[2021-03-08] A champion
Of all the healthcare professionals I have encountered in my journey with ovarian cancer, one who stands out in my mind is the nurse who spoke to me following my post-operative visit with my oncologist. After the oncologist had explained the results of my surgery, the type of cancer I had, the likelihood of recurrence, and the aims and side effects of chemotherapy, he left me with the nurse to measure my height and weight to ensure the proper dosage of chemotherapy drugs.
The nurse could probably see that I was a little overwhelmed by all the information and the sobering discussion about side effects and recurrence. So after she took my measurements, she said: "I'm going to tell you a story."
She proceeded to recount her mom's experience with ovarian cancer—a story that her mom wanted her to share to bring hope to other women. Her mom had followed the same path that I would be taking: surgery and chemotherapy at The Ottawa Hospital.
"My mom had ovarian cancer. She went through the chemotherapy. She did great. That was eight years ago," the nurse revealed. Her mom was 72 when she was diagnosed and is now 80.
The nurse then went on to explain how her mom had had her treatments on Thursdays, followed by three "pyjama days" during which she felt tired, but not necessarily sick. (I, too, would have my chemotherapy on Thursdays. And while my own pyjama days would last a little longer than her mom's, the idea of looking at my recuperation from treatment as pyjama days originated from that conversation.)
The nurse continued, "I'm going to tell you another story. I had cancer 25 years ago. I went through surgery and chemotherapy, and I'm still here."
She said that she was a big believer in the power of positive thinking and support. She told me that she could see my positive spirit, and that she was convinced that I would do great.
She was absolutely right. Her optimism and her stories were inspiring then and memorable now, almost six months later.
I thought of this nurse today while watching one of my favourite TED talks: Rita Pierson: Every kid needs a champion. Pierson, a teacher for more than 40 years, believes that children need champions to succeed. She quotes Professor of Child Psychiatry James Comer who says that no significant learning occurs without a significant relationship, and notes that everyone has been affected by a teacher or an adult.
I believe that the same is true in healthcare. Many of us can probably recall a relationship with a healthcare professional or a particular discussion that provided reassurance when we needed it. Even in my short discussion with the nurse after my post-operative visit, I felt that we had connected as two people, not simply as healthcare professional and patient. She felt like a champion.
Pierson was such a champion to her students. She tells a story of one class that was so academically deficient that she didn't know how she was going to get them from where they were to where they needed to be. So she told the students: "You were chosen to be in my class because I am the best teacher and you are the best students, they put us all together so we could show everybody else how to do it." Further, she gave them something to say: "I am somebody. I was somebody when I came. I'll be a better somebody when I leave. I am powerful, and I am strong. I deserve the education that I get here. I have things to do, people to impress, and places to go."
What my nurse and Pierson have in common is the ability to help others think positively about the future and trust in their inherent strength. This is so valuable.
Perhaps it's unfair of me to expect healthcare professionals to play this role given liability issues and fears that patients, particularly those dealing with cancer, would underestimate the battle ahead. That makes the conversation with the nurse so special: I will always remember, and be grateful for, what she said and how she made me feel.
Maybe the best people to lift up cancer patients are those who have gone through it themselves. I would have welcomed it had someone suggested to me that I look in the mirror and say: "I am somebody. I was somebody before I was diagnosed with cancer and I'll be a better somebody after I'm treated for cancer. I am powerful, and I am strong. I deserve the healthcare that I will get here, and I will get through this. I have things to do, people to love, and places to go." And so for anyone who comes after me, I share these words of encouragement.
Pierson concludes her talk by saying that "Every child deserves a champion, an adult who will never give up on them, who understands the power of connection, and insists that they become the best that they can possibly be."
By the same token, every patient deserves a champion who will never give up on them, who understands the power of connection, and who supports them in becoming the healthiest they can possibly be. Some of these champions come from the healthcare community, and I have benefited from many beyond the special nurse I'm recalling today, and some come from ranks of other cancer survivors.
Just before finalizing this post, I received a gift from a friend—someone I am lucky to call a champion—that included these uplifting messages: "You matter. You are enough. You are capable of making a difference. Just as you are, in this very moment, you are worthy of a beautiful life, and you are loved." Anyone can be a champion. Never underestimate your ability to make a difference in the outlook of another person.
