Tag Archives: death

Fragility.

I haven’t written much lately, unfortunately I have been up to my eyeballs in work and haven’t had a moment to sit down and reflect.  This weekend I had one of those smack-you-in-the-face moments where I just needed to take a step back and remind myself of all the things I already know but tend to forget.

In clinical, the majority of patients that I treat are older adults.  I am fully aware that young adults get cancer too; if you know my history, you know that this reality has forced itself upon me in the past.  Lately though, I haven’t had interactions with younger patients.  I have been busy going about my routine days: 8 hours of clinical, go home and study, try to sleep, and then repeat again tomorrow.  It is an all too familiar habit, that sometimes I do it all in a blur.

On Friday as I was prepping for patients, I saw something that made me freeze: 28-year-old female, palliative intent.  Shit, seriously?  Even though I am working in the cancer field, I still sometimes have the “it would never happen to me” mentality, until patients like this come across my plate.  I sat there thinking about what this poor girl must be dealing with and I couldn’t fathom what it would be like.  I’m 28 years old, a few months from graduating, and planning my wedding.  How would I handle the news of knowing that everything I had done in the past few years, every plan I had made, every goal I had set, could be derailed with only a few words from a doctor.  I left work that afternoon and drove home, a long and traffic filled drive spent thinking about my own life and my own mortality.  I realized that it isn’t something I have given much thought to for a while, I just took for granted that I would finish school, work in the field I am passionate about, have an amazing wedding, and live a great life.  None of those things are guaranteed to me, or to anyone for that matter.

By the time I made it home, I was emotionally drained. I just wanted to kick back, shut off my brain, and watch one of my favourite shows, “Say Yes to the Dress”.  There was a young girl 24 years old there to pick out her wedding dress. She was newly engaged and newly bald, thanks to her cancer treatment. Really?  This had to be happening on tonight’s episode?  I watched as this hopeful and beautiful young woman picked out the dress of her dreams.  It made me think about when I picked out my wedding dress.  Although we were both celebrating a similar moment, there were clearly differences in our thought processes.  I was thinking about whether I could lose a few pounds before the big day.  She was thinking about whether she would live long enough to make it to her big day.  At the end of the episode, they showed a picture of the girl in her wedding dress at her wedding.  They also showed the date of her birth, followed by the date of her death: 2012.  My heart sunk.  I found myself googling her name, which took me to her blog.  I sat there in tears reading through her story.  She talked about her experience of being diagnosed, hearing the doctor say, “I wish I had better news for you”.  She wrote about her feelings before going in for surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy.  She wrote about her family, and her fiancé whom had proposed only weeks before she was diagnosed.  Here she was, in the excitement of the engagement and planning her wedding, never once thinking it could be taken from her.  Although she lived to her wedding in August, I am sure it was nothing like she had ever envisioned, but she made it none the less, before passing away in September.  The last entry in her blog was one written by her mother.  The pain in that mother’s heart poured out of my computer screen; a pain that no mother should have to bare.

The message that I took from the days experiences, and the message I hope to pass on to you, is that life is fragile, life does not owe us anything, and life is never a guarantee.  These are all things we know, but when everything is going right in life, we tend to forget about the alternative. We tend to be naive to the possibility that things can go horribly wrong in the blink of an eye.  So today, give an extra hug to those you love. Don’t expect things to stay the same forever. Life is change.  If everything is right in your life, maybe think about what you can do to help others when everything is going wrong in theirs.  It doesn’t take a lot of time or a lot of money to reach out, you can give someone a moment of your time, or even a simple gesture.  Donate some clothes you never wear, take that old homeless man a sandwich, give blood, or simply just hold a door open for someone.  There are endless possibilities, but if you are happy and healthy, why not celebrate it by passing on some of that happiness.  Wouldn’t you want someone to do it for you?

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Reflection.

I’m finishing up a clinical term for school, and finally have some time off to sleep and reflect, before starting my final year in September.  Now, people thought I was crazy for wanting to go back to school for quite a few years and get my degree in Cancer Radiation Therapy, but I have never regretted my decision.  Through my personal life, my volunteering, and now my work, I have had countless experiences with cancer, each helping to shape the person I am today.

When I started my clinical experience at the Cancer Center in Kelowna, I admit that I was very green.  I knew I wanted to make a difference, but I was just starting out.  Since then, I’ve had experience working all over the Province.  I have treated children, new parents, great grandparents, and everyone in between.  I have worked with some amazing people who have inspired me to be a therapist like them, and to be honest I have worked with some people who have inspired me to be anything BUT a therapist like them.  Every experience, good and bad, I feel I have learned from, and I know I won’t forget it.

People ask me why, after everything my family has been through, would I want to work with cancer patients every day.  But in my mind, I feel that after everything, how could I not want to?

For those of you who are not quite sure what I do, I’ll give you a quick rundown.  Radiation therapy is a cancer treatment that can be done on its own, with chemotherapy, surgery, or hormone therapy.  A patient will come anywhere from 1 to upwards of 40 times.  They come once a day usually for a month, so I get to know patients and their families.  I get to be a friendly face on their journey, and help them along.  I don’t treat people like they are sick, I treat them like they are human.

I’m not saying that everything is sunshine and rainbows.  Death is something real, and it isn’t easy.  I’ve had patients die.  I’ve had patients coming to terms with a 6 month prognosis.  I’ve had a 25 year old with a new born baby who wasn’t going to live to see his child grow up.  Nothing about what I do is easy, just like nothing about cancer is fair.

My goal is to always be a person who cares, a person who smiles, and a person who helps others.  My past has helped shape me into the person I am, but it doesn’t define me.  In everything I do, I don’t listen to the angry, bitter, hateful people, I listen to the positive, hopeful, inspiring people.  I take pride in what I do and how I live, and encourage others to ignore the outside voices and just stay true to what you believe in.  Be accountable to yourself and to those who you care about, because those are the only opinions that matter.

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Inspiration.

The following is a journal entry from a few years ago.  It may give you a better understanding as to why I live my life the way that I do.

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Nobody expects to get that phone call.  Nobody expects to pick up a phone and have the world crash down on them.  For me, that day was July 7th, 2007.  I was at home, my parents were in Vernon, my oldest brother was working up in Alaska, and my other brother was at home here in the city.  The number on the call display showed Seattle Hospital.  A woman on the other end of the phone asked, “Is this the residence of Roger?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“What is your relation to him?”

“He’s my older brother.”

“I’m very sorry, but your brother has been in an accident.  He is being airlifted down from Alaska as we speak.” Her voice cracked as she fought her own tears. “You are going to need to get here as soon as possible.  I am very sorry, but we don’t think he is going to survive.  I am so sorry.”

I stood there in a moment of nothing.  Who knew that the sound of the world crashing down on them was cold, calm silence?  A flood of emotions then hit me at once: denial, anger, frustration at life.  It wasn’t fair.  My brother deserved to live.  No, he didn’t just deserve to live, he didn’t deserve to be in that accident in the first place.  My brother had already lost a year of his life to his battle with cancer: a battle that almost killed him a few years before this accident.  He is the strongest person I know, he fought back and regained his life only to have it slipping away again, and it just wasn’t fair.  I began to pace- a habit of my brother’s that I made fun of him for doing.  I figured that this was as good a time as any to start the ritual myself.

A few hours later, my boyfriend and I met my parents at the hospital in Seattle.  Oh the hospital, a place where life begins and ends, and creates some good stories in between.  Now, I had seen my brother in the hospital for months on end during his cancer treatment, but he had always still been himself.  Even when his body was being battered with chemotherapy and radiation in preparation for transplant, he still had a spark of life in his eyes.  I was unprepared for what I was about to walk into.  My brother had essentially drowned.  Having his body in the water for who knows how long, did not just produce ‘pruned’ fingers like the ones I get if I sit in the bath too long.  His entire body was swollen.  His hands were like paws and his face had seemed to lose all of its features.  He was not breathing on his own; the magic of tubes and machines was doing that for him.  I held his hand for a while, a team of doctors and nurses were buzzing about but I heard silence, my mind was trying to process everything.  As I walked into the waiting area I made a beeline for the washroom door, proclaiming to my family in the most normal voice possible, “I’ll be right out.”  When I heard the click of the door behind me, I collapsed into the wall, and then sunk down lower than the floor and just cried.

Even though it wasn’t technically allowed, we all slept on the floor of the intensive care unit family waiting room.  Actually, I didn’t sleep, I paced.  I think I was afraid to sleep because the sooner I slept, the sooner the next day would come.  I wasn’t ready to deal with what the next day could bring.  The doctors had told us that if he made it through the night we would have a lot to be hopeful for.  It was a very long night, but he made it through.  A few days later, the tube was removed from his throat and he was awake.  My brother had survived when they thought he wouldn’t, again.  The next week he was back at home in Canada, chomping at the bit to go hang out with friends.

Sometimes it almost doesn’t seem like it was real.  Perhaps it was my crazy imagination running down a very dark road.  However, I can’t slip into denial, and I especially can’t slip into disregard.  Things happen for a reason, whether they are great or horrible, they exist to shape each and every one of us.  They exist to challenge us, to push us, and to strengthen us.  What good is living your life if you are not accountable to it?  Some people do not have the fortune to take their lives for granted.  They have fought for every additional day on this Earth.  Shouldn’t we fight alongside them?  Seeing my brother get to live his life, even the day-to-day boring stuff, keeps me motivated to live my own life.  Not just to live, but to live in a way that helps others get to live their lives too.

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