Words and images

My wife was diagnosed with cancer just before Christmas last. You know, that C word everyone dreads; that insidious disease that stalks and preys on us from within our body. That death sentence that can put a timeframe to our remaining days; that hangs over us, a Sword of Damocles, suspended by a thread of disbelief or hope.

Cancer. So many varieties. So many parts of our body its domain. For Margaret it was cancer of the breast. Just one breast. Caught early, but aggressive.

Like all those diagnosed with cancer, or any other disease or illness, Margaret was quickly gathered onto the Train of Medical Treatment (TMT). This is what you need to do… This is how we will excise your wayward bits… Tests were performed. Treatments were devised, plans were made, appointments were scheduled. In a rush; though not so rushed as to upset the TMT’s holiday plans. Surgery first. Then chemo, followed by radiation. Finally a lifetime of drugs. Take your pick. Any one or all of the planned treatments, if you want (but don’t take too long to decide). The more, the better the chances of living a long life without a return of the great C. 

And so it was and is. Surgery, twice. Then chemo. Now radiation.

Throughout all this life goes on, slotted in between nausea, fever, tiredness, a week in hospital, hairloss. Visiting grandchildren provide moments of joy. Life is lived day-by-day. 

Preconceptions of cancer and its treatment do not long survive the reality of being on the TMT. Each patient responds differently to the TMT journey. We read about these journeys on social media or in books. But seldom do we read about the TMT journey from the perspective of someone travelling on the parallel train, the Train of Community (ToC). 

On this train are those who provide the patient with transport, emotional support, thoughtful words, caring caresses, head coverings, treatment reminders; an endless rota of tasks; an endless supply of compassion.

I travelled—am still travelling—on this train, as are Margaret’s friends and our other family members. For them, journeys on the ToC are short: an hour now and then, lunch, coffee and cake, a phone call.

Though short, these journeys are essential for both Margaret and me. For Margaret, they maintain contact with the non-cancer world; they provide escape from that-which-is-always-there; they provide a reminder of how life will be again. For me, they share the role of carer; they provide the help I cannot or do so in ways I can’t emulate. They allow me moments of solitude, moments in which I can take stock of my life, my role as husband, partner, carer. Moments in which I gain the strength and focus  to continue riding the ToC. For that which is always there for Margaret is also always there for me; the same but different. Riding this community train allows me to gain insights into myself, to notice my shortcomings, to appreciate the temporality of life, the beauty of friendship and love, the value of being. 

Overcoming cancer is thus a journey on two trains, one fast, seemingly out of control, headlong to the cure; the other slower, with detours, tunnels, bright sunny vistas from time to time and friends. It’s a pity that cancer, and other potential life-terminating experiences, are needed before we reflect on our life, before we come to understand what we really value, before we fully appreciate what life has given us. Life is precious.