It was a challenging summer. Not one filled with lazy days, small adventures, and relaxing moments. This summer proved to be unsettling.
My summer began with my regular scans and blood work, as many of you know if you read my post This Space in this Moment, and I am very grateful to share that everything came back within normal readings. There was nothing concerning, therefore no further scans/tests were required. It was my moment to rejoice and to thank God for my blessings.
Yet, as I continue along in my own journey, with distance and time separating me from those earlier days of diagnosis and treatment, my heart feels heavy. A loved one of mine has just begun their own difficult cancer journey. I am deeply saddened at this new reality, for I know the fear and uncertainty all too well. What I am struggling with, is learning how to be there for my loved one when they are not ready to discuss their journey [with me]. I respect their choice, as I do understand. One needs time to process their feelings in their own way and at their own pace. I know that I did. But, I do not live within close proximity of my loved one, so I feel that listening and sharing is all that I have to offer. If I cannot give them that, what can I give? I now know how so many of my loved ones felt when I received my own diagnosis – helpless. Yes, that is how I feel. Helpless.
Helpless – it is a difficult feeling to cope with. It is difficult to watch a loved one traverse a journey you know all to well and wish they never had to take. And, you are helpless. There is nothing you can do to alleviate their fears and pain. How do I help? What do I do?
Trust yourself. You know more than you think you do. – Benjamin Spock
It is in these moments of frustration and helplessness that I need to pause and reflect. I need to remember that I did not talk about my fears with my loved ones. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to keep them safe from the hell that is cancer – however – I knew that I needed to share my fears with someone. I was in such a dark place, feeling both alone and afraid. So, I reached out to the Psychosocial Department at PMCC and connected with a Social Worker. For 10 months I worked with Terry. I experienced some of my most vulnerable moments with her at my side. She was my lifeline in those early days of post-surgery and treatment, and she helped me find light through the dark. I still draw on the strategies she taught me. I still carry her wisdom in my heart.
So, with loving intent, I wish to remind those experiencing a cancer diagnosis that there is support out there. It is the choice of the survivor/thriver to accept it, and that choice is a deeply personal one. Sometimes, we are so overwhelmed with the diagnosis we feel at a loss on how to move forward, where to go for information, advice, and support. Focus is placed on actionable treatment to eradicate the cancer, but emotional support, which is imperative, can sometimes be omitted. And so, when [and if] ready, here are some lifelines for support: Sault Area Hospital, Canadian Cancer Society, Prostate Cancer Support Sudbury, and Prostate Cancer Foundation of Canada.
With that, I will give to my loved one in my own unique ways. I will continue to laugh with them, share in special moments, call often, and visit when time [and work, and school] permit. It may be unsettling for me, knowing I cannot do more, but perhaps this is all the love and support that is needed for now.
Helpless. Published by Crystal Joy Hall
Featured Image by Alex Conchillos
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