Cancer

A week ago, I received the news that I had colon cancer. I spent five nights at Toronto General and had three surgical procedures, one under general anaesthetic. I’m home now, and resting, and very happy to be back in my own bed. Next week, I will be referred to the oncology department at Princess Margaret Hospital, arguably the best cancer hospital in Canada, for further treatment, possibly chemotherapy and/or radiation. After that, it will be back to Toronto General for more surgery.

Great news, though: there has been no metastasis, which is going to make it much easier to isolate and fight.

When you hear you have cancer, the floor drops out from under you. Suddenly, everyone and everything you love becomes even more precious. You can't know this exact, specific feeling until it happens to you.

The day after the diagnosis, I attended a children’s birthday party in the park hosted by dear friends, which was ridiculously joyful and lovely. After that, I took a leisurely walk through Cabbagetown and photographed the things I found most beautiful—flowering trees, blossoms, green grass, blue sky, Beckett, our house, our garden, my husband's face.

The radiance of those things was almost unbearable that day.

I’ve tried to analyze my feelings about this diagnosis, but one overwhelming feeling comes to the fore again and again: I feel gratitude.

I’m grateful for the sharp-eyed radiologist who caught this when she was looking for something else, and had the skill to ask, “What is this shadow on his colon?”

I’m grateful for the doctors, and especially the nurses, who looked after me all week. I’m in awe of the diverse, multicultural, multiracial makeup of the hospital staff, literally an amalgam of the best and brightest from all over the world who've come to Canada in a tributary, dedicating their youth, their strength, their intelligence, and their skill, to healing, especially my favourite nurse, Muuna, who has an angel's touch.

I’m grateful to live in a country where an essential five-day life-saving hospital stay is a matter of logistics, not bankruptcy. I’m grateful to those true friends and family who have generously shared colon cancer survivor stories with me, and sustained by with the bulwark of their love. They’ve boosted my morale beyond measure.

I'm grateful for the tidal wave of insight into what's truly important, and what couldn't be less important, that crashed over me from the moment of the diagnosis, and in the rich waters of which I am still borne aloft.

I’m grateful that I’m going to be mentioned in the community prayer at Rosedale United Church this Sunday, because they're wonderful people, and I’ll take all the help I can get, and gratefully.

I'm insanely blessed, no question about it.

I’m also under no illusion that the road ahead is going to be easy, or painless, but I’m also determined to fight this with everything I have and come out the other side.

If this page goes “radio silent” at certain points in the coming months, don’t assume the worst. It'll likely just mean I'm off fighting for the thing that means the most to me in the world: life, and the great privilege of living it.