Nov 6, 2016
I think I’ve been putting off writing about the next few
weeks after I got the BRCA news…although the reason why is not related to
genetics. It was in the weeks following that my friend Jan died. I also found
out a friend’s cancer went from treatable to terminal. And my dog Daisy’s head
cancer also started to really progress to the point where we knew her good days
were numbered.
When I write a blog, I get right back into the mind frame of
the time I am writing about, especially when I am behind (which I have been by
6 months). I re-live whatever I write about – good or bad. It’s helped me to
process things but there are certain blogs that are very difficult for me to
write. I have not shied away from any of them. But for this one I am finding it
hard to find the words. Those few weeks of my life were some of the hardest
since being diagnosed.
I have met so many people because of my cancer diagnosis. It
has been one of the most amazing, unexpected things to come out of being
inducted into the “canser club”. I met Ray at the Tom Baker during his first
oncologist appointment and my last before my last chemo. My parents knew him
from when they worked at the same company. His wife recognized my mom and they
got to talking. Turns out I knew Ray’s son from when he and I worked together.
Ray has a blood cancer, and throughout our treatment we kept in touch. His
chemo was brutal on him and he usually ended up in the hospital with an
infection or other chemo related issue each round of chemo. I love Ray’s
fighting spirit and his seemingly unfailing hope. He was not so dissimilar to
me and my outlook during treatment. Ray and his wife even came to the mall when Phil and I participated in the CanSuffer to Conquer spin event to lend their
support. I was extremely touched as I was not expecting to see them there. He
has said some incredibly nice things to me over the few years I have known him
and I have been rooting for him since that first day at Tom Baker. His original
treatment failed to get all the cancer so he had to go back for more chemo. So
he was one of the people foremost on my mind who got me up some of the hard
hills during The Ride while he was back in treatment (and is the “Raymond” in
my slidshow from The Ride)
I still remember when I got the message from him in October. I
was at work and I went to get a coffee. I checked my Facebook messages and saw
there was one from Ray (I had messaged him to see how he was doing earlier that
morning). I nearly dropped my coffee as I read “Three are no more treatments possible. Unfortunately, I have terminal cancer it sucks but it is what it is “. I knew things had not being
going well with his health but I was not expecting this news. I quickly tried
to make it to the bathroom as the tears started rolling down my cheeks. Not
Ray. His cancer was treatable. How could the doctors say there was nothing they
could do? I was so angry. It just wasn’t fair.
Losing Sarah in the summer was heart wrenching. She was a
constant in my world as I tried to put the pieces of my life back together.
Losing her made my world tip on its side. I lost hope for a while. I got a big
dose of what cancer means and it was a reality so horrible that it left its
mark on me.
Ray’s news was a shock. It never crossed my mind that his outcome
would be any different than my own. My heartache that started with
Sarah’s death grew with his news. I also felt guilty. Why did my
treatment work and theirs not?
Jan was another constant. I met her after she was diagnosed
with glioblastoma brain cancer. It is not curable. I met her at Wellspring
while I was going through chemo. She knew she was terminal. Yet she blew away
all the stats on survival. I guess it was easy for me to believe she would be
one who would beat the odds.
Jan accepted that she would die from her type of cancer. She
was a doctor. When I first met her I wasn’t sure how to act around her – she
was the first person I met since my own diagnosis who was diagnosed with a
terminal cancer. But she had this very calming aura. I always felt at peace in
her presence. Even when I put my foot in my mouth a few times. Even when I
cried as she would give us an update or talk about her fears. I would look
forward to seeing her each week. She was kind. She was compassionate. And smart
– so very smart. Eventually we had a strange sort of friendship. We shared many
laughs. We hugged hello and good bye. She was one of the people I was thankful
that came into my life because of my diagnosis. A silver lining.
About a year after we met, we lost touch with my going back
to work and her having to have another brain surgery. In August she moved into a
palliative care facility that she had gone out and hand-picked while she was
still doing well. I remember her telling me about how she was very happy with the
place she decided would be her final home when her disease progressed to a
point where she couldn’t live at home any longer. I admit hearing Jan talk
about this kind of stuff – including getting all her funeral and burial stuff
sorted out – was hard. I would watch her talk sometimes and think “how can she
die? How can there be no way to fix this?” She was a live, warm, amazing
person. I guess I never really wrapped my head – or my heart - around the
finality of it.
And then October 28 she passed away.
With Jan’s death following on the heels of Ray’s news, the
last of my hope faded. I was not in a very good place emotionally anyways which
I think made this news all the harder to process. I arranged my work schedule
in a fog so I could go to Jan’s funeral. Daisy was not doing well. I spent an
entire night on the floor sleeping by her side, wondering if the time had come
to let her go too. We got a reprieve for Daisy the morning Jan died. The last
effort to keep Daisy comfortable seemed to be helping, and Daisy perked up and
appeared to be more her happy self. I hoped it would keep her through
Christmas.
But my heart was heavy.
I didn’t ask anyone to come to Jan’s funeral with me. None
of my “non canser” friends and family had met her and I just wanted to grieve
with those who knew her, and loved her. When Janis told me she’d be
there, my heart lifted. I wondered what other familiar faces from
Wellspring I’d see.
I ran into the Wellspring gang almost as soon as I walked
through the doors. I could feel the lump in my throat grow. The last time I saw
these wonderful women, Jan was among us. Once we sat down and I took one look
at Janis, the tears started to fall. Here we were all together again, but one
of our own was gone. It felt so unfair. The service started and was one of the
most beautiful I’ve ever been to. The people who got up to talk about Jan were
from the different parts and times in her life. Every eulogy had those in
attendance listening with rapt attention – she had an extremely interesting,
fascinating, selfless life that was full of love and compassion and generosity.
I kept thinking if everyone lived and gave half as much as Jan, the world would
be a better place. It made it seem 1000x more unfair that of all people Jan was
taken. She did so much good with her life. A lot of the good I didn’t even know
about because Jan was modest and probably didn’t see it as anything heroic but it
was. It made me feel even more blessed that I was lucky to have met this
amazing person, even if it was just for a short time. She was an extraordinary
person. And you didn’t even have to listen to all the eulogies to know this –
you could just look around. The church was packed to the rafters with standing
room only. She was dearly loved.
And is sorely missed.
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