Cancer Foundation Blog

Former President John F. Kennedy once opined that, “the courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy.”


After my mother’s initial diagnosis of cervical cancer, everyone in the family was understandably distraught. No one wants to hear that their mother has contracted cancer. My brother had been planning to be married just before we initially learned of my mother’s condition.

He naturally suggested that the ceremony be put on hold until she was well enough to attend. This suggestion had little impact, as my mother was going to have none of it. She didn’t care about the timing of her treatments--her son's wedding was going ahead as planned--and that was the end of the discussion.

Midway through her first series of radiation therapies, she boarded a plane and left St. John’s, Newfoundland, destined for Toronto so that she could attend the wedding. I remember being taken aback at the sight of her when she arrived. She was clearly unwell and had not really been in any shape to travel. During the course of the treatment she had lost a lot of weight and her skin was pale. She looked tired, her voice was muffled and very low. It was only at this particular moment that the magnitude of the situation struck me. It was then that Mom's ordeal became real for me. My mother had cancer.

Despite her physical appearance, she was perfectly giddy. Like a young child experiencing the world for the very first time, she embraced us all with the same generosity of spirit that we had come to know, love and depend upon. Nothing was going to stop her from being at her son’s wedding, and nothing, especially cancer, was going to get in the way of this happy celebration. The trip, she felt, was not at all about her, it was my brother’s special day and she was there to add as much joy as possible.

True to her fiery personality, she involved herself in as many of the preparations as her body would allow her to. I was lucky enough to get some alone time with her while shopping for last-minute wedding gifts. It was an absolute honour and a delight to capitalize on the precious time she had with us over that three days. The doctors had only permitted her a short stint so as not to interrupt her chemotherapy too dangerously. I loved shopping with her because she still had the insight to impart a mother's set of financial advisories upon me. She dutifully fussed and insisted when she felt I did not need to buy a particular black shirt, (because I already had one just like it) or that I really did not require more socks and underwear.

During the course of our private shopping excursion she also had the chance to relay to me a little bit of the experience that she had been going through. She was specifically impressed with the many of her fellow cancer patients. She told me about them losing their hair and having to dip their fingers in pools of ice water after intense treatment so that they would not lose their fingernails, and of many other physical ailments. She told me how grateful she was to have been stricken with a treatable form of cancer and she felt blessed just to be able to laugh and joke with the other patients as a form of mutual support and commiseration. She continued with this routine when she returned to Newfoundland for a number of weeks. She was then sent home to recover before her last planned round.

The road to recovery for Mom was a long one. She still feels some of the side effects today. However, she is now cancer-free and thriving almost three years later. Hers is a story of the courage to overcome the odds. It is a story of hope. She, (along with so many others) proclaims to us that cancer can be defeated. And this strengthens a faith that we are all taking important steps in the right direction.

Writing these blogs has been an emotional roller coaster for me, I must admit. Writing the one about my dear friend Jodie, in particular, brought fresh tears to my eyes. These blogs have been filled with my many emotions ranging from sadness to joy, from despair to hope, from fear to faith and from discouraging paralysis to enduring hope. This personal activity has truly reaffirmed my belief that the battle against cancer is far from a futile one. By virtue of the many who have passed on to something better and sadly departed from this world, the torch of strength and endurance has been kept alive. We are privileged and honoured to carry on in their memories and we are duty-bound never to forsake our obligations in this quest for a cure. As noted above, Kennedy hinted at the fact that what we do in our every day lives requires courage. I challenge my readers to have the courage to stay involved in the fight for a cure. Your courage will make a difference to the lives of many. May all of you be blessed in your journey.