My Cancer Journey: Where Hope Takes Root
Courage, dignity, grace, and humor are four bearings on my compass of values. They inform my choices. They guide my actions. Acting gracefully is to stay composed and act in a measured way. For me, it boils down to not fuming at the slow machinations of modern medicine and those in its employ. Ontario is slow to adopt revolutionary new immunotherapies, having me resort to looking at clinical trials outside of my home town. Acting with dignity is to respect yourself and other people, no matter how strained your body or life feels. This translates for me as consciously channeling existential angst, desperation, and anger so as to not tweak out in front of doctors or weep in their audience. As for humour, a priest from Kitchener once told me there was even humour among Jews in the internment camps of the Holocaust — those that laugh in the face of death. I need courage too: how else will I satiate my curiosity if I don’t step out of my comfort zone — risk is so information rich.
These values helped me stay afloat during the barrage of scans, chemo, and radiation. I had unequivocal hope in my survival and cure.
I started losing hope after the Deauville 5 (i.e. bad news) PET scan — my 90% recovery rate slid to 75% this year and dropped to 60% earlier this week. I had to re-evaluate what it meant to give into death. It looked like defeat. I was in a race with myself on how to maximize on these last precious moments of feeling healthy, breathing here in his moment, on this bus to EDC (Electric Daisy Carnival in Las Vegas). I was losing myself, crying in bathroom stalls. Even with mindful meditation. Even with my 4 aforementioned values.
At EDC, I forged a path forward. I saw someone carry a sign saying “Never Lose Hope” stitched in a red heart surrounded by white wings. Wow — hope — what an audacious value. The belief of overcoming the odds and securing bodily autonomy one day is indeed audacious. I meditated on this as I danced with my friends as the sun came up at 5:30am as Elephante was playing his DJ set. Hope felt bright and it felt big. So big it crowded out the feelings of indignation and defeat. I decided to never lose hope.
At the same time I can’t delude myself into thinking my survival chances are certain, but this tension leads me to invest more in the present moment, to see the body as a vessel for sensory input. To stand before a pair of large music speakers at a concert and feel the bass pass through your body. To feel the mid-chest butterflies when you clutch your date’s hand while watching Netflix in bed. To feel the brightness of the colors in nature, in the trees. I know that I may need to live the life of tomorrow today, but I am hopeful. I will always be.
