by Steve Richards
Recently, I passed two years to the day that I was diagnosed with recurrence of my cancer, and was advised that the average overall survivability (OS) for this stage cancer was about eight months.
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When discussing this milestone, a friend remarked that I was having a “cancerversary”. I’d never heard the term, and my first thought was “really, is that a thing?” Apparently, according to my internet searches it is, and there are many recommended ways to celebrate – from posting to social media to purchasing cancerversary T-shirts.
But even if there is such a thing, I couldn’t shake the slightly uneasy feeling of celebrating this cancerversary. It feels odd that I am to celebrate a re-diagnosis of cancer – this force that has invaded my every day over the last two years, every moment of pain, every moment without pain or sickness, or fatigue. This recurrence has largely been about limitations and loss - all the things I can no longer do, or have to be careful doing; all the consequences that are so heightened.
Most obviously, what I might celebrate is having survived beyond the expectation – but I have some uneasiness even about that. Having outlived that arbitrary ‘best before’ date by a three-fold measure, I am, of course, grateful. More than grateful – I spend time each day, every day, reflecting on how thankful I am that this disease has not progressed as expected, and embracing both the things that I have done and the luck that I enjoy in this unexpected longevity. So absolutely there is cause for celebration there.
I wouldn’t begrudge anyone that celebration. Still, for me, the idea sits somewhat like those ill-fitting jackets I now have, for a few reasons.
First is the sheer arbitrariness. Even measuring expected Overall Survival (OS) from the date of diagnosis seems imprecise. So too does the range of expected outcomes, and the percentage probability of surviving one year, or two, or five. These studies are no doubt essential to attempt to answer those pressing questions that we all have when we learn that we have advanced cancer. But in reality, the variables are too variable, the ranges too ‘rangey’, and the individual cases too individual to really provide the answers we seek. I now feel that I have spent far too much of the last two years putting stock into these arbitrary predictions.
Now, as I move further adrift of that expected OS date, I find that I have (very slowly) become less in its overwhelming grip. I have started to focus less on the “best before”, and a bit more on the “best ahead”. however, I am very mindful that for others, especially those approaching that range of OS, that the grip can be ominous and frightening, and certainly may not be something to celebrate in the least.
Here, then, is my greatest unease with marking these occasions with celebration. The worst part, for me at least, has been the uncertainty. Uncertainty that plagues every day, every decision taken, every plan made or avoided. So far, so good, but the question is always “for how long?” And yet, I know that, notwithstanding how fortunate, and otherwise healthy, and strong, and just plain lucky I am, there are others for whom an expectation of years has turned into months, or weeks. For so many there will be no cancerversary.
But what about celebrating EVERY day? Again, I often find myself feeling uneasy with so many of the sentiments associated with a diagnosis of terminal cancer. It is wonderful that many have gone from diagnosis to ‘living every day as though it may be one’s last’, or “living all of the days that I DO have fully”. I have no objection to these sentiments, but there can be so much pressure to get this right, this ‘living with terminal cancer’ thing.
I am truly blessed. I believe that, at long length, I am coming to the fit that feels right for me between these extremes of “bucket list” pressure and the ability to see and feel the wonder in the mundane of ordinary life. I have been very fortunate to have been able to pursue life-long dreams that were put off for years until my re-diagnosis, but I have also (again, slowly, and with much guidance and help from wonderful souls who have shown me what it is to live and to care with compassion and wisdom) opened to the joy and reverence of all that is here.
In that same recent conversation, that friend made a very wise suggestion, that I think I’ll follow. She suggested instead that I celebrate a “lifeiversary”.
Steve Richards first learned about Callanish shortly after he was diagnosed with recurrence of his cancer in early 2020, then waited patiently for nearly two years for COVID to settle and for the amazing opportunity to go on retreat and experience the beauty of everything that unfolded with Callanish from there. He spends much of his time these days exploring the amazing healing power of sailing.