Pam, Canada
Hi, my name is Pam. I’m an end-of-life doula and a myxomycetologist (I study slime moulds). I’m also a widow, mother, and so much more.
My plan for 2025 was to finish writing the Slime Mould book I was co-authoring and then catch up on my doula continuing education requirements.
Well, that turned out to be a case of “the best laid plans…” I got an education all right, but it wasn’t anything like what I had in mind, which was taking some interesting online courses.
Instead, I got breast cancer – and a serious kind, HER2+ - most likely to metastasize, most likely to return. And what an education that was, right from the beginning.
Wearing my doula hat, the first thing I noticed was how different the impact of such a diagnosis was on me. So different than hearing of a loved ones diagnosis. No comparison at all really – and it makes complete sense – the loss of a loved one versus the loss of ones own life is a huge difference. And the loss of a loved one is huge, as I know all too well.
My diagnosis completely highjacked my life. It became all about cancer. What’s going on now, what might be next, so much hurry up and wait, so much unknown…
I had so many well-meaning people tell me I would be just fine; they were survivors or someone they knew was. It turns out that it really wasn’t a great deal of comfort knowing others had survived their kind of breast cancer. (Although that would definitely be better than hearing a bunch of horror stories!) But it’s all a game of odds, and odds are just that, odds – not a guarantee.
It was when sharing this with my sister, that we realized it gave it her comfort to hear the survival stories of others. Comfort for me was more like – So, so sorry. I will hope for the best and give you love and support no matter what comes.
Even though I knew that love and support was there and always would be, it felt like the seriousness of my situation was being downplayed when being told I’d be just fine.
There were many silver linings, I have written about them in my articles. I sent regular updates to friends and family who, in turn, were sending me love and light. I published stories about my journey in our local monthly Saturna Scribbler. I live on a small island in the Salish Sea, British Columbia, Canada, and have done so for 38 years. Our population slowly increased to around 350 people, until covid, when we got an influx of city folk that raised our population to about 450.
My island, Saturna Island, is the smallest Southern Gulf Island to have ferry service. We are a very independent, rural community, both by necessity and by desire. We run on volunteerism and have a very, very strong, community ethic. We take care of ourselves and our own. Even if we don’t especially like you, if you need help, we will be there.
I guess that is why I felt comfortable telling my story to my neighbours. That, and the fact that, for some reason, I have always been pretty wide open. Saying what I really think when asked, and usually (but not always, I’m all too human!) in the most respectful way possible, and believing that being truly kind to each other would eventually solve all the problems in the world.
Pam
Cancer, my story
Feb 2025: I was at Victoria General Hospital, getting a follow up mammogram which led to an ultrasound which led to several biopsies, right then and there. I left that day, knowing that if everything I was seeing on those images was just precancerous, I’d be spectacularly lucky. It didn’t look good. That was a Wednesday. I had to wait until the following Tuesday to talk to my family doctor and get the results of the half a dozen biopsies.
I went home, a real bunny in the headlights, pretty sure I had breast cancer…but, maybe not??? You never really know for sure, because until you get the official results, there is still room for hope. So, I hid out a home and tried to process this fun new information and wait for Tuesday.
Well, it’s official now. I have breast cancer and am probably looking at a double mastectomy – wow! Just when I thought life was starting to go pretty well again (my husband, Harvey, died unexpectedly in May 2021).
My doctor assures me this isn’t a death sentence, and I know the odds are with me, but that is just what they are – odds. Some women still die, most don’t, but some do. And even if I don’t die, I’m going to be pretty sick or sore and busy with my health.
It’s going to be an exercise in self care, not exactly something I’m good at, or was taught as a girl growing up on a farm. I was the oldest child, with all the responsibilities that used to entail – 70ish yrs ago. I was my mothers helper, and my brother and sister were my responsibility when we were out playing. I was taught to always be looking for what needs to be done next and be ready to do it, not take a break.
So, why am I telling you all this? Because I don’t want to go into this next phase of my life saying I’m fine when I see you in the store, because I’m not. (Not yet anyway. I have an appointment to see a surgeon on St. Patrick’s Day – that holiday, 32 years ago, is when Harvey and I became a couple. Life goes by so fast!)
I have been overwhelmed with love, affection, and offers of help from everyone I’ve told so far. If I kept this a secret I would have no of those things, and I can tell you – all of those positive responses help me deal with this new reality. And the word cancer, one of the scariest words I knew as a kid, loses a little of it’s power when I say it out loud.
I’m not saying it’s still not terrifying, because it is, but it’s what’s up, so here I go, off into the unknown. But not alone, because not only do I have my family, I have my community
June 2025: Well, it’s been four months since I learned I have breast cancer and now, I’m looking at being in treatment at the Cancer Clinic in Victoria for the coming year – if all goes as hoped. I am sharing this story for two reasons – equally important.
One, when I keep all my friends and neighbours informed, I received back support and love in great abundance – and how awesome is that!
Two, because the stats are 1 in 8 women will get breast cancer. And the older we get, the more likely we are to get breast cancer. Hopefully, my story can shed some light on the journey for those who are affected by breast cancer in the future – whether they be a patient, friend, or family member.
I had a double mastectomy in early April – which was way less awful than I thought it would be. The first week was pretty yucky, but not incredibly painful. I don’t really understand why not, but I’ll take it!
The worst was messing with drains. I had one on each side of my torso. I had to record the individual fluid volumes, and when it was finally below 10 cc a day per side, they were removed, and, after almost a month, I could finally sleep on my side again (some people only need drains in for a week or two). There was also the concern that somehow, I was going to accidentally rip them out, even though they had assured me at the hospital that wasn’t something that would happen. And it didn’t, but I did get a few pretty good scares when I accidentally tugged on the tubing.
During the surgery they did what is called a Sentinel Node Biopsy. Those are the lymph nodes closest to the breast cancer, and the first place that the cancer would normally spread. They removed 9 lymph nodes and found a particularly aggressive kind of breast cancer in 3 of them (HER2 positive if any nerds out there want to google it – I have been down a million rabbit holes since I was diagnosed in mid Feb).
And now it’s on to chemo – oh goodie…. I start on Friday, June 20th – two days from when I’m writing this. I’m feeling pretty anxious, but am really glad I’m getting started. My kind of cancer is very likely to metastasize and/or reoccur, so they are whacking me pretty good. In my handout, they say “your hair will fall out” as opposed to other treatments where it might fall out or it might just thin a bit.
Chemo, immunotherapy and radiation will be filling my coming year – if all goes as planned. The amount of side effects possible is daunting. Some can be life threatening, so they keep a very close eye on things at the Cancer Clinic. I have gone for all kinds of tests. Now they have a base line, and they will keep on testing to make sure I’m still ok. The chemo can affect my heart (and in fact, has damaged mine), and infection is a constant worry because chemo depletes the immune system. The handout did say no one gets all of the side effects, so there’s a small comfort.
I think that’s plenty for now. Thanks, always, to my incredible community. If you have to be sick, this is the place to do it! My job is to remember all that love and support, coming my way and helping me through this, especially when things get tough.
Please keep getting those mammograms, even though they aren’t much fun and we’ll talk after the summer.
Nov 2025 – the synopsis: Wow, what a health rollercoaster ride 2025 was! It began in January when my teeth were broken in what was a very costly fall. That was followed with a cancer diagnosis in February. I had a double mastectomy in April, and I began chemo in June.
Chemo was tough, a few days after my first infusions I developed a rapid heartbeat which ended up earning me a helicopter trip to the Royal Jubilee Hospital in Victoria. I came home several hours later with a heart pill that expertly remedied my symptoms. When I was finished chemo, they said I would be weened off of them. OK, phew, we thought, now everything would be fine.
But no, it turned out I was also allergic to one of my two kinds of chemo infusions, so I got to experience some pretty awful days following my first two infusions – way too sick to eat or drink. Way worse than I’d been led to expect, and not matching what I’d been hearing which was that the chemo sickness wasn’t the common experience that was in the past – especially for breast cancer, which has benefitted from a great deal of research.
My oncologist got it sorted. I needed a much higher level of steroidal antihistamines than was usually given. However, I didn’t get to experience that much as I ended up only getting three chemo sessions instead of the five that were planned. And the reason for that just seemed over-the-top ridiculous, as in “oh for god’s sake, what now!”
That’s because in August I fell, broke my hip and eventually ended up in the hospital with a partial hip replacement at the end of the month – I’d been hobbling around, hoping it was a very bad bruise, or a sprain, anything but broken. But no, it was well and truly broken. I just went for an x-ray, but they didn’t turn me loose when they saw what I’d done. I was checked into my own room, with surgery scheduled, before I could barely blink.
Now I have a shiny new ball at the end of my femur and several months of healing ahead of me. This ball is attached to me by a hunk of metal which is now deep inside my femur. I saw the x-ray, it looked huge! Think railroad spike. My flawed memory may have made it larger than my femur actually is, but there was a lot of it – which is good. Don’t want it coming apart, but it will take a while to happily incorporate all that metal into this old body. I really look old now – mostly bald and using a walker to get around. Not a very glamorous look. Fortunately, I don’t need to leave the house very often : )
My healing went really well and I can walk again, and well enough that I am constantly forgetting my cane somewhere. I feel pretty lucky I’m at home and not stuck in some rehab facility in town.
My oncologist decided getting chemo and trying to heal a broken hip wasn’t a good mix which is why I didn’t have to finish chemo. A major silver lining!
Then I moved on to three weeks of radiation therapy. The only hard part of radiation was being in town. It was five days a week . I had great plans for the things I would do, and I did do some mall walking, but mostly I was tired from cancer and sore from my hip, so I lay on my bed read. Happily, reading in bed has always been one of my favourite things.
I will continue to go in every three weeks for my Herceptin infusion. Herceptin is the treatment that changed the kind of cancer I have - Her-2+ - from being one of the worst kinds, to being one of the best kinds to have.
The movie " Living Proof ", starring Harry Conick Jr., is based on the book Her-2: The Making of Herceptin, a Revolutionary Treatment for Breast Cancer by Robert Bazell. What made Herceptin so revolutionary was that unlike chemo drugs that poison the cancer and good things too, Herceptin simply blocks the cancer cells from attaching to the breast cells by attaching to them first. Watch the movie – it explains it way better. Not just how the medication works, but how much work and heartache went into bringing it to fruition. For me, it is the treatment that is saving my life, so it felt personal. It is impossible to explain how grateful I am to the scientists who worked so hard to bring their idea to reality.
So where are things now? My oncologist considers me cancer free, but the fact that I am receiving Herceptin treatments for several more months to block any errant cancer cells makes that all a bit of a tomato/tomoto issue to me. But I’m feeling the best I have for months, my hair is growing, and I’m done with countless trips to town. And am beginning to feel like I really have a future again.
Remember that silver lining I spoke about earlier, well there have been so many of those it’s amazing. I have so much gratitude to everyone who helped me along the way. My sons were my rocks, and I am so blessed they are who they are. My Saturna rocks, Nancy, Barb and Carmen, intimately walked this journey with me and filled my heart with love all along the way. Friends and neighbours offered help, sent love and healing energies. I never felt alone in this journey, I always felt I had a great big team behind me. And they are people I admire and respect.
That brings about a very big silver lining – for as long as I can remember, I have struggled with self esteem, which is a whole other story….but I must be ok if all these grand people love and support me unreservedly. I’m seventy-five, I think it’s time to let go of old stories and step into the rest of my life.
Throughout this journey, I have been very impressed with our medical system. Once diagnosed with cancer, I automatically became a patient of the Victoria BC Cancer Clinic and was guided through each stage of treatment surrounded by kind, caring, and capable healthcare folk. Given how devastating a cancer diagnosis can be, it is such a blessing to not have to try and figure out what to do next – let alone having to try and figure out how to pay for all!
Not only do we not have to pay for treatment worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, there’s free accommodation when needed, transportation allowances, even free parking we are at a health facility because of our cancer – which ends up being a lot.
I just had to spend my time healing, all the while being really well cared for by my family, my friends, my community, and our medical system. A very huge Thank You everyone helped me through a very, very, tough time. My heart is full.