[2021-08-06] A year of Jenesis
Today marks the one-year anniversary of Jenesis. A year ago, I announced that I had started health leave to deal with ovarian cancer. My revelation no doubt came as a huge surprise to many people, as it had to me.
In the intervening 12 months, I have undergone a radical hysterectomy, six rounds of chemotherapy, and a two-month adjustment to a tumour-suppressing drug.
This morning, I had my monthly follow-up with a member of The Ottawa Hospital oncology team. I told my doctor that when I had completed this month's pre-call symptom checklist, I had at last been able to indicate that I could do everything I wanted, without limitations. This is the first time I have chosen that option. Previously, I had selected the option that I could do most of what I wanted, with some limitations. Until very recently, I still felt a little more tired after an exertion than I had felt pre-cancer. But I finally feel back to normal. Perhaps my newfound strength is a function of my stronger white blood cell count, which—in turn—is a result of getting further and further beyond my last chemotherapy treatment.
For the first time in a year, I feel as strong physically as I have felt mentally over the past 12 months. Sure I've had my down days—when first diagnosed, when it took longer than I had anticipated to recover from chemotherapy, when it looked like my treatments might be delayed because of low neutrophils, when I received confirmation that I am BRCA2 positive—but, for the most part, I have been as upbeat as always.
This morning, a friend posted a graphic on LinkedIn that struck me as applicable to cancer and relevant to my reflection on the past year. It was called Grief Isn't Just for Death and stated that grief is also for:
- Friendships that have ended
- Losing your community
- Missing the certainty you once had
- Questioning your judgment
- Releasing who you once were
- Feeling lost and unanchored
- Losing traditions you loved
It reminded me of what my family doctor had said to me during our first conversation after my diagnosis: it's okay to mourn your perfect health.
I did mourn the certainty that I thought I had before learning of my cancer. When we're healthy, it's easy to think that our life will go on without incident into some distant future. And it's understandable to think that everything has changed when we get a diagnosis of a life-threatening illness. While I have less certainty about my future than I did before cancer, the reality is that I never had absolute certainty in the first place. I've learned to accept the loss of certainty—or perceived certainty—about my future without letting it dampen my spirits.
I might have mourned the loss of the person I once was: a professional with an important job who worked hard and was seemingly invincible. But I like the person I am today. I'm more present in the lives of loved ones. I have a new job that's equally important and fulfilling—raising awareness of ovarian cancer, sharing positivity and talking about things that are important to me. And I am more connected to more people than ever before.
I feel blessed that cancer and this blog have helped me to kindle and rekindle many relationships. They have allowed me to build a community that celebrates little victories even as it acknowledges challenges. And they have led to new traditions, most notably my sitting down once a day to reflect on my life and to share my thoughts with all of you.
It would be understandable if I felt lost and unanchored, but I don't. I have found meaning in my circumstances. It's as Victor Frankl wrote in Man's Search for Meaning, quoting Nietzsche: "Those who have a 'why' to live, can bear with almost any 'how'." I have many whys to live, one of which is Jenesis.
I had thought that, once I reached a full year's worth of posts, I would scale back the blog. But I don't think that's possible given the number of people who have come to rely on this daily gift from me to lift their spirits, to make them think, or to inspire them to take action. While some of my future posts may be brief, I will continue to connect with you each day. It's my way of giving back to the many people who have given so much to me.
Tonight's image is of the Ottawa River at sunset, where my daughter and I hung out tonight after I had spent the day in Kingston lunching with wonderful people on Lake Ontario. Life is good.
