Why iCARE about Cancer.

Past and present events that underscore World Cancer Day for me.

Hello, Dear Reader! Welcome to our new Carer Mentor community members!

I’m Victoria. You can read why I’m publishing Carer Mentor here: Who Started Carer Mentor and Why?

When you have a moment, look around “iCARE Stack.” Since last year, I’ve been building this hub of resources and a directory of publications.

It’s organised to differentiate between the act of giving care and the person giving the care. Often, a caregiver is given a superhero cape. Uncloaking the realities of being human while caring helps us appreciate the complete picture and everyday impact of chronic illnesses on everyone involved.

iCARE Stack is this caregiver’s attempt at offering easy access to support when you have limited time and energy. For example, if you’re caring for someone, “Index: Giving or Receiving CARE” contains helpful articles about caregiving hacks/tips and first aid reminders.

Why iCARE about Cancer.

Today’s article shares some of my lived experiences and offers a premise for why World Cancer Day holds particular importance for me this year.

The Past

I wonder if there’s someone who hasn’t been touched by cancer? When did it appear in your life?

One of my first experiences of its cruelty was with a good friend and work colleague. He was a charming, smiling man in his early thirties with a beautiful wife and babies. We were a tight-knit little band of workers from diverse backgrounds and ages, and he was close to everyone.

He mentored me in my new job and walked the path of the type of leader I wanted to be at work and in life. He was known for calming conflicts with his diplomacy, being kind and patient, and having a quiet, humble intelligence that he offered freely.

I think it was July or August when he told us he had a back injury after picking up his son too quickly. Less than six months later, he died.

I knew death, funerals, and cremations. His passing was a wake-up call to the cruelty of cancer, its indiscriminate impact and speed.

Since then, other cancer diagnoses that have touched those close to me include Bladder, Endometrial, Ovarian, Lung, Prostate, Bowel, Colon, Stomach, Breast and Skin.

My father’s bladder cancer was diagnosed in 2016, destabilising what little calm had been established after the nightmare hospitalisation in 2015 and his diagnosis of vascular dementia.

A transection surgery of the bladder was scheduled. It’s not a straightforward procedure for someone with congestive heart failure, Arrhythmia and restricted movement in his joints due to rheumatoid arthritis—anaesthesia requires a very experienced hand.

When hands and fingers are gnarled, it’s hard to drink from a cup, adjust the catheter tubing, and get a nurse’s attention when the flush-out fluid bag is empty. It’s a bigger nightmare when the catheter isn’t positioned correctly.

From adjusting bloody dressings and catheter tubes and caring for him, I shifted to making myself bigger to politely but firmly request help. Then, at home, highly tuned to his symptoms, we had to decipher when advice was needed to adjust his medications.

That rollercoaster was fraught and fragile, one long day over the years, punctuated by traumatic moments, clinging onto the only certainty that the sun would come up and go down.

Preparing for the unpredictable, shifting needs is challenging, especially if you try to do it alone. Thankfully, Mum and I had each other and a few caring friends and family members.

After Dad passed in January 2020, today’s journey feels calmer.

Today, we live between CTs, PETs, MRIs, and blood results¹ enjoying peaceful, quiet days, having survived a hellish rollercoaster. We have more predictability and greater certainty than before and relish this peace. Everything is relative!

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The Present

The funeral of one of those close friends on Friday, the 24th, destabilised me.

Dark grey drizzle and biting winds had me retreating into my coat and scarf—mummified armour.

High stormy winds caused havoc around our city. Roads were closed and littered with broken branches. Unstable roof structures and kerbside trees created precarious danger zones everywhere.

My car’s GPS couldn’t handle the road closures by police, and even Google Maps was having issues wondering what I was doing.

Sometimes, even when you think you need additional guides (and you think you’re a terrible driver!), you need to trust your compass.

In this instance, I was unsure of everything. The crematorium was one of the few places I was familiar with, but the exact directions seemed elusive.

So, all this kept me painfully, mindfully attentive when I wanted to gloss and fly past the day. My speed notched up in line with my anxiety and adrenalin. The lack of precise directions made me crawl.

I wanted this day over and done with. The in-my-face reality of her passing was not something I wanted to face or talk about out loud, especially not with others.

Speed bumps jolted the car, forcing me to slow (my grief feelings) down

Parked. Awkward, stilted conversations. Defensive hugging of my mummified armour didn’t give me the comfort I needed.

The vicar asks us to remember her in silence.

I see her gleeful giggling, doing her little shimmy dance from one foot to another—Delight-Filled and excited.

She’s not my age in years but in spirit, or am I closer to her age in spirit these days? We’ve been friends since I was in the single digits. The decades of care and love she’s generously given to so many is immeasurable.

Well-capped tears broke free, and every pew had a white flurry of tissues, surrendering to the truth of her absence.

I managed to swallow back the howls until I reached the safe confines of my car.

I’m glad I missed the horn when I punched the steering wheel hard.

“Cancer is such A SHIT!” Punch! Howl! Punch, cry, hiccup.

I’m familiar with grief-rage. It’s part of the fire that propels me forward.

Carer Mentor metabolises that rage into something meaningful and purposeful for me and, hopefully, you. It enables me to carry my grief and highlights community connections so WE CAN network with others in the know. You’re not alone.

This is why World Cancer Day is particularly significant for me this year.

3 Days to World Cancer Day (Feb., 4th)

It's time to act time to put people and communities at the centre of Health Systems and Cancer Care we're unique in our Needs, but United in our goals and United in our message to give people a stronger voice and a more active role in their own health. Treat the person not only the disease so that everyone everywhere can get the care they need”

Watch out for Carer Mentor Articles next Tuesday, February 4th.

Thank you!

P.S Here’s My way of Mine-ing joy

Here’s a short story about discovering comfort and resonance from new insights and sources. Even with this heavy grief, I’ve grown my confidence that I can find resonance and inspiration. Curiosity, is a useful tool!

With this curiosity, Carer Mentor will be a richer resource for others and a greater relief for my grief. Care to discover Ross Gay’s work?

'Mine-ing Joy'. Discovering the work of Ross Gay

I’m sending warm wishes to you and your loved ones.

Please press your heart ‘❤️’ to guide others here

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1. A contrast CT scan is a computed tomography (CT) scan that uses a special dye to make certain parts of the body easier to see. The dye, called a contrast medium, is taken orally or injected into a vein

A PET scan, or positron emission tomography scan, is a painless imaging test that uses a small amount of radioactive material to create 3D pictures of the inside of your body. It's used to help diagnose and treat many conditions, including cancer, heart disease, and other abnormalities

Magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) is a non-invasive medical imaging technique that uses radio waves and strong magnetic fields to create detailed pictures of the inside of the body