Dear Reader,
I’m writing to you as someone facing the reality of terminal cancer. At 61, my journey is nearing its end, a truth that might feel uncomfortable to speak aloud, but one I believe is important to acknowledge openly. Why Does Everybody Care About Me All Of A Sudden? It’s a question that might cross your mind when facing a serious illness. Suddenly, the world seems to shift its focus, and while the outpouring of support is often beautiful, it can also feel overwhelming and prompt reflection on life, relationships, and what truly matters. I’ve learned that confronting cancer, like many of life’s challenges, is easier when approached with honesty and openness.
My diagnosis came on Christmas Eve of 2019 – stage 4B ovarian cancer. Stage 4, the most advanced stage, means the cancer has spread. Christmas Day became a blur as my husband, Tony, and I shared the news with our children, Mark and Michelle. The initial prognosis was stark: six weeks to live without successful chemotherapy. Interestingly, the question “why me?” never truly resonated. Cancer is a widespread disease; statistically, why not me?
Through this experience, I’ve reflected deeply on what I want to share about living with terminal cancer and the lessons learned during this challenging time. If you are navigating a similar path, either personally or with a loved one, I hope my thoughts offer some comfort and perhaps a new perspective.
Life’s Beauty Persists
Cancer carries a heavy weight of fear. It’s an unseen enemy that can abruptly shift your life from normalcy to chronic illness. Suddenly, you are navigating hospital visits, surgeries, emergency room trips, chemotherapy, and a constant stream of tests and appointments. Your social life changes, and your body no longer feels entirely your own.
However, I want to emphasize that cancer should not equate to the end of beauty in life. My appreciation for nature, the joy of family and friends, and simple pleasures like bike rides or kayaking remain vibrant. Even the feel of cool air on my skin brings immense pleasure.
Cancer is indeed a rollercoaster, but it’s crucial to live each day as fully as possible, focusing on living rather than dwelling on dying. Finding the positive in each day, no matter how small, becomes a powerful coping mechanism.
One strategy I’ve adopted is to normalize the changes cancer brings. Bald Anne is simply Anne. Tired Anne is still Anne. Anne undergoing chemotherapy or surgery is also normal Anne. These are not just things happening to me; they are now integral parts of who I am.
My medical team has been instrumental in maintaining my positive outlook and strength. The nurses, oncologists, and surgeons have provided exceptional care, for which I am deeply grateful.
Shifting Sands of Relationships
Cancer undeniably reshapes your priorities. It forces you to confront what truly holds value and what fades into insignificance. This shift isn’t always easy, and not everyone will navigate it with you seamlessly. Some people may withdraw their support, and sadly, friendships can be lost. Cancer is a significant burden to process, both for the patient and their circle.
Kindness towards yourself is paramount. This journey is an emotional and physical rollercoaster. Being open and honest about your experience can help guide those around you. And if things don’t always go as planned, self-compassion is key.
Conversely, amidst the withdrawals, unexpected and profound support emerges, often from surprising sources.
My family, friends, and local community have been pillars of strength, but strangers have also shown incredible acts of kindness.
Shortly after starting chemotherapy in January 2020, I met a Turkish Muslim family during a picnic near my home. When their children asked to pet my dog, we began talking, and I mentioned my impending hair loss from chemo. Intrigued, I asked about headscarves. Though they couldn’t remove theirs publicly, they graciously used napkins to demonstrate tying techniques.
Two weeks later, Ayse and her husband Ahmet drove from Liverpool to Lake Illawarra, bringing beautiful scarves and teaching me how to wear them properly.
Later, while kayaking at Tuross Lake, I met Anne and Kerrie. Seeing my bald head sparked a conversation about my cancer. That evening, at dinner, we discovered Anne and Kerrie had secretly paid for our meal – another incredible act of kindness.
These encounters blossomed into lasting friendships with Ayse, Ahmet, Anne, and Kerrie.
The Drive to Keep Moving and Contributing
Each day, I aim to accomplish something for myself, my household, and my community. This triad provides a profound sense of fulfillment.
For myself, morning exercise is vital, helping to manage chemo side effects. It’s not about speed or intensity, but the joy of being outdoors and doing what I love. Nature is immensely therapeutic. Some days, getting out of bed feels impossible; my body protests.
But overcoming that inertia and exercising empowers my mind to tell my body, “You can do this.” Cycling or kayaking brings immense pleasure and a sense of achievement – if I can conquer these activities, I can face other challenges.
For my household, I strive to contribute through online shopping, cooking, gardening, or caring for my family and dog – tasks that provide a sense of purpose and contribution.
Community contributions don’t need to be grand gestures. A simple conversation with a lonely person in the park can make a difference. Engaging with others and brightening their day, even within your circle of friends and family, is meaningful.
Keeping My Name Alive
When I pass, I want my family and friends to keep me in their hearts, to say, “Mum would have loved this,” or “What would Anne think?”.
Grief is inevitable, but I hope they continue to speak about me and to me.
One of the hardest conversations was telling our children that if Tony finds love again, I want them to embrace that person. Tony’s happiness and continued life are important to me.
Reflecting on who faces the greater difficulty, I suspect I would struggle more if Tony were in my position. His unwavering love and support are immeasurable.
Mark, Michelle, and her fiancé Scott have shown incredible love, support, and bravery throughout this journey.
Be Your Own Advocate
My diagnosis followed months of back and loin pain. Initially misdiagnosed with a blocked ureter and undergoing several procedures, I knew something more serious was amiss.
I persistently pushed for answers, requesting further scans from the initial specialist. Finally, another doctor intervened, ordering a PET scan that revealed widespread cancer.
Despite being told my symptoms were age-related and lacking typical cancer markers, my persistence was crucial. Without advocating for myself, the outcome would likely have been tragically different. You know your body best – never stop seeking answers if you are concerned.
Unwavering Spirit
My cancer is progressing, and pain is a frequent companion. Yet, as long as I am able, I will live as if I am living, not dying. Cycling, kayaking, and immersing myself in nature remain constants.
I continue to confront this cancer with determination, currently exploring a different chemotherapy approach.
Life is too precious and unpredictable to surrender to despair. Recently, by the water, I saw a pelican standing with outstretched wings. Mirroring its pose, I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom.
I am not giving up on life – life will have to give up on me.
With love,
Anne Royters
If you are affected by cancer and need information or support, please call Cancer Council’s free and confidential support line on 13 11 20.
