Chemo Party

I did this whole chemo thing a bit differently last week. This time, I was accompanied by two new companions from my new home: one was a jovial, self-proclaimed gourmand named Stewart, the other was a charismatic, self-proclaimed Italian divo named Vincenzo. The pair have an uncanny knack for having a good time, enjoying the pleasure each moment brings. As Vincenzo declared to our concierge, after insisting on a “cancer” upgrade for my hotel room, “life’s a banquet, darling, and most poor bastards are staaaaarving to death!”

It was a remarkable change from the status quo that has dictated the past few months. I had new found confidence. Being treated at a new hospital felt like repeating the first day of school all over again, except this time it comes with drugs. But three months later, the new-school jitters are leaving. More importantly, I’m finding that with time, I’m becoming a better advocate for myself. I sat down with a patient navigator at Queen’s Hospital (didn’t even know such a person existed!) and spelled out my woes: prescriptions, communication problems, flight costs, jungle isolation. Together, we made a plan for the future: people to help me with the travel logistics, people to pick me up from the airport, people who know how to get me to the treatment I need and be with me throughout. And they were more than happy to support. It was like giving them candy. My heart is full of gratitude at being introduced to people who do what they do for someone in ym situation because they just love it.

I had newfound energy when I returned from Honolulu a few days ago, in part a reflection of the love and support of my two new friends. One of my secret pleasures in all of this has been to see people’s best shine through. We have so much to give. When circumstances thrust us to our edge, we are capable of remarkable things. The boys kept me darting between exhibits at the Bishop Museum and five course meals at some of the island’s finest establishments, reveling between stories of African safaris and the subjectivity of reality. Quietly in the background, an understanding lingered with us as we dined and talked late into each night: that to heal is to meet all that comes to you with love. The most sorrowful situation becomes a thrilling adventure when you match it with love’s potency. Ask me how to survive cancer. Go ahead, ask me. Love.