a cool glass of water.

In my post-treatment life, I still go through phases where all I want to do is live in a world of cancer.

Even while it is happening, it doesn’t quite make sense to me.

I actively choose to watch movies where a young person being diagnosed with cancer is the main storyline. I devour memoirs and podcasts about folks who have had their lives turned upside down by the disease, even when I know the ending isn’t going to be a happy one. I read stories of cancer and loss on Instagram, almost comforted by their familiarity.

Is this a form of self-induced punishment?

You would think that I would find these stories off-putting, if not terrifying. You would think that I would want to fill my life up with stories of escapism. You would think I would want to put everything cancer related into a box, wrap it up in duct tape, and hide it under my bed for a hundred years.

For months at a time, that is what happens. Cancer barely crosses my mind – it is like an echo from a previous life that I am faintly aware of, but doesn’t distract me. But other times, it is all I want to think about. And not in what I would describe as an anxious way; but weirdly, in a fascinating & comforting one.

I like to think my brain is trying to be helpful, connecting me to information that it thinks is pertinent to risk and threat. By exposing myself to the emotions of others going through a diagnosis I am probably deep down still processing my own experience, or attempting to somehow prepare for the possibility of recurrence. I don’t get to talk about my experience with cancer much anymore. The headlines have moved on. Unless I’m in therapy, building a relationship with someone new, or having a health scare, it doesn’t come up. While there is so much that I love about the fact that it doesn’t need to permanently define me, there is still so much grief all tied up in that time – from my own fertility to the dramatic changes in life plans to the shock of the diagnosis itself.

When I was sick, I had such a difficult time finding anyone who could share my experience. I joined cancer groups on Facebook, followed cancer accounts on Instagram, and tried to join all the cancer buddy programs I could find. Eventually, I found my home in memoirs. I could barely focus on anything else. Stories of illness – whether happy or sad – were all I wanted to read. Sometimes I saw myself in those stories, and other times I didn’t; but either way, it was the only time I felt someone was speaking the same language. I often felt more at home in those books than I did with my friends or family. They were soothing, familiar and comforting. They provided a pathway for my emotional experience, let me process my own fears about death and dying and helped me feel slightly less alone.

Earlier this month, I had an annoying week. I found a weird little skin level bump that threw me off, my kitchen flooded, and COVID started flaring up in Bangkok again. After weeks and months of feeling positive and energized, I was lonely and sad. I was having a tough time. I’ve got lots of strategies for these types of times, and was managing okay, but when I got to the weekend and realized what I actually wanted, it surprised me.

I wanted to curl up on the couch with a cancer story. I wanted to lean into my fears rather than avoid them. I wanted to remember that what happened to me was not a dream. I wanted to get up close and personal with cancer again – the funny parts (because there are some!), the unflattering parts and the downright terrifying parts.

I immediately downloaded a new memoir I had read about, and found two movies streaming online.

I think when the uncertainty of life becomes overwhelming, I lean closely back into the cancer world because it is something I recognize. I don’t necessarily want to call friends and family to rehash my cancer experience; I just want to dip into the world and feel less alone for awhile.

In September 2021, I am coming up my anniversary of finishing immunotherapy, and officially being two years cancer free. In the Melanoma world this is a significant milestone. While cancer is becoming more of a memory – a rogue chapter in my past – in some ways, I don’t want what happened to me to just be gone. It still often feels like I’m the only person in the world with a story like this. But I know that is simply not possible. In a world of more than 7 billion, I’m not that original.

Laura McKowen, author of We Are the Luckiest: The Surprising Magic of a Sober Life, wrote a line in her book that has stuck with me. While I know the context is different, the sentiment hit me like a ton of bricks.

So, rather than avoiding these cancer phases, or trying to distract myself with something much lighter and frothier, I’ll let myself have that cool glass of water. For me, it’s an inspiring memoir about a young woman who gets leukemia in her twenties, is in treatment for years, writes a column for the New York Times, and then goes on a road trip around the United States to visit all the strangers who wrote her letters while she was sick. For you, it might be something else.

We all need a cool glass of water in hell right now – a remedy for our COVID anxieties, isolation, loss, or just the endless challenges of being human. Find that stranger who understands your experience exactly (even if they are fictional), and drink it in.

It is important to be hydrated, after all.

*This photo was taken in Ottawa, Canada, when I was home for treatment in 2018. Recently, I made the decision to make the journey home to Canada this summer for a brief visit. I was hopeful that the situation with the pandemic would be improved by June 2021, but with the current news coming out of Ontario, it isn’t promising. I was also hopeful that I would have had the vaccine by then, but that also isn’t seeming likely. I will need to complete a two week quarantine, and I am not sure who I’ll be able to see, or how the visit will look. Either way, I’m thrilled I’ll be back on Canadian soil again. I’m still hopeful that some time at the lake, and (physically distanced) visits with people that I love will be a cool glass of water for our weary pandemic souls.