It was a beautiful day, my favourite kind of spring day – sunny, blue sky, with the most amazing huge puffy white clouds. Two straight days of sunshine (I know!!) have brought out the snowy blossoms on the wild shrubs against the backdrop of the fresh light green of the budding trees and the lushness of the new grass. My “favourites” playlist was cycling through on the radio. All was good. Without warning, a thought popped into my head that caused sheer panic. What if my oncologist had bad news for me?
This feeling was not just a random feeling of dread. At the moment, I know at least a half a dozen women, all younger than I am, who have recently been diagnosed with breast cancer, and countless others who are at various stages of their breast cancer journey.
Usually, I see the oncologist in the Cancer Clinic in Moncton. But a few days ago, the appointment was moved to the doctor’s office. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but yesterday, I was convinced that the reason it had been moved was because he had bad news, and he wanted to break it to me in the more personal space of his office. Although I spent the rest of the drive trying to present myself with all the reasons that it could not be bad news, it was with a great deal of trepidation that I sat in the waiting area of the office.
Fortunately, it was not bad news. In fact, it was great news. All of my test results continue to be normal, I am having no serious adverse effects from the medication, and he told me he never wanted to see me again (well, maybe not in those exact words, but still...). He discharged me from my annual checkups and told me my family doctor would be following me from now on.
When you are diagnosed with cancer, it changes the cycle of your life. The rhythms of normal life now also revolve around cycles of annual appointments. For the first years after my diagnosis, I had annual mammograms, ultrasounds, MRIs, and appointments with my radiation oncologist, the general oncologist, family doctor, and my surgeon. After a couple of years, the radiation oncologist discharged me, then at 5 years, my surgeon did too. Until yesterday, the appointment cycle had decreased to just mammos, MRIs, family doc and oncologist. Now there is one less annual appointment.
I was reflecting on this cycle yesterday on the drive home, and how it is a seemingly never ending reminder of the disease that invaded me. I am reminded every night when I take my medication that I am a “cancer survivor” (a term which I dislike, as it implies that there is something weak about those who do not survive). To some extent, taking medication becomes a normalized activity. But every time a follow up test or appointment approaches, it increases the stress levels just a bit, and brings forward those “what if...?” questions that reside in the back of my mind for the rest of the year, along with all those meaningless resolutions to exercise more and eat better. Once the appointment is over, and the news is received, “normal” life continues until the next appointment. The years are defined by these peaks and valleys, and counted down as the cycle completes itself: One year cancer-free, two years cancer-free, and so on, until you get to the magical place of being officially declared cancer-free. The next milestone for me will be in 3 years when I will complete my 10 year medication regimen. I am not sure I will feel completely easy even then, but I know I will definitely be celebrating that moment when I take the very last tablet.
When I heard the news yesterday, I was so relieved that I shed a few tears. To celebrate, I decided to take the “long way” home, on the back roads, so I could truly appreciate the beauty of the day. I made a spontaneous decision to travel an extra few kilometres to the Beaumont Chapel, where I could settle my soul and revel in a peaceful setting.
The road to Beaumont travels through Acadian and traditional Mi’kmaq country. It winds along the mighty Petitcodiac River, past the Belliveau Orchards and old wharves which are no longer in use. The scenery is breathtaking in places, and it is one of my favourite routes to take, although it is significantly slower than the highway. 
Beaumont Chapel is a historic church that was built by Mi’kmaq and Acadians together in 1842. I thought about this fact, and how it symbolizes a part of early Canadian history that we often overlook. Here in the Maritimes, and in the fur trade of the North West, there was often a spirit of cooperation and community between early Europeans and Indigenous peoples, and in some cases, they lived together peaceably; this seems to have been the case at Beaumont for well over a century at least. Historically, this was an area of quarries and brickworks, as well as fishing, farming, hunting, and all of the occupations that a busy community would require. 
It is a sacred site for the Mi’kmaq people, and the feast of Ste. Anne, their patron saint, is still celebrated annually. It also hosts community concerts during the summer. There is a cemetery beside the Chapel, which notably contains the remains of Mi’kmaq people who died during an epidemic, and a grotto in the woods. My original intention was to walk up to the grotto, but I chickened out, as I was alone, and it is about a 5 minute walk into the forest (images of bears flashed through my mind). So instead, I sat at a picnic table beside the church, and, to the background of the tidal flowing of the Petitcodiac, and a gentle breeze on my face, with the birds singing and the trees rustling, in the presence of the spirits of those who have gone before, I reflected on all that is good and beautiful in the world, and I breathed in the sweet spring air.And I gave thanks.
