Dec 2015
By Anje Bruch-Hilkers
How does the health care system in Canada work? I did not even ask when I came to Canada almost 20 years ago now. Who needs doctors and hospitals when you are healthy, right? I would find out.
One morning, I burnt my belly, by spilling hot tea on my dress. While making the tea, I dropped the cup, then the teabag, banged the kettle against the cup… I felt clumsy – clumsier than usual.
I put the top on my travel mug and sat down to write. Then, I remembered I was not travelling and did not need the lid on my tea. It would be too hot to drink for a while, better to take the lid off.
I wondered if there was anything wrong with me. I quickly ruled out a stroke and decided there was actually nothing the matter with me.
Lately I have not been able to finish the Sudoku puzzle in our weekly newspaper. The odd time I can, but most of the time I get to a point where I have to find the solution by trial and error, choosing one out of two options and following that up. I think there is something wrong with the puzzle. But what if there is something wrong with me?
A colleague once told me his mother noticed the onset of dementia, because she could still do crosswords, but not cryptograms. So is this my sign?
I have thought about surveying people. Are there others out there who have a problem with the Sudoku from this paper? There are two reasons I have not done this yet. The first one is that I would feel silly asking, and the second one is being afraid to find out they have no problem solving the puzzles.
Then I think it is nonsense; my brain still works well. Oh, the fear of aging…if that were the case.
I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
It wasn’t scary at first – that came later, when I (or rather we, because my husband, Rob, was with me from the start) had to make decisions, in the midst of following protocols, or as I referred to them, “Lessons In Chemotherapy” (Journey: Making Decisions When Your Life Depends On It, 2014), that went like this:
In between the talks with the oncologists, we have an appointment for a chemotherapy information session in Peterborough. In the waiting room a staff member gives me a printout with my next appointments.
On November the 3rd, at 9 am I have to be in Oshawa for blood work, that for some odd reason cannot be done here in Peterborough or better still in Haliburton, which is only 20 minutes from where we live. Oshawa is two hours from home and one hour from Peterborough.
At 11 o’clock, also on November the 3rd, I have to be in Peterborough for my first chemotherapy treatment, while my port will be inserted the day after, in Oshawa. The port is the entrance through which the liquid will flow, that I don’t know whether to call poison or medicine.
“Wait a minute, is that not backwards? Should I not have my port in before the first chemo treatment?”
“Yes, I thought it was rather odd,” says the lady. “Do you want me to postpone the treatment?”
“Well yes, of course.”
Yesterday, I had phoned the oncology department and told them I went for a second opinion in Kingston. I have not agreed to the proposal from the oncologist in Peterborough and have not signed their consent form. To me that means something.
I can be very annoying when I am irritated.
The friendly nurse, who will teach the chemo lesson, gets a taste of that.
“I want the best treatment…the proposal in Kingston is different, and I want to find out why that is and what I should do…I want to see the oncologist first, and here I get an appointment already… Who am I? Only the person it is all about… What about this brochure, that says I am the most important member of the team…?” I am waving with the brochure to underline my point.
We were supposed to get the lesson together with another couple. They are sitting at the other side of the table in complete silence, looking at me as if I am from outer space. Even in my anger, I feel for them, this must be unpleasant. But, being overpowered by my anger, my sympathy for them is not enough for me to shut up.
The nurse diplomatically suggests we come back in 45 minutes, since it turns out that the lady has a slightly different breast cancer and will have a different treatment.
True or not, she handled that well. And Rob and I go for a walk. And when we return, we get our lesson…
Pee, poop and puke should be treated as hazardous waste. Use gloves, close toilet lid and flush twice…
What does it do to our septic system?
She does not know; she has never had that question before. Scary stuff.
Then she asks, “Have you heard of Victoria’s quilts?
Rob and I nod happily, yes, we have heard of them.
“I sent one back,” I tell her.
She startles, “What did you tell them when you did?” This, obviously, is another first for her.
For some reason I feel proud.
Afterwards, the nurse leads us to a box with quilts. This time, we can choose a quilt, and we find a lovely one.
We come home and we realize that, in the morning, we forgot to let Loekie, our cat, out. He is an outdoor cat and not used to being indoors the whole day. He is fine. He probably slept through the day anyway.
We normally do not forget to let him out. But nothing seems to be normal anymore.
The initial decision plan was to see the specialists, do what they say and follow the protocol, and then to create a custom treatment plan, such as combining regular treatments with alternatives. In my case that included naturopathic treatments, diet and life style changes. I felt more in control that way, which was a great help. I also felt better physically.
Writing about the process helped, too. About 10 years ago, I joined the Algonquin Highlands Writers’ Circle. Although, at the time, I didn’t always know what to write about – until finding the lump in my breast. But when I started writing about my experience, it helped me to keep a distance, to be the observer and to stay focused in often very confusing circumstances. And although it was never planned that way, the writing became a very important part of the treatment plan.
I researched why writing helped so much, and found the important conclusion is simply that it works – people are happier and are able to express themselves better after writing – unless one solely writes about one’s misery, which can cause things to get worse. There has to be a certain balance between troubles, and positive aspects and gratitude.
Thankfully, the writers’ circle was with me all the way, and kept encouraging me to publish the essays I wrote about my experience. At first I resisted, but finally, a year ago, my book came out, which wouldn’t have happened without this group because:
- I would not have written anything during this particular time in my life.
- I would not have seen the reaction the essays made on people
- Without their encouragement, I would not have gone ahead to publish the story.
Looking back, we have made decisions that worked. I am doing well, the cancer came and went. This outcome was not certain – most likely maybe, but never certain. That is all part of it. Rob and I talked about this. If the cancer would come back, or if I would die, would we blame ourselves for making the wrong decisions? We decided we would not. We did the best we could, we felt it was very important to be true to ourselves and make decisions we could embrace, whatever the outcome.
Anje Bruch-Hilkers observes life and writes about it with humour and wisdom. Her book Journey, making decisions when your life depends on it, came out last year. Anje also gives workshops about the importance and benefits of writing.
