Janelle

A little over 1 year ago, at the end of summer '07, I met a very special lady. She had been lucky enough to be sponsored by a foundation to attend a sort of retreat, taking place just north of Montreal. Being from Vancouver, on the opposite side of Canada, she wouldn't have otherwise been able to get all the way over here on her own. There, she met some friends of mine, who thought it would be a great idea to hangout and show her around Montreal. Once back in the city, I met her when I went to meet up with these same friends.

Janelle, which is her real name, had been diagnosed with breast cancer 1 year before I met her. Thrust into that situation, she struggled to cope with the treatment and the outcome that could befall her. She was 25 at the time, but age doesn't really matter in this type of event. 1 month after the diagnosis, in an effort to stop the potential spread of the cancer, the doctors incised and removed her right breast. I can't imagine how it could feel to lose a part of my body, so I won't try to comment on that.

I had known beforehand that my friends worked for a retreat that helped young adults deal with the psychological pressure of having cancer, so when I met them and Janelle I already had an idea of her situation. I was surprised by her: she was friendly, funny and bubbly. She was very open and liked talking about her cancer. She also liked to hug and smile a lot. We spent the evening at my friend's apartment drinking and talking about our own experiences and laughing a lot. Janelle could beat/lose to anyone at a game of Never-Have-I-Ever, depending on how you look at the game.

Talking with her that night was an amazing glimpse into the life of someone dealing with cancer. We spoke about the whole treatment process, what she thought and was nervous about and how she had been coping with it all. She so openly shared her fears that the doctors might find a relapse of the cancer. She also talked about the sadness she felt because her Mormon Mother told her that she genuinely believed this was god punishing Janelle for her wicked life of indulgence. Most of all though, she talked about how getting cancer made her come to life. It's corny and lame to say this, but it had opened her eyes to the fact that she's a vulnerable human being. Instead of just going through the motions of work and seeing friends on the weekend, she felt the need to reach out to every new thing around her. After all, you only have 1 shot at this life.

This was the first time I had met another person who had cancer, so it was amazing to see how she reacted to it all. I, myself, was diagnosed with leukemia when I was 7 (grade 2). I spent the next 3 years of my life visiting the hospital for blood tests, shots and treatment. The worst was the lumbar punctures. They would put me to sleep before inserting the needle into my spine, but I would always wake up 2 minutes before they did it. ALWAYS. Then for the next 4 hours I would feel like I was trapped in my own body, since the shot that initially put me to sleep would also paralyze my body (or at least that's how it felt). While my mind would be 100% awake, I would be physically unable to move my arms, legs, open my mouth to speak or open an eyelid to see. All I could do was wait and listen.

My experiences were completely different from Janelle's, but I understood her. Death for a little kid and for an adult are very different. My mind as a 7-10 year old couldn't possibly have understood the full implications of having cancer, although looking back today I see it all clearly. As an adult, Janelle can't help but to understand what was happening to her, while worrying about her present and future. My parents were the ones who shouldered the real fear for my future. They were terrified of the prospect that the treatment wouldn't work. They watched plenty of other parents become increasingly desperate, as their kids' health got worse and worse.

Over the single evening, Janelle and I bonded a lot over our cancers. She told me that she saw me as a "could be" - who she could be once the cancer was gone and stayed gone. She saw me as a cool and normal person just living. I saw her as that person who knew what life was all about - take nothing for granted, keep pushing your boundaries, and strive for happiness regardless of your situation. I'll be honest, there was plenty of crying that night. I think that was the first time I've ever had a "happy cry".

I found it interesting how Janelle spoke of her cancer as a living, thinking animal, that was slowly attacking her. From my point of view, she was implying that the cancer was acting for a reason and that she therefore deserved this because the cancer felt and chose to attack her. I told her that the cancer was just cells and chemicals - barely alive on its own. It doesn't think or feel or know anything. It just is and there's nothing more to it. Whether it made a difference or not, she was happy with that. She kept crying and I kept crying.

Whenever I think back to that evening, I always become a little more happy. I wish everyone could be such an amazing person as Janelle. Faced with something they can barely control and that could kill them, her personality was still so warm, open and friendly.

A few months after I met Janelle, she was re-diagnosed with cancer. This time it had appeared in her major organs and the outlook was pretty grim. Still, back in Vancouver, she seemed happy and lived her life and striving for new goals, including creating her own non-profit jewelery line for women with cancer and starring in a music video.

Today marks the 6 month anniversary of Janelle's passing away.

Oh, and the picture at the top is actually her.