an estimated 1,800 die from it. Mortality rates for ovarian cancer have declined only slightly in the forty years since the “War on Cancer” was declared. Most other cancers have shown a much greater reduction in mortality.

Ovarian cancer survival rates remain much lower than breast cancer and other cancers that affect women. Five-year survival rates are commonly used to compare different cancers. In Canada, the five-year net survival for ovarian cancer is approximately 44 per cent. This means that, on average, only about 44 per cent of the women who are diagnosed with ovarian cancer will survive for at least 5 years.

Like a Loaded Gun

One woman with ovarian cancer compared the fear of recurrence to a person always having a loaded gun pressed against her back. You never know when they will pull the trigger, or even if they will, but every minute you are conscious of them being there. I find this metaphor quite powerful, you never know if or when your cancer will return and this uncertainty is something that you must accept as part of your everyday life. A cancer recurrence happens because some cancer cells were left behind and eventually grow and become apparent. The cancer may come back to the same place as the original tumor or to another place in the body. According to the Ovarian Cancer Research Alliance around 70 per cent of patients diagnosed with ovarian cancer will have a recurrence. However, one of the most important factors in determining an individual’s risk of recurrence is the stage of their cancer at diagnosis.

Patients diagnosed with stage I have a 10 per cent chance of recurrence.

Patients diagnosed with stage II have a 30 per cent chance of recurrence.

Patients diagnosed with stage III have a 70 to 90 per cent chance of recurrence

Patients diagnosed with stage IV have a 90 to 95 per cent chance of recurrence.

Recurrent ovarian cancer is treatable but rarely curable. Women with recurrent ovarian cancer may have to undergo another surgery. Many women with recurrent ovarian cancer receive chemotherapy for a prolonged period of time, sometimes continuously for the rest of their life.

Elly Mayday (1988-2019) continued her modelling career while undergoing treatment for ovarian cancer.

Braver Than I Thought

I’ve learned that when you are diagnosed with cancer there are moments when you become overwhelmed and sense that your world is spinning violently out of control. However, 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 steadfast and unbroken. I certainly 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 that I never appreciated or properly acknowledged in myself. Subjected to the ultimate test, I’ve sometimes shocked myself with my enormous capacity to overcome adversity and to confront physical pain and suffering.

Cancer and This Uncertain Life

“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?”

— Dr. Paul Kalanithi on living with stage IV lung cancer


Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had no true sense of how precarious our existence is or of how uncertain my future had probably always been. Then, on November 3, 2011, I learned that the course of my entire life could change in just a single day. I’m at home recovering from hysterectomy surgery and awaiting the final results of my pathology report. At about 10:15 or 10:30 that morning the telephone rings and a quick glance at the call display confirms that it’s my gynecologist’s office. I’m still in my pajamas and resting in my favorite living room chair. What happened next is something that I will always associate with how completely fragile life is.

At first as I hold the receiver to my ear I try to remain composed, but in just a few seconds my heart is racing and I can hardly breathe. I’m consumed by a sense of dread so powerful that suddenly I’m watching myself in slow motion. I listen as in a calm voice a nurse informs me that my gynecologist would like to see me immediately, if possible he wants me to come to his office at five in the evening.. Prohibited from divulging any confidential information from my report, she ends our discussion by requesting that I bring a friend or family member with me. In just a matter of minutes my life has been thrown into turmoil and my cancer journey has begun.

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My first time inside Calgary’s Tom Baker Cancer Centre is on a cold, dark November morning. Since it’s my initial assessment, the team of oncologists has obviously chosen to schedule me early, before anyone else. As I enter I’m terrified, but I soon notice how quiet and peaceful everywhere in the building seems to me at such an early hour. For what feels like a long time, my mother and I are essentially the only ones sitting in the waiting room of the centre’s outpatient clinic. First, I’m required to have a detailed consultation. I speak with a nurse about my medical history, naturally there is an emphasis on any family history of cancer. We confirm that there is a slight history of breast cancer and colon cancer on my mom’s side, but no actual cases of uterine or ovarian cancer.

Next, I’m examined by one of the Baker Centre’s top pelvic cancer surgeons, Dr. Prafull Ghatage. Following the examination, we are assembled in one of the conference rooms with Dr. Ghatage and a team of other physicians. The seriousness of my situation begins to register as I look across the table at four of five white-coated medical professionals. I sit quietly as Dr. Ghatage explains that he wants to perform surgery as soon as possible. This news is suddenly too overwhelming, especially in a situation in which I’m still recovering from a total abdominal hysterectomy.

“I just had a hysterectomy and now I’m dying of cancer,” I tearfully blurt out.  “You’re not dying, I’ll inform you if you are dying,” a firm voice immediately responds. These rational words jolt me back to reality, and before I leave I sign a consent form for a laparotomy—a highly specialized oncology procedure in which abdominal organs are removed, biopsied or repaired and a definitive diagnosis can be made.

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The relentless waves of panic and the constant upheaval that I felt during that first harrowing  month have gradually receded, at least enough to make my existence bearable. But even now, after years in remission, the sometimes terrifying uncertainty of my everyday life has remained. Some people are able to cope with the fear and uncertainty in this world by embracing one particular religious faith, however I’ve discovered that I am not one of them. At first, I thought that religious people would have a particular psychological advantage in dealing with cancer, but I’ve learned that this notion isn’t always true.

Personally, I was raised in the Catholic faith but as an adult I have chosen not to attend church or practice the religion. Even without the many imposed traditions or the inherent sense of belonging, I have still been able to draw on spirituality to help me endure the life-shattering ordeal that I’ve been through. If you aren’t religious, it doesn’t mean that your cancer journey must be completely devoid of faith. I’ve nonetheless chosen to build a life on faith—faith in the power of good, faith in science, faith in healing, and faith in the possibility of miracles.

After a Cancer Diagnosis: Five Things You Need to Know

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Allow yourself time to grieve.

Allow yourself to cry, to feel numb, to be angry, or to feel however you’re feeling. These emotions hurt, but they are natural and normal. Grief is a person’s normal, healthy response to a loss. Understandably, I grieved after my father died, however I was surprised to find myself experiencing similar feelings when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I discovered firsthand that the loss that triggers grief isn’t always physical. You can experience grief 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, everyone is different. Give yourself time to experience your loss in your own way. Also understand that during life’s most difficult times it’s important to make a commitment to take care of yourself emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Don’t let fear consume you.

Fear is one of my constant companions on this cancer journey, for over seven years now it has attempted to overcome me and prevent me from living the life that I want. Naturally, when I was first diagnosed with cancer and was undergoing months of treatment some extremely unsettling questions raced through my mind. Will the recommended treatment be successful or will I die? Will undergoing another major surgery followed by chemotherapy be too agonizing and unbearable? Now that my oncologist has informed me that I’m in remission, it’s the fear of my cancer recurring that I have to cope with on a daily basis. Practicing mindfulness helps me stay in the present moment and to accept that I can’t control certain outcomes. I’ve ultimately learned that faith can be an important factor in dealing with fear. I’m not religious, but like many I’ve chosen to build a life on faith—especially faith in the power of good to triumph over evil in this world.

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It’s ultimately your cancer journey.

One thing that’s become evident to me as a cancer survivor is that we all respond to cancer differently. Our response depends primarily on our own personality and past life experiences. How we deal with a life-threatening illness will differ according to our personal values and may also be connected to how we have responded to crises in the past. It must be acknowledged that cancer is extremely personal, so our response tends to be personal as well. With these facts in mind, I argue that no one has the right to tell me how to react emotionally to my cancer or to lecture me about how I should live my life after a diagnosis. For example, early in my cancer journey I was confronted by a couple of individuals who insinuated that I should not allow my illness to change my life. How could I have not changed? I’m not going back to the way I was before I had cancer. I see that as a terrible waste of all that I have been through.

You never know how strong you are.

When you are diagnosed with cancer you will 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 certainly 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.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

There’s a familiar proverb that states that it takes a village to raise a child. I think that this can be modified to assert that it takes a village to properly support a cancer patient. When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer seven years ago, I was suddenly faced with a whole new array of complex needs. It was sometimes necessary, or in my best interest, to accept the assistance of my inner circle of friends and family members. For example, my mom was my primary caregiver following each of my three major surgeries. She would also accompany me to and from my appointments at the Tom Baker Centre and remain with me when they administered chemotherapy. Today most cancer patients, including myself, have access to social workers, psychologists, dieticians and other skilled professionals. Treating the whole person and recognizing that each patient has unique issues and needs have become firmly entrenched and are part of the philosophy of cancer care.