Today, while sitting in The Ottawa Hospital's Cancer Centre waiting to get my monthly blood work done, I received a message from a friend. Her sister-in-law had just been diagnosed with breast cancer and would be having surgery to remove at least one breast very soon. Her mother had just completed surgery to remove half her thyroid because of a small cancerous growth. And she herself had just undergone a biopsy, following a pap test and ultrasound because of an unexpected menstruation. She admitted that the past few weeks have been a bit of a blur and asked for advice. As I waited my turn outside the lab in the Cancer Centre, hoping for another positive result on my CA125, I typed this response:

My first advice is that it's OK to feel sad, scared, preoccupied (whatever heavy feelings you're experiencing). And it's OK to want to do things to just avoid thinking about everything that's going on. Eventually, you'll feel a bit better as you get more information and take stock of what's in your control. You will likely start to remember that you are strong, for yourself and your loved ones. You may even learn about or remember stories of other people who have gone through tough medical times and come through the other side. You will meet beautiful, loving people who will be like sunshine to your soul. And you, my dear friend, will be sunshine to your sister-in-law, your mom and to all who love you. But for today, you are allowed to feel bad and to acknowledge that this is a fine mess, and to swear a little (or a lot). I'm here for you.

Later, when I was at home and could sit down at my computer, I put together a list of Jenesis posts related to mastectomies and breast reconstruction. Though my experience differs from that of breast cancer patients, some of what I learned from my discussions with doctors about a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy and breast reconstruction might provide helpful context for my friend's sister-in-law.

In putting together the email to my friend, I realized that the "My Cancer Journey" portion of my Categories page was lumping together posts related to ovarian cancer, perianal skin cancer and breast cancer avoidance. So to make it easier for readers to find articles pertaining to specific topics, I separated them into three groups:

My Categories page remains a work in progress, as I still have many posts to add to this document, but it's a useful starting point for someone newly diagnosed with cancer.

An hour after giving a blood sample to the Cancer Centre lab, my CA125 result showed up in the MyChart app. Every month, this test measures the amount of cancer antigen in my blood to monitor for a potential recurrence of ovarian cancer. A number between 0 and 35 is in the normal range. The number zooms in from the left of the screen then stops on a continuum that has green and yellow sections. A number within the green section is in the normal range. A number within the yellow section is outside the normal range.

As always, I held my breath and clicked on the report. My result—a beautiful, round 8—zoomed in and stopped near the beginning of the green section. Phew—once again in the normal range. In fact, my CA125 has been in the normal range for three years now—low and steady. After starting at 920 on July 29, 2020, when I was unofficially diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and dropping to 862 on September 24, 2020, a month after my surgery, I received news on December 3, 2020, that my CA125 was a spectacular 19. That little data point showed up in MyChart as I was receiving my fourth chemotherapy treatment, and prompted Nurse Kathy to call it an early Christmas present. On my sixth and final chemotherapy treatment, my CA125 had dropped to 10. A month later, it was at 8 and has remained at 7, 8 or 9 since then. Today's result feels like a Christmas present and a three-year anniversary gift all rolled into one.

My communication with my friend today reminded me of how many of us experience cancer, other serious illnesses or the sickness of a loved one. In the beginning, we know so little—about the disease, about our prognosis, about others who have traveled the same road before us. We might turn to the Internet, only to find discouraging statistics and sad stories. But within these statistics and stories, I hope we also find hopeful messages of people who have not only survived a similar illness but who are now thriving.