Today I'm celebrating my second Cancervercery. I don't think that, as a birthday like holiday, it's likely to catch on with anyone else, but it's important to me.
It marks the anniversary of my diagnosis, celebrates the months and months enduring chemo and recovering from surgery. It's an opportunity for me to look back at all the things I've done while under the shadow of one of humanities greatest nightmares.
For my first Cancervercery, I threw a squishmallow tea party, complete with a decorated Cancervercery cake. Whimsy and silliness were powerful enough then to contain the horror.
For my second, and final, Cancervercery, that horror is unavoidable and inescapable. I've survived and thrived during my time in hospice, during the time when the processes of death itself could not be ignored. I've prepared a tour of my hospice life, complete with the digression and discussion everyone who knows me has come to expect. It's a long video, but a nice length for a visit (1.5 hours). It's extremely intimate and emotional. But I chose to make it, and I chose to publish it, and I'm choosing to share it here.
My first Cancervercery (this is a genuinely fun and joyful video)
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
On the second of August, 2022, I learned that I had cancer. Its now the second of August, 2023, and I'm throwing my First Cancerversary party. A Cancerversary marks an important date in the progression of your illness, good or bad. Starting treatment, a surgical date, the date you went into remission, or the date the cancer came back are all things I think we should be celebrating. Not because a bad thing happened to us, but because we are still here to experience it.
My 1st Cancerversary is a celebration of joy, life and survival (with a touch of death thrown in as a treat for me).
One year ago today, I recieved a somewhat unexpected call from a surgian I'd been seeing about a mysterious, but monstrous, pain I'd been having on the right side of my abdomen. She had figured out the likely cause of my pain. It was cancer. I don't remember much else about that day, don't remember when doctors started using phrases like "stage four" and "high grade". I know that instead of waiting weeks for an ultrasound and months for a CT scan like I had for the diagnostic stage, I had both scheduled by the morning of the 5th to confirm what we now all feared to be true. August 2nd of that year was one of the worst days of my life (September 2nd of that year, when I first met my oncologist is also pretty bad, and June 9th of this year is worse).
August 2nd, 2023 is not like 2022. I've come much too far, underwent way too many unpleasant, painful and nauseating procedures, for that. I'm not here to tell a story I've already told, to dwell in much worse times. We're here to continue our stories. To live, be joyful, experience whimsy, to pet cats. To live in the best way the fates allow.
August 2nd, 2023 is my First Cancerversary. It's an idea that's been rattling around in my head since late June that was as fun to do as I hoped it might be. It's a celebration of life, of survival, and of joy. With the surgical recovery and a few other things going on in my life, I couldn't have a real party with human guests. But I've got big ideas for next year, because birthdays may feel less impressive and meaningful every year (they aren't though), marking time with cancer becomes exponentially more important and noteworthy with every passing year.
I don't want anyone to think this is just making the best of a bad situation, or that I'm putting on a smiling mask, or anything like that. I am genuinely joyous and excited about this. I did originally intend it as more of a silly joke than where I ended up, which is physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted after two long days of work. I'm left with a bittersweet feeling, which feels right, and feeling anything after over a decade of mental health struggles is fantastic.
From the comments
James Petrosky: Part of the reason this took so long is that there's a video, too. I'm happy with the result. I've been making short daily videos for a few weeks now, too. It's nice to have something to pass the time.
