Tag / cancer anniversary

by Jacqueline Chartier

When the Poppies Bloom

You are the masterpiece, and your life is the canvas. Express yourself boldly, Live and breathe in full colour, and make every mark matter. It’s never too late to imbibe all you create with clear intention and kindness and enjoy the rewards of your courage.

Lisa Azarmi

I believe that nearly all cancer patients arrive at a stage in their difficult journey that’s like reaching the peak of a mountain. When this occurs, we have an epiphany, a feeling of conquering something we though was insurmountable.

For some cancer patients this might mean ringing the bell after chemotherapy or radiation treatment has finished, for others it might be turning the corner after several months of unbearable physical or emotional suffering. I’ll always remember my moment of cancer epiphany, it happened on July 1, 2012.

First, I reached an unparalleled low physically and emotionally during the spring of 2012, I was five months into my cancer journey. My path had been relentless, brutal and unlike anything I’d ever had to face before. When the spring finally materialized after a seemingly endless winter, I’d already had two major abdominal surgeries as well as four chemotherapy infusions. Even through fatigue and nausea, I remember watching a pair of finches build their nest in my yard.

In May I learned I was facing a potentially life-threatening complication due to my rigorous cancer treatments. Bowel blockages occur at an alarming rate for people diagnosed with gynecologic cancers— although when I was an innocent newcomer to the realm of ovarian cancer, I still had little idea how common these obstructions are in patients with the disease. For a long time, I thought my symptoms of severe nausea and abdominal discomfort were due to the chemotherapy drugs alone and that no other medical issues were at play.

Eventually, vomiting and in pain, I was transported to the emergency room through early rush hour traffic. It was a bright May morning when I entered the doors of Calgary’s largest medical centre and was admitted suffering from a bowel blockage. With hindsight, I realize that nothing could have prepared me for the invasive medical procedures that I was about to endure in the coming weeks or for the length of my hospitalization. I acknowledge that at first, I literally wanted to die rather than deal with what was happening. 

Seven agonizing weeks would elapse in the hospital, during this period I received virtually all my nutrition through a peripherally inserted central catheter (PICC or PIC line). A decision was finally made to operate a third time, and on June 18, 2012, intestinal surgery was skillfully performed. When I awoke in the recovery room, I sensed that my crisis was at last resolved. Although only half-conscious, I was filled with elation as they informed me that the procedure to correct my obstruction had been successful. 

The primary cause had been extensive scar tissue from my previous operations, a couple of bowel resections had to be performed. With this intervention, my stomach was expected to empty normally into to my small intestine again. Most of all, I was comforted and reassured by the fact that, although there had been scarring and adhesion, my cancer had not visibly metastasized to other regions of my body.

My discharge from the hospital ultimately took place on a balmy July afternoon; the clothes I had worn nearly two months earlier felt hot and loose fitting. I was so weak from my ordeal that I struggled to walk just 10 or 20 metres, but I was in awe as I observed how the seasons had changed and nearly everything had been transformed. I can still remember the blissful car ride home and my sense of anticipation during that short, but very emancipating, commute. Even the fresh air filling my lungs was like a breath of freedom.

Upon arriving at the small bungalow where I live, something magical occurred. As my eyes surveyed the backyard, the unexpected sight of poppies in full bloom completely overwhelmed me. It was as if I were seeing them for the first time. Now, each year, I remain inspired by their exquisiteness—even if my cancer returns I’m encouraged by the realization that their brilliant orange petals and intricately designed purple centres will never appear ordinary to me again. 

by Jacqueline Chartier

Five-Year Survivor: On Reaching Another Cancer Milestone

timepiece

In just a few weeks I’ll face an emotional and bittersweet milestone, the fifth anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. Above all I’m grateful that I made it through the grueling medical treatments that I had in 2011 and 2012. There were moments when I felt so sick and physically weak from surgery or chemotherapy that I was afraid I might die. I thank God for my oncology team; they were always there and never stopped encouraging me. It turns out they were right to be optimistic about my prognosis, or at least to be confident that I could achieve remission. I’ve been in remission from ovarian cancer, a disease that many refer to as the silent killer of women, for four years now.

As my cancer anniversary approaches, I’ve been thinking a great deal about how much things have changed for me. Personally, I’ve discovered that physical attractiveness, material possessions and social status all matter less to me now. These things frequently seem to fade into irrelevance as I confront a life-threatening illness. Meanwhile, my relationships with other people, discovering ways that I can make a difference in the world and learning more about the essence of who I am are currently at the forefront of my agenda and have an extremely high priority to me.  Most of all, I’m aware of time and of the immeasurable value of each day that I’m alive. Here are some powerful meditations that I though I would share.

“I ask you to imagine that there is a bank account that credits your account each morning with $86,400. It carries over no balance from day to day. Every evening the bank deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day. What would you do? Draw out every cent, of course.

Each of us has such a bank, its name is time. Every morning, it credits you 86,400 seconds. Every night it writes off at a loss, whatever of this you failed to invest to a good purpose. It carries over no balance. It allows no overdraft. Each day it opens a new account for you. Each night it burns the remains of the day. If you fail to use the day’s deposits, the loss is yours.

There is no drawing against “tomorrow.” You must live in the present on today’s deposits. Invest it so as to get from it the utmost in happiness and health. The clock is running. Make the most of today.”

 — Marc Levy, French novelist

“It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.”

― George Harrison

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”

— Henry David Thoreau

 

dead-poets-society1

In the film Dead Poets Society Robin Williams plays an unconventional English teacher named John Keating. In one of the movie’s most memorable scenes the teacher stands with his students gazing at some vintage school portraits. As they view the photographs of previous generations, this is what Keating tells the group of young men in his class:

“They’re not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones,  just like you. Invincible,  just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they’re destined for great things,  just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope,  just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it?  —  Carpe  —  hear it?  —  Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.”