A Zest for Life

I have tried to begin writing this piece many times, stopping as frequently as I have started. Often struggling to comprehend the enormity of the story and fearful that I will not be able to do it justice in my retelling. It is one that has been told through different mediums and in various forms, initially from those who experienced it first-hand and by some who have heard snippets along the way. This time, however, rather than dwelling on the sadness, my dear friend Emily, for whom the story is about, wanted to reframe her experience by sharing what she has learnt in the months since. That being said, such a story needs perspective and so I should explain for those who don’t know, that this time last year Emily faced the penultimate round of her intensive chemotherapy treatment having been diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer in the January. Less than twenty-four hours after we celebrated the new year, Emily had undergone nine-hours of surgery to remove the tumour that had been discovered, but remained unidentified, after she had admitted herself to A&E two months earlier.

I remember that night in November, when Emily casually asked if I could cover her babysitting that evening, “I’ve taken myself to hospital,” she said. “My tummy aches have got worse…” Ever the optimist she added, “I’m sure it’s nothing.” It was clear though, that whilst Emily continued with her usual confidence, she recognised that the stomach pains she had been suffering from for the best part of a year must be more than her previously diagnosed “severe IBS.” Indeed, that night in A&E, the doctors confirmed the pain was the result of a cyst, the size of a grapefruit on her left ovary. It was frightening for all of us, but even when Emily called to tell me and my friends the results that night, she still remained upbeat, jokingly suggesting it would all be sorted before Christmas. I remind Emily of this outlook when we speak this afternoon, “things can always be worse,” she smiles. This is the response from my extraordinary friend who on the night of 2nd January 2019, came round from her anaesthetic to be told that the cyst was in fact a tumour, a tumour that was cancerous and that a full hysterectomy would be necessary. This is the reply from my exceptional friend who, the following week, underwent said surgery and woke up with a colostomy bag after the doctors had discovered the cancer had spread from her ovaries into her diaphragm, around her liver and into part of her bowel.

I remember the long phone conversations with my friends as they sat by Emily’s hospital bed, wishing there was something we could do to take away the pain of her loss. People often question how they would be able to cope facing any one of these experiences and so, to be met with all three, just six months after your 23rd birthday seems almost unfathomable. For the most part Emily admits it was incomprehensible, believing she was able to get through the rounds of chemo by her “sheer refusal to accept that it was happening”. Encouraged by her doctors to channel her energy into regaining her physical strength, who pragmatically suggested that the mental rehabilitation would come later. Bolstered by the friends who stood by her side every step of the way, Emily found the conviction to carry on; “I would get dressed up and put on ridiculous dresses and just walk around the house,” she remembers “because if I looked good, I felt good.” Emily persevered with a courage that knew no bounds and we were repeatedly struck by her propensity to continue being the best friend she is to all; remembering birthdays, dates of new jobs, movements of family members and which friend had their next date lined up, even when she was facing some of her darkest and most difficult moments. She brushes off this determination but, I note, it takes a very special person to soldier on with such drive.

A month after Emily’s final round of chemo she received the all clear. It was a joyous time, coinciding with her birthday and a summer of celebrations, parties and holidays. Conscious, however, that she was riding a wave of elation that would not last for ever, Emily started to consider her mental recovery. We discuss some of the conversations she has tackled in therapy, touching on a thread that seems to reappear, the question of whether she is “doing it right?” “There is no manual for what I’m going through,” she explains “so I don’t know if what I’m doing is right or wrong.” In the months since receiving that first “all clear,” Emily was eager to resume her life as it was before her illness but somewhat anxious that she should no longer be the one partying until the early hours. Much of her worry stems from her own pressure that she feels she should be acting differently as a result of her experience; fearful she will always be known as “the one who has cancer.” Part of her healing process therefore, has been about learning to find balance, “you’ve had this huge life change, a kind of epiphany, so there’s the half of you that wants to live everyday like it’s your last but at the same time, I need to live to stop it coming back.”

Emily, May 2020

Like many of us, Emily entered this period of lockdown with feelings of worry and frustration. From Emily’s point of view though, she felt “a bit cheated,” having done all this before. She’s quick to point out how lucky she feels, considering, “if this was me last year, I wouldn’t have been able to do it, I wouldn’t have had my chemo.” For Emily, lockdown has served as a poignant period of reflection, “I’ve always said I kind of want to go away and process everything for two months, so this has been a good time.” She also tells me how helpful she’s found writing, “despite hating English at school,” as well as allowing time for tears, having previously had to bottle up emotions in order to “power on through.” “The biggest challenge of this illness has been acceptance,” she explains, “I’ve had to learn to face that black pit at the bottom of my tummy, face the fear of death, to accept it and not be scared.”

We are constantly astounded by those who are able to carry on after times of seemingly insurmountable trauma. None more so than Emily, whose positivity permeates her very being. Emerging from her experience battered and bruised but not completely broken, she says, “I’ve realised that life isn’t what I thought it would be, it’s about learning and growing from the things that happen to you whether they are good or bad.” These are the words from my remarkable friend, who through every uncertainty, the bad days and the sleepless nights continues on with her unshakeable zest for life.