Human kindness heals cancer

Glenda Venn of Emmarentia writes of her breast cancer experience:

I knew that something was wrong when I had a swelling under my arm that wouldn’t go away. I made an appointment with my doctor, who sent me for a mammogram and an ultrasound. When I was asked to stay and get tested again I definitely knew that this wasn’t good.

Very few things rattle me. I’m usually cool and calm, but when the specialist declared “Oh my God – this isn’t good. Have you got family? You’re going to have a terrible six months”– I was left reeling. I don’t think anyone should hear that they have cancer in that way. It was hard enough telling my friends, colleagues and my family. Hearing your diagnosis handled so flippantly and unkindly had me thinking the absolute worst. I wept.

The oncologist recommended by that practice also didn’t give much space for hope. I had read about diets and I had questions about the chemotherapy. All I was looking for was some assurance and knowledge so that I could help myself and tell my partner, Gill, and my family that there were things we could do to make it better.

What they, and I, needed were some tools that would make us all feel less scared. I understand there is a lot of bad advice on the internet, but I don’t think being told to “eat whatever you like as the cancer drugs will sort out the rest” and “we need to start this sooner than later” or to “stop work straight away” is very helpful. I run my own business. The money I earn is dependent on the work I do. I can’t just drop everything. And my anxious enquiries about what I could expect from the chemotherapy were answered with “you will get the pamphlet when you start.” It felt heartless and empty.

Thank goodness a friend insisted I see Dr. Caroll Benn. And what a difference that made. I decided this was the right person to have on my side when I sat in her overcrowded reception and she sailed out in surgical kit, trailed by a demanding assistant, saying “I will take however long is needed” before leaving for the operating theatre. “That’s the kind of person you want when you are in surgery”, I thought.

And so, a journey of kindness started. From the gracious woman at Mike and Liz hairpieces who helped me manage my hair falling out and helped show me how to wear wigs with dignity, to Dr. Russell Seider being as visibly relieved as I was when he gave me the all clear in my last ultrasound. To dietician Dr Christa North who helped build a diet that contributed to my body’s resilience to the chemotherapy and to the oh-so-gentle ladies who put the needle in to my collapsing veins for 18 months and Dr. Georgia Demetriou, my oncologist, who always smiled as she filled in my treatment report.

Some of the most inspirational and kindest people were also those who were in treatment with me. Thank you to the woman whose name I never knew, who lent over on my first anxiety-filled Red Devil (a type of chemotherapy) session, patted my knee and suggested that I see it as the Red Angel. I changed my point of view based on that one conspiratorial whisper.

I think we forget that that cancer affects everyone. There are so many of us, with all sorts of different cancers. Some are older, some are younger, some fatter, thinner, some with whole families in support and others who have flown in alone from other countries for treatment.

I realised this when I was being treated for breast cancer at the Wits Donald Gordon Medical Centre in Johannesburg, just one of many treatment centers across South Africa.

So, surely all of our stories are similar? Perhaps some can be considered more inspirational due to adversity or tough times, while others are filled with more challenges to overcome. But essentially, aren’t they the same story?

Not at all. I watched individuals grapple with this disease in so many different ways, with so many unique and courageous coping mechanisms. The fear and the side effects of the treatment are real, but these people can teach you something and show you there’s a strength in yourself you may never have thought existed.

This disease taught me, in a deep, heartfelt way, that human kindness heals. The medicine and the surgery are only a cure. Getting better is a human thing. A smile and an encouraging nod can make all the difference to whether you can cope or not.

It’s not the waiting to see someone or the dreariness of another two hours in chemotherapy that gets you down. It’s the fact that the person helping you, or waiting next to you, has been worn down by the disease. This makes it difficult for you to rise up to its challenge.

So, when they are brave, you can be brave. When they can smile and assure you that feeling scared is okay and it will get better, then you can believe that you will be up to the challenge. I didn’t get better – a whole lot of people helped me feel my way to a healthier me.

Editor's note: October is breast cancer awareness month. Glenda is an ambassador for Be Cancer Aware. For more information about breast cancer and Glenda, visit www.becanceraware.co.za