Cancer bits from Beauty and the Beast

Since my cancer diagnosis, I have become hyper aware of the people around me. There are many things that separate us as humans, but one thing that brings us together is illness. Illness doesn’t care about how much money you make or how much you pray to your god. Nor does it care about your success or all the accumulated good works in your life. Waiting rooms bring people from all walks of life together and do not discriminate on colour, creed, sexual orientation, gender, or even age. For me, a healthy 36 year old woman, age was the one thing I subconsciously believed would save me from hospital waiting rooms. And, even further than that, I believed I had paid for my alms from hospital waiting rooms as my beloved mama was already currently going through her second battle with cancer. Surely, I would be protected from receiving a cancer diagnosis – let alone a breast cancer diagnosis- at the young age of 36. Even the most seasoned of betters would not have bet on me. Yet, here I stand having won the lottery of all bets – relying on the kindness of the strangers I meet in waiting rooms. 

As I embark on this journey of less traveled paths, I want to do something different. I want to notice the people around me. I want to hear their stories. I don’t want to fill my days with hatred and loathing of the sick joke this universe has decided to play on me. I want to use this time to notice the people around me that I often ignore and to take note of the kindness and beauty of strangers. 

The first person I meet on this journey is Thomas. He is a tall, slim unassuming man who is sitting a few seats over from me on the go train. I am heading to Union Station to visit my mom at UHN where she is having throat surgery number 2. Thomas is a quiet man, but he smiles at me with his kind eyes. I can tell that he feels embarrassed on my behalf as I cannot stop coughing and breathing heavily. Trying to catch the go train, I over exerted my fatigued body and cannot seem to catch my breath. “I can’t stop coughing either. I have had a cough for over 2 months”, he says quietly. I smile sweetly and tell him that I’m sorry for his pain. I can tell he is trying to initiate a conversation, but doesn’t interact much with people and doesn’t know how to continue. “I have breast cancer”, I announce- to the surprise of myself. I am still testing out the sounds of these words secretly in my head so I am just as surprised at myself for saying them out loud to a stranger I just met on the train. “I think that is why I can’t keep my breath and I keep coughing”, I try to justify, embarrassed that I have just overshared with someone I have only shared space with for less than 5 minutes. “Oh no”, he says “ my wife of 25 years just died of breast cancer 2 years ago. She is the strongest, bravest person I know. She fought very hard for 5 years, but lost her battle”. I quickly send my condolences and breathe heavily at this revelation he has just shared with me. I smile sadly and turn to look out the window, thinking he would want privacy as he remembers his loving wife. This seems to be the opposite of what he needs at this moment though. For, the next thing I see is him trudge over to where I am gazing out the window and place his iPad in front of me. “This is a photo of my wife when she was healthy. She was beautiful. Here is another photo of her – he scrolls- but this was towards the end when she was very ill. A lot changed in those years but she fought as hard as she could. I wouldn’t have been so brave. I would have wanted to die as soon as I found out. Not her. She wanted to live. My family- the ones who were closest to me- told me to leave her. They tried to convince me that I was better off on my own- that this was only going to end one way- but when I went to church all those years ago I made a promise to god that I would stay for better or for worse. So I cut my family out of my life and I stayed. I stayed all the way till the end. Even two years later as I try to date, I realize that I will never find anyone like her- she was special.” Even though I can understand what the cancer journey looks like, having gone through breast cancer 18 years ago with my mom when I was only 19 years old, I do not know how to comfort sweet Thomas at this moment. Thomas’ journey is his alone, and nothing I could say would bring his loving Judy back.  As he got off the train at the next stop, I smiled at him and thanked him for sharing the space with me today. “It was lovely to meet you”, I offered. And with that, he disappeared into the cloudy abyss.

Did I just meet a ghost? I wondered. Meeting strangers in waiting rooms – or in this case trains- was going to be messier and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. 

xoxo Jessica Norma-Marie