1 year ago

By Jennifer Ellsworth 

It has been 1 year since I received that phone call and heard the words, "you have cancer." 

Today is a jumble of many emotions - gratitude, grief, joy, sadness, and others I can't put a label on. 

Part of my effort to process today was to reflect back on this past year, to recognize and acknowledge all that has happened. I share my efforts to capture it below:

402 Cards received

365 Days

192 Chemotherapy pills

164 Medical/Doctor appointments

156 Anastrozole pills

75 Miles driven one-way to appointments

47 Different medications taken

29 Lab draws (blood work) 

28 Radiation treatments

21 Counseling appointments

16 Physical Therapy sessions

15 Lymph nodes removed

12 Chemotherapy infusions 

10 Overnights in the hospital

8 X-rays

7 Zoladex injections

6 Ultrasounds

5 Tissue expander fills

3 MRIs

3 CT scans

3 Surgeries/Procedures

3 Mammograms

2 Biopsies

2 Emergency room visits

2 Covid vaccines

2 MUGA scans 

1 Bone scan

1 Positive COVID test

Of all those things, the one resonating most with me today is "402 cards received." The symbolism of that is powerful - no matter how many days of cancer treatment I endured, no matter how many appointments I attended or medications I took - the love and support was greater. The love and support from family and friends was both a bouy and an anchor; a bouy to help me keep my head above water throughout the storms of the past year, but also an anchor to help keep me grounded so not to drift off too far to the deep dark places. 

It can be hard to know what to say to someone who has cancer; for me, it wasn't so much about what anyone said (spoiler alert: there's no perfect thing to say), but more about just being present and letting me know I wasn't alone.... Thank you to my friends and family who sent cards and emails, said prayers, came to visit, sent me a healing thought or sent a text or made a call. I kept and treasure each and every one.

I recently took a deep dive in my own Google photo album, looking back at old photos. I wondered if I 'looked different' before I got my cancer diagnosis. I don't mean 'look different' in the obvious sense - I had more hair, I didn't have freckles (hyperpigmentation from chemo), I had a few less scars and my chest was familiar looking... But I wanted to see if my eyes and smile revealed a more care-free Jen. I saw pictures of myself with longer hair, a clearer complexion, in a wedding dress, with a pregnant belly, and some holding a newborn child. Perhaps my smile was a bit wider and my eyes a bit brighter, or perhaps that was just my projecting my feelings onto my past self. 

I do sit here today feeling a bit more jaded, burdened, weary and less care-free, for once you've been told you have cancer, you can never un-hear those words. And along with those words comes a lifetime of wondering - will it be back? Did the treatment work? Will the symptoms abate?... And many other ponderings that I sincerely hope will lessen in time. 

Though I might continue to wrestle with my anger and grief for a long time, I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the other ways I feel 'different' now...I have a deeper capacity for empathy. I have less tolerance for bullshit. I have a greater appreciation for the little things in life. I have a new-found respect for my body. I attach less value of self-worth to my appearance. I work harder to be present in each moment. I hug tighter. I am acutely aware of the fragility and impermanence of life. I find myself often thinking..."I am alive... Life... Live... Alive. Let me make the most of this day." 

Read Jen’s partner Allan’s blog here.