Part 14: Epilogue
Looking out at the world is a little different after a cancer diagnosis. It reminds me of my son, who, when he was very young, always used to want me to sit in the bathroom with him while he did his business. I found this cute and usually enjoyed our toilet visits, but sometimes it wasn’t welcome because he took his time and I was busy. Then one day, my husband told me, “You’ll be sad when he doesn’t want you there anymore.” I realised that I would never know in the actual moment that it was the last time that he would ask me to be his audience while he sat there chatting away on the toilet. The older he got, the more precious our toilet visits became, because I knew as I sat there on the bathroom floor that it would not last much longer. And then one day, he said, “Mommy, I want privacy,” and we never again had our special toilet time together.
A brush with cancer gives you that same appreciation that things don’t last forever. As I write this, I am watching my sons jump off a 5-meter diving board. My oldest spins around on the way down, tight and orderly like a perfect spinning top. My youngest flails his lanky arms and legs out like they are blowing in the wind, goofy and joyful. Although I am well today, I still fear that I will never know when it’s the last time I will watch them jump off a diving board. Nowadays, I spend more time seeing the world than going through the motions. And in that seeing, there is a deep appreciation for being alive right here, right now.
A final word about my blog before I sign off: everyone’s cancer experience is different and valid. I have sometimes used humour, and I have sometimes found good things about my cancer journey. But please don’t misunderstand me: there is nothing funny or good about cancer — cancer is absolutely devastating. It took all my personal resources and those of my husband, kids, family, friends, and colleagues to get me through this. Many people with cancer don’t have the resources to make it to the other side. And, of course, many people never make it to the other side.
I am left wondering, “why me.” Not why I got cancer, but why I am allowed to live. There is a lady in one of my Facebook groups who is not unique in her situation (she’s 34, has two toddlers, has stage 4 ovarian cancer, and hers turned out to be chemo resistant). She posted, “I wish I could have been one of the lucky ones.” I feel like she is speaking directly to me, asking what right I have to be so lucky. I am older than her, and my kids are older. If cancer were fair, she would live, and I would die.
I feel like I have undeservingly won the ovarian cancer lottery. I am so so so so so sorry for all those ladies, those warriors, those fighters, who are not as lucky as I am. Keep going my Teal Sisters xx. I will always fight for us, starting with this essay which seeks to raise awareness and funds.
Ovarian cancer is, in most cases, a death sentence — it’s just a matter of time. And if you have ovaries, you could have ovarian cancer right now but you’ll never know for sure in the early stages without a surgical intervention. You’ll know later, because once it’s later stage you will be able to tell even without surgery. So be careful ladies, listen to those whispers and advocate for your health. If a new symptom persists for more than two weeks, tell your doctor that you think you have ovarian cancer.
I have a very strong reason for living. My two sons are today 6 and 12 years old. It feels like this reason for living could keep me alive forever. I finished my last chemo February 2023. As agreed with my brother, I want 30 more years. So when my boys are 36 and 42, I still can’t promise to go quietly because I always thought I’d live to 100, but I can accept it. Maybe.
For now I go step by step, day by day, year by year and in this manner I will see 30 more years.
See you in February 2053.
I am writing a book about having Ovarian Cancer. If you have or had a gynaecological cancer, this book is for you. If you are caring for someone with a gynaecological cancer, this book is for you.
If you would like an email alert when my book is published, please email me on kristin.m.holter@gmail.com with the subject “Ovarian Cancer book” and I’ll drop you a note as soon as it’s out.
