While I’m on the road traveling through Africa, I am excited to share a couple of guest posts with you. The first is by Stephanie Sliekers, a new friend that I made through the www.facingcancer.ca website.
In July 2010, I went from being a 25-year-old-living-it-up-in-the-city to a role I hadn’t even briefly imagined for myself: cancer patient. Sitting in the doctor’s office on that fateful day, I became aware of my nerves only after I was told the results of the routine chest x-ray ordered to investigate my difficulty breathing were ‘serious’. A large tumour occupied my entire right chest cavity.
From that moment on, as my friends continued down the paths of most 25-year-olds, making the most of a hot, sticky summer in the city, I veered down an alternate path toward scans, biopsies, late night emergency room visits, and even one ambulance ride. After missing out on all the summer’s wild nights and cottage weekends, I began chemotherapy treatment for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
That autumn, as the fiery leaves began to fall from the trees, I found stability in the monotony of treatment. Every three weeks I was back at Princess Margaret Hospital, getting blood work, my chemo pills, and hoping my blood counts had spiked so I wouldn’t have to pay for the dreadfully expensive Neupagen medication.
Christmas passed and my routine abruptly ended. Shortly after finishing 8 rounds of chemotherapy, and just as I was starting radiation treatment, my world changed rapidly once again. I maxed out the 15 weeks of sick benefits I was eligible for from the Government of Ontario, and in a desperate attempt to hold onto the downtown apartment I so cherished, I decided to return to work. Spring loomed around the corner and I was impatient for a renewal of normalcy.
Normalcy, however, was far from my grasp. Standing on the subway car coming home from my second day back at work, as I breathed in the odour emanating from my neighbour’s sweaty armpit and tried desperately to prevent my knee from finding his groin every time the car came to a stop, I felt overwhelmed by the indifference that surrounded me. Aggressive pushing and polite pleading were barely enough to get me past the unsympathetic strangers who stood between me and my exit. It was only once I was free that I realized I was back in the real world, and it never felt colder.
Arriving at my apartment, the memory of the solemn faces on the crowded subway car hung over my like an overcast sky. In a desperate attempt to quell the feelings of isolation, I took to the mouse and keyboard in search of a light at the end of the tunnel.
Afreshchapter.com caught my eye because of the blogger’s age, a young woman just like me who had also been stunned by a cancer diagnosis, who wrote in a calm and soothing tone. My index finger ached as I furiously clicked through the archived posts. Reading Terri’s affirming and insightful blog wasn’t discovering a light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, I crossed paths with someone who lit the tunnel up from within.
Before I had time to second-guess it, I was typing Terri a message. I heard back from her promptly, and we exchanged a few light-hearted e-mails joking about the disconnect we sometimes feel with our friends, how often we ‘hit the clubs’, and our re-emergence into society post-treatment. After trying all day to fit in with my co-workers, it was comforting to connect with someone who understood exactly why I was different.
My chance, virtual encounter with Terri meant more to me than simply ‘I am not alone’. I wasn’t alone, but I also wasn’t stuck in a world of callous strangers. There are people just like me everywhere. Some of them were on the internet, ready and eager to connect with each other. But some of them might also be sitting next to me on the subway, or passing by me on the street, possibly even hidden by a dark cloud of loneliness, just like I was that afternoon.
On any other day, Terri would have been among those strangers that I hastily pushed past by on my commute to and from work. But that day, simply because I happened to be looking, the sea of people parted to reveal a familiar and sympathetic face.
Tomorrow, I’ll keep my head up and continue to look for such a face. And maybe, after discovering at least one other person who could show me the same kindness and understanding, my own cloud of loneliness will be kept at bay long enough for someone else can find me.
Stephanie Sliekers is a 26-year-old currently adjusting to her new role as ‘cancer survivor’ in the city she loves, Toronto, ON. For more information on Stephanie’s journey, visit her personal blog at www.100resolutions.blogspot.com.
