Facing fear in your personal & professional life

Fear always finds a way to show up in unexpected ways, doesn’t it? It’s something that we all deal with in one way or another, in both our personal and professional lives.

For me, living with stage 4 cancer has me noticing that it’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes anymore, because well, I simply don’t have the time! Instead, it’s been quiet, subtle, and creeps in during a routine doctor’s appointment, a scan, or even just a random moment alone.

It also creeps in when I’m about to do something really incredible in my career, like a TEDx talk, or meeting a new group in one of my classes at U of T, or commit to a keynote for leaders in an industry I have so much respect for.

And I’ve learned that fear isn’t all bad because it has a very important role. It’s a reminder to live deliberately, to prioritize what matters, and to embrace courage every single day – in all aspects of life.

Courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s acting despite it. Wait, that is a good saying! I totally made that up all by myself right now… totally original.

When I was just getting used to this new incurable stage 4 diagnosis I will admit that I was filled with fear. Of course I was, there is so much uncertainty that comes with the territory and no one likes that. But it wasn’t what I expected, because I guess I assumed I’d be scared for my own life or something. But I wasn’t really. Instead, the fear was around the uncertainty that was coming for my children’s lives.

And by that I mean I feared for what their lives would be like in the future if I wasn’t in it anymore. Losing a parent is one of the most traumatic things that can happen to you at a young age, and all I could see was all of the things that could go wrong.

Some kids take tragedy and become resilient adults and live very happy successful lives despite it all – but some don’t. Some struggle in school or relationships, experience depression or anxiety, or can even fall into behaviors of self sabotage or addiction… or insert any bad thing you’ve ever worried about here. Have you noticed how good we are at fearing all of the worst possible outcomes?

At the risk of being very vulnerable, I want to share that this fear overcame all of my thoughts for a period of time after my initial diagnosis over 4 years ago, and I experienced depression for months before I understood what was happening and got help. For a time I felt helpless and hopeless, and it was scary because I had never experienced that before.

As soon as I got through chemotherapy for the second time, all the radiation treatments and another surgery – I had a minute to take a breath and assess how I was going to live this life moving forward. It is after all, the only life I know.

The fact was, I had to figure out how to live with the fear because it was going to be a part of my life whether I liked it or not. I knew there was a way I could find a more productive role for the fear. There had to be.

The real turnaround came when I put in the extra effort to learn how to reprogram my beliefs and thoughts through specialized therapy, mindfulness and meditation. I was lucky because I had all the support I needed, and I was determined to make sure I took advantage of every single tool available to figure this out.

I learned to accept that the future is unknown. Is it fun being uncomfortable? No. Is it possible to be ok with being uncomfortable? If you say so. The truth is that acceptance is the key to not letting it run your life. No one gets to escape discomfort, so we have to learn to use it wisely.

I started questioning my thoughts and beliefs and focused on what I KNOW to be true in the present moment. What is the actual truth? What do I know to be true, for sure, right now?

Did I know for sure that I won’t be here in the future? Not technically, no. Are my kids for sure going to have horrible lives if I’m not here? I mean obviously…. WAIT I mean NO. Also no. Of course no… The point is nothing is actually certain. For any of us.

The other thing is, I came to the realization that I am actually here to help them through the trauma of losing a parent – if that’s what happens – because I’m here right now. I get to help them build coping strategies and find outlets that they can fall back on when life hits them with the hard stuff. And I have a gift of a special kind of perspective (because I choose to see it that way) and it’s helped me see that the present moment is all we really have.

I am present, aware and capable of being there for them and guiding them through life’s toughest lessons. Basically they have an extra annoying mom encouraging them to get out there and make the most of life!

Can’t stop, won’t stop.

So it’s not about avoiding fear – it’s about acknowledging the fear, letting it teach you, and using it to fuel living fully. And living fully means being present at home – and being present at work, so you can chase all your professional goals too.

I believe that there is no work-life separation, truly. Leaving your personal life at home was always something that I thought was rule number one. Maybe it still is for a lot of you, I get it. We all have different circumstances. But the day I learned that it’s ok to be a human at work, and it’s ok to be an ambitious person at home, a lot changed.

What I was dealing with ‘at home’ made me a more empathetic, driven, and passionate, and it fueled my professional purpose. And a more purposeful work-life, with big goals, and stronger relationships at work made me a happier mother, wife and friend.

You can’t be afraid of taking risks at work, going after what you’ve always wanted, speaking up in meetings or volunteering to be the one to present the project in front of leadership. Fear isn’t supposed to be holding you back professionally, it is meant to guide you out of your comfort zone and see what will happen if you GO FOR IT. It your goal scares you, then it’s worth going for!

So the next time you feel fear creeping into your life – either in your personal life or at work – the NEW question you need to ask yourself is WHAT HAPPENS IF EVERYTHING GOES AMAZING? Not thinking about all the ways it can go wrong. It’s a habit that takes a lot of practice to change, and I promise it gets easier with time. The more courage you use on a regular basis, the more you trust yourself and your abilities to figure it all out.

As for those fears about my kids and their experience in all of this? Well, they get to see their mom tackle some pretty challenging things first hand. If I want them to thrive in life despite any circumstances, then I have to demonstrate it. For example, they’ll chase their dreams if they see me chase mine.

They’ll also get help when they’re struggling if I talk about the times I got help when I was struggling. My kids will begin taking risks that require courage at an earlier age if I’m always doing it too. They’ll learn that fear itself isn’t something to be afraid of, it’s just another part of being human. And they won’t avoid facing their fears, hopefully they’ll chase those opportunities instead.

The next time fear shows itself to you in some unexpected (or very expected) way, challenge yourself to accept it for what it is and allow it to help you achieve something new. Better yet, maybe even something extraordinary!

What Happens Backstage and How to Own the Moment You Step Into the Light

TEDx backstage University of Toronto, Lindsy Matthews, Speaker

There’s a particular kind of energy backstage and it isn’t necessarily peaceful. It’s the silence of a held breath – yours, mostly. The hum of the crowd bleeds through the curtain, a formless noise that somehow makes the space behind it feel smaller. You check your notes one more time even though you know them. You shift your weight and try to swallow as if you’ve never drank a glass of water in your life… You wonder, briefly, if you’ve forgotten how to speak.

This is the backstage experience that almost no one talks about honestly. And it’s completely normal!

What It Actually Feels Like Back There

Backstage feels like a liminal space – you’re neither here nor there. The version of you that was calm at breakfast and confident in rehearsal seems to have gone somewhere else, and in its place is someone hyper-aware of their own heartbeat.

You feel like you can’t breath right. Your hands might feel oddly cold or oddly warm. Some people get a strange urge to laugh. Others go very, very quiet. I like to tell a lot of jokes! A few feel a wave of emotion where you want to cry, which is just good old adrenaline.

What’s happening physiologically is straightforward: your body has decided this moment matters, and it’s flooding your system with the chemicals it reserves for important events. The same cocktail that sharpened your ancestor’s focus before a hunt is now making you hyperaware of whether your shirt looks right and your collar is straight.

Here’s the reframe that changes everything: your body cannot distinguish between fear and excitement. The symptoms are identical. Elevated heart rate, heightened senses, quickened breath – that’s not panic. That’s readiness. The only difference between the two is the story you tell yourself about what’s happening.

The Moment Before You Walk Out

There’s usually a moment – ten seconds, maybe thirty – where you can hear the person introducing you. Your name is out there in the room before you are. The audience is forming an expectation and that moment can feel enormous.

Most people try to calm down at this point. They take deep breaths, they tell themselves to relax, they try to dial the feeling back. I’m here to tell you that this is the wrong instinct. Trying to suppress adrenaline right before you speak is like trying to un-brew coffee. The energy is already made. The better move is to redirect it, not reduce it.

Roll your shoulders back. Plant your feet for a second and feel the floor. Not to calm down – but to get grounded inside the energy rather than swept around by it. There’s a difference between being nervous at the stage and being charged up for it.

Then someone says your name, or a hand gestures you forward, and the curtain parts or the door opens, and you go. No turning back now!

The Walk Itself

The walk onto a stage is one of the most psychologically loaded ten seconds in public life. Every eye in the room turns to you before you’ve said a word. You are being read – your posture, your pace, the expression on your face – and the audience is already deciding how they feel about you.

Walk slower than you think you should. Nerves make people rush – they want to get to the podium, get behind something, get somewhere that feels like safety. But a hurried walk signals anxiety and hands your authority away before you’ve opened your mouth.

Own the distance. Take up the time the walk gives you. Look at the room – not scanning frantically, but actually seeing it. Find one friendly face in the first few rows and let that be your anchor.

When you arrive at the front, don’t speak immediately. Stand for just a moment. Breathe. Let the room settle around you. This pause – which will feel unbearably long to you and last about three seconds in reality – tells the audience that you’re not afraid of the space. That you belong in it. And in telling them, you begin to tell yourself.

Five Ways to Beat the Jitters That Actually Work

1. Warm your hands up before you go on. Cold hands are a classic anxiety symptom and they pull your attention inward at exactly the wrong moment. Rub them together, hold a warm cup of water, press them briefly against the back of your neck. It sounds trivial. It helps.

2. Hum quietly in the minutes before you speak. Not to warm up your voice – though it does that too – but because humming activates the vagus nerve and genuinely dials down your fight-or-flight response. Thirty seconds of quiet humming backstage does more than five minutes of anxious deep breathing.

3. Name what you’re feeling out loud, to yourself. Whisper it if you have to: “I’m nervous.” There’s solid research behind this – labeling an emotion reduces its intensity. The act of naming it creates just enough psychological distance that it stops running the show.

4. Find something to be curious about. Anxiety is largely self-focused -it’s all about you, your performance, your potential failure. Curiosity points outward. Before you walk on, ask yourself a genuine question about the audience: Who’s in this room? What do they actually need from this talk? It redirects your attention away from yourself, which is exactly where it needs to go.

5. Accept that the first 30 seconds will feel worse than the rest. This is the most practical tip of all. The jitters almost always peak in the first half-minute and then dissolve once you’re actually speaking and the audience is responding. If you know this in advance, you stop interpreting those opening nerves as a sign that something is wrong – and you ride them out instead of panicking about them.

After You Step Into the Light

Something shifts when you start speaking. It doesn’t always happen immediately, but it happens. The audience becomes real and individual faces instead of a blur, and the connection you came to make starts forming. The nerves don’t vanish, but they change character because they become fuel rather than friction.

The backstage version of you – dry-mouthed, second-guessing, quietly terrified – was never the real story. It was just the price of admission! Every speaker you’ve ever admired paid it too, standing in that same wings-darkness, listening to their own heartbeat, wondering if they were ready.

They weren’t ready. They went anyway.

So will you!

When the Holidays Aren’t What You Imagined.

heart hands into sunset in winter

For many people, this season isn’t what you expected. For some of you, it’s painfully so.

Maybe there is an empty seat at the table this year. Maybe someone you love is struggling. Maybe there is a diagnosis or a waiting period or a test result that hangs quietly in the background of every gathering. For some of us, joy and uncertainty arrive together.

If this is you, it helps to know that you are not doing the holidays wrong. You are simply living them honestly.

Perspective Changes Everything.

Perspective does not erase hard things. It does not magically turn fear into gratitude or sadness into hope. What it does is change how we carry what is already there.

When you live with medical uncertainty in your family, perspective becomes unavoidable. You stop assuming time is endless. You stop postponing conversations. You stop treating moments as guaranteed. The future feels fragile, but the present becomes louder.

Family Is About Presence.

That shift can be terrifying. It can also be clarifying.

You begin to notice what matters and what does not. The small stuff loses its grip. The important things feel heavier in the best way. Love becomes sharper. Time feels more valuable. Being together matters more than how everything looks.

Fear does not disappear. It just no longer gets to be the only voice in the room.

The holidays tend to magnify whatever is already there. Joy gets louder. Grief feels closer. Family dynamics surface whether we invite them or not.

Family is not defined by a perfect gathering or an unbroken tradition. It is defined by presence. It is about sitting with each other in discomfort. It is about letting conversations be imperfect. It is about showing up even when you do not know what to say.

For those supporting someone they love through uncertainty, presence matters more than positivity. Listening matters more than fixing. Acknowledging what is hard matters more than trying to make it disappear.

You do not need the right words. You need honesty. You need willingness. You need to stay.

Holding Joy and Uncertainty at the Same Time.

One of the hardest lessons I have learned is that joy and fear are not opposites. They coexist. You can laugh deeply and still feel scared. You can feel grateful and overwhelmed in the same breath.

There may be moments this season that do not look joyful, but still feel meaningful. A quiet conversation. A shared look across the table. A moment of understanding that does not need to be spoken.

There may be moments where the uncertainty feels heavier than usual. That does not mean you are failing at optimism or strength. It means you are human.

What Actually Matters.

At the end of the day, the holidays are not about perfection. They are not about pretending everything is fine. They are not about checking boxes or recreating someone else’s version of joy.

They are about showing up. About being present. About choosing connection over performance.

If this season feels complicated, that does not make it less meaningful. In many ways, it makes it more honest.

And sometimes, honesty is the greatest gift we can offer each other.

The anti-aging power of old friends and good times.

“GET OFF MY LAWN!” is something I assumed I’d be yelling regularly at ‘kids these days’ at a grand old age somewhere near the end of my life. I’d be wearing who-knows-what because I’m too old to care about looking in mirrors, and I’d be complaining endlessly about the weather, politicians and the neighbours who have too many cars parked in their driveway.

But the sneaky thing about life is that there is no guarantee any of us will have those beautiful pleasures. Some of us will get a shorter run, and there’s no logic to it. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, and it’ll never mean you deserved it. It just means… it happens.

Or in my case, it is happening. And although it is normal to feel anger, proclaim how unfair it is and question every single life decision I’ve ever made… ultimately I had to learn to let it go, because it is a waste of the precious time I have.

They say hindsight is 20/20, so let’s borrow that perspective together and realize we’re currently IN the moments we’d one day give anything to return to. The big, the adventure, the boring, and the ordinary. Time is flying by, in case you haven’t noticed. 

Now, the thing about being in the 4th quarter of your life – is that you think about the beginning a lot, the good old days when you were young and wild and free. Turns out, sometimes I can’t stop thinking about those formative years when my friends were the most important thing to me in the entire world.

“YES MOM AND DAD if I miss this Friday night with my friends I think I will actually DIE.” is what I remember saying every single weekend… Jokes on me I guess! 

I’m talking about a specific group of my friends, who have always been affectionately referred to as my high school friends. But the truth is they’re really my middle school friends, and I am lucky enough to even have a kindergarten friend… and they’re the friends that I’m dying to spend my biggest milestone birthday with so far. 

Ba-Dam-Tss!

That milestone? The 40th.

Since January, there have been many different birthday celebrations with different friends and family. But for as long as I can remember, there was always some level of discussion about how we’d have to do something big together, like a trip!

And it’s actually happening.

We have all built lives that have gone in a ton of different directions and we honestly don’t all keep in touch as much as you’d think. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. We live in different cities, we have different types of jobs, we’re married, have children, are single, don’t have children, we’re renovating, we’re engaged, we’re a little bit of everything. And I’m proud of us.

So who thought this would actually come together? Honestly, not me. But here I am, one of the loudest supporters of this celebration, and the reason is this. 

These are the friends who taught me everything I know about being a friend. I also learned how to be a girlfriend, a good friend, a best friend, an asshole (only sometimes…), and they’re the ones who I even credit for my sense of humour. So if you don’t think any of this is funny you can blame them.

They’re also the people who I made mistakes with, broke rules with, made the biggest decisions of my life with, chose future paths with, laughed with, cried with, hated, loved, grieved with and have stuck with, and will always be there for, no matter what for an incredible 25+ years! 

How lucky are we? I don’t know how common it is, but it feels pretty freaking special.

I know that not everyone who reads this has had this same experience. But hopefully you have at least one or two people who’ve known you for a long time, during the same impressionable time period. Who’ve seen different versions of you, who’ve watched you grow up, rooted for you, annoyed you, or silently supported you over the years. It all matters.

There are so many kinds of relationships and friendships, and the deep connections I’ve made with friends later in my life are equally significant to me, but I will get to that another day.

Right now, this milestone in my experience of life has me thinking about these specific people more than ever, because I owe so much of who I am, as an adult, to them. 

When you’re racing around Burlington in the middle of the night in your parent’s minivans, doing a scavenger hunt against the rest of your friends – you’re learning so much about what you can and can’t get away with, and you’re building your tolerance for risk. Plus you’re also figuring out which household you can go home to and not get in trouble with when the police escort you home… 

Growth mindset, am I right?

Or that time we decided that throwing bacon on a car as a prank instead of eggs would be much funnier – and more respectful – to the other car owner because it is easier to clean and won’t chip the paint…

Maturity. 

And being dropped off in the middle of a forest to go have a bonfire with people from multiple schools when cell phones didn’t exist? 

Lessons in nature and navigation. 

Our first jobs at McDonald’s, Tim Hortons, a movie store, the local arenas, you name it – we were all there for each other, showing up at each other’s places of work and allowing them the privilege of learning how to overcome temptation to slack off, focus and do their work properly…  

You’re welcome. 

Deciding who to call for a ride. Choosing a partner for an important group project. Staying overnight at the friend’s house your parents told you not to stay at. Sneaking out of the basement bedroom window to go meet other friends. Organizing group trips to cottages, and weekends away camping in torrential flooding rain. Learning new skills like snowboarding, managing money, rollerblading, driving, running from the police, and figuring out what’s funny and what’s straight up offensive… All very important life skills.

Thank goodness for those friends. 

Now we’re having children of our own, and one day we’ll know exactly what they’re trying to get up to. 

Preparation and evolution. 

If that isn’t all convincing enough, get this. There’s actually fascinating research showing that acting younger with the people you knew when you were younger, can actually make you biologically younger. 

Read that again.

It was the famous 1979 Harvard study called “counterclockwise” by psychologist Ellen Langer. A group of older men spent a week together living as if it were 1959 (20 years younger). They were surrounded by music, magazines, pictures and memories of their youth, and also told to act and talk as if they were in that year.

By the end, they were different. Their posture, memory, grip strength, and even eyesight had improved measurably. And this study has been backed up by other studies since… So naturally the only conclusion is that it’s actually GOOD FOR YOUR HEALTH.

In other words, a vacation with old friends to a beautiful turquoise ocean, sandy beach, hot temperatures and a pickleball court is necessary. As long as we listen to good music, talk about old memories, look at old pictures, talk like we used to, laugh a ton and forget that we’re older with big responsible adult lives. 

Ok.

It’s science. When people reconnect with younger versions of themselves, through old friends, familiar rituals, or nostalgic settings – stress levels drop, mood and cognition improve, and their bodies respond as if they’ve turned back the clock.

Twist my arm.

And I know that friendships evolve and change with time, and I love that. We all grow much closer to some and farther from others, because life does what life does. What matters is that we all shared those formative years with each other and that means we’ll always be connected in one way or another.  

For the good, the bad and the lessons learned, I’ve found gratitude in all of it. Even for the hardest parts, because once you’ve overcome those challenges, you see them for what they are. It’s all just a part of the human experience and a chance to keep growing into the person you want to be, and building the life you want to live. 

And for the love of… GET OFF MY LAWN.

The gritty side of gratitude

Gratitude has become a buzzword in our culture. Write down three things you’re grateful for, they say. Light a candle, sip some tea, and the world will feel brighter. But when you’re living with stage 4 cancer, gratitude feels different.

It’s not about pretending everything is fine, because mam, it is most definitely NOT fine. And it’s not even about minimizing the hard stuff – because sir, tried that been there, and it doesn’t work. It’s about learning to hold both truths at once: that life can be brutal and strikingly beautiful at the same time.

I remember feeling completely devastated one day in a routine appointment with my medical oncologist. I was nearing the end of my chemotherapy, and we were touching base to decide that in fact, my chemo would end, and I’d continue on only 3 targeted therapy infusions every 3 weeks as my maintenance treatment for the foreseeable future. Is forever too much to ask for?

We sat down and got right into it. I was surprised to hear that the decision to end chemo at that point was based on the research, which says that after six months there’s no good evidence that chemotherapy would continue to work the way it was and that the risks associated with side effects and long-term issues weren’t worth it.

K.

Basically, like all stage 4 cancer treatments, you gamble and hope for the best. It was working, it seemed like my cancer had stabilized, so now was the time to test out the next phase of treatment.

Then an innocent question to my primary oncologist, how much time do I have?

She took a breath and thought for a second, before telling me that if everything went perfectly then she doesn’t see any reason why I couldn’t get to 5 years.

The breath was knocked out of me. Did she just tell me TO MY FACE that I have five years to live? I meant how much time do I have on this treatment. Not how much time do I have to live. I started to tear up, as she started to say some kind and understanding things to what, make me feel better? She just punched me in the face, there is no feeling better.

I couldn’t believe it. My husband and my kids were waiting for me outside because IT WAS MY DAUGHTER’S BIRTHDAY and we had a plan to go out for a special breakfast after I had my quick-no-big-deal appointment. She was turning 8, so naturally it was easy for me to do the quick math and I realized I’d be lucky to see my daughter go to high school.

That’s cool. That’s totally normal.

Then the craziest thing happened when I got into the car with my family. I decided to crawl into the back seat and sit between my son and the birthday girl, leaving the front seat empty. My kids were confused but thought it was the coolest thing ever – they each immediately grabbed an arm and squeezed it a tight as they could and laid their heads down on each of my shoulders. They got so close to me you’d think we’d all merged into one person.

My husband looked at me from the rearview mirror and he could see my eyes watering as I desperately tried to keep it together. His face told me that he knew something not-good happened in my appointment, and I just shook my head implying that we can’t talk about it right now.

I knew, that he knew, that I knew something, that I didn’t want anyone to know yet, you know? You got it.

That crazy thing? A wave of gratitude washed over me. The feeling of these kids holding me so tight, the empathetic husband chauffeuring us to the breakfast restaurant, the sunshine in the sky on that beautiful summer morning… The gratitude didn’t erase the pain, but it gave it context.

That morning’s breakfast that sticks out in my mind and I’m grateful that I had the extra motivation to be extremely present with my family. Sure, I remember that appointment too – but it’s not my biggest memory from that day. I remember the conversation, the sticky syrup that somehow ended up in my son’s hair, the delicious warm meal, the spilled hot chocolate on my lap, and the laughter, among other things.

The tears kept coming to my eyes that morning, but it was because of the love and gratitude I was feeling. One might even say that the world looked brighter that day.

I’ve decided that this *jOuRN*ey of mine is going to include sharing some hard truths that often get overlooked. Or, in my case, sharing the hardest truths that I’ve been keeping to myself for so long. I guess I feel like I’m protecting others by keeping these kinds of details to myself, but now I’m choosing to believe that there’s some good that can come from being open and honest.  

We didn’t get any pictures of that breakfast that morning, but we did get some pictures and video of dinner that night. Sandwiched between my kids, smiles big and eyes bright, wearing a matching dress with my daughter, port bandage popping out of my dress and very little hair to show, singing and laughter, stolen worried glances with my husband – it was a perfect example of how brutal and beautiful life can be all at the same time.

Oh, and don’t forget to light a candle, sip some tea and write down 3 things you’re grateful for today.

Facing fear

Fear shows up in unexpected ways. With stage 4 cancer, it’s not the kind of terror that paralyzes, because well, you learn quickly that you don’t have that luxury. Instead, it’s quiet, subtle, and creeps in during a routine doctor’s appointment, a scan, or even just a moment alone.

But fear has a role. It’s a reminder to live deliberately, to prioritize what matters, and to embrace courage in small doses every day. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s acting despite it. Wait, that is a good saying, I totally made that up all by myself right now.

When I was just getting used to this new incurable diagnosis I was filled with fear. It wasn’t what I expected though, because I guess I thought I’d be scared for my own life or something. But I wasn’t. I was scared for my children’s lives. 

And by that I mean I feared for what their lives would be like if I wasn’t in it anymore. Losing a parent is one of the most traumatic things that can happen to you at a young age, and all I could see was all of the things that could go wrong. 

Some kids take tragedy and become resilient and live very happy successful lives despite it all – but some kids don’t. Some struggle in school, struggle in relationships, experience depression, anxiety and pain, or fall eventually fall into self sabotage or addiction… or insert any bad thing you’ve ever worried about here. Why are we so good at that? 

This fear became debilitating and plunged me into depression for months and months before I got help. I felt helpless and hopeless, and it was scary because I had never experienced that before.

The turnaround came when I was taught how to reprogram my beliefs and thoughts through specialized therapy, mindfulness and meditation. I also dabbled in anti-depressants for a few months while I built the necessary tools. I learned to accept that the future is unknown, but that it’s ok to be uncomfortable with the unknown. I learned how to question my thoughts and beliefs and focus on what I know in the present moment – what is the actual truth? What do I know to be true right now?

So I focused on the truth. Did I know for sure that I wouldn’t be here in the future? No. Are my kids for sure going to have horrible lives if I’m not here? Also no. The other thing is, I came to the realization that I am actually here to help them through the trauma of losing a parent – because I’m here right now. I get to help them build coping strategies and find outlets that they can fall back on when life hits them with the hard stuff. 

I am present, aware and capable of being there for them and guiding them through life’s toughest lessons. Basically they have an extra annoying mom encouraging them to get out there and make the most of life! 

So it’s not about avoiding fear – it’s about acknowledging the fear, letting it teach you, and using it to fuel living fully.

We’re here for a good time, not an easy time

I’m hoping this is going to be one of the last health updates I have to give for a very long time, simply because I’m hoping I won’t have much to say about it moving forward. But I do have something to say about the recovery process in general.

 

The last couple weeks have been a bit of a roller coaster, sure. But today I stand here in a good place, with a body that isn’t hurting very much. My mood has been up and down on my way here, and my brain has been seriously overthinking every aspect of my life – but I can happily say that pain doesn’t seem to be a major issue for me right now, and that is a good thing.  

 

The cortisone shot I got at the rheumatology office was pretty great, to say the least. I was feeling SO good – hyper – energetic – wildly optimistic about life – but then I crashed. On day 7 I woke up and I didn’t feel good, and my body hurt. The depression quickly followed, because I knew the effects of the shot had worn off, but worse I realized that everything I had been feeling was definitely because of that shot, and not because I had finally gotten back to normal. 

 

Normal. There is that word. I’ll get to that in a minute.

 

I was told the shot would have an effect for 2-3 weeks, and I was disappointed that it only lasted one week for me, but at least now I knew I had another tool in my pocket. I called the office to let them know that it worked, and to book another appointment to have it again. Then the disappointment and borderline anger came when the receptionist delivered the news that these shots can only be administered a few times a year. What.  

 

This is another example of a key piece of information being left out of the initial conversation with my doctor. Why does it seem like I keep getting half of the story when I’m making decisions about my health? I was frustrated, I’m still frustrated. I try to put myself in my doctor’s shoes – maybe most patients don’t need to know, don’t ask, don’t care… maybe they think it isn’t an important part of the conversation or maybe they straight up forgot – after all, they’re human too. But whatever it is, I feel like my emotions around it all could have been managed if I had all the information. 

 

So, this shot is only a once in a while thing. Cool. Not great, but it’s something I’ll remember if I need it in the future for important events or really bad stretches of pain or symptoms. You risk damaging all the tissue surrounding the injection sites, and it isn’t reversible once the damage is done. Essentially you could create new pain and issues down the road just trying to treat the current pain and issues you’re experiencing now. Good to know. Kind of important. Noted. Check. Thank you. 

 

Then over the next couple of weeks I felt my symptoms dissipating. Every day I felt a little better, and the pain became less and less. I found myself forgetting that I even had pain a lot of the time, or I’d realize ‘hey, I don’t feel pain right now, weird’. It’s like I am afraid to be excited or happy about it, because that’s usually when something happens to pull me backwards back into it all. So that’s where I’m at right now. A cautious optimism that maybe all I needed was WAY MORE time then I was ever prepared for, to recover from all the cancer treatments, surgeries and accompanying complications. 

 

What about my implants? Well, I honestly believe they will need to come out at some point – and probably sooner than later, but not right away. Although the pain has improved drastically, I am definitely not feeling my best. When I say that, I mean I believe that I can feel better – and I believe some less-pressing-yet-persistent symptoms are likely caused by the fact that my body is having some kind of reaction to the foreign objects inside my body. These plastic things full of chemicals are likely preventing me from my best state of health. It honestly creeps me out when I think about it, but I’m not ready. I’m not there. It’s hard being that honest with myself, never mind other people – but there it is. I’ll get there, but I’m still holding on to the idea that I’ll continue to feel better and better, and maybe if I wait just a little longer I won’t have to worry about it. After all, the doctors all tell me the implants are safe. 

 

When I think back, and when I think WAY back, I was always told that after treatment everything would be over. I’d be back to normal, good to go, I can move on, my old life would be waiting for me. So when that never happened it affected me deeply. I worried that there was something wrong with me. I worried I didn’t do it right, or that others were better at moving on then I was. I worried about pretty much everything and it dominated my thoughts. In short, it didn’t feel good to not feel good. It’s like I had to deal with the physical aspects, but worry even more about how I FELT about it all. Like there is a right way and a wrong way to recover. 

 

There is a huge gap in care after cancer. Because it pretty much doesn’t exist as a part of our formal treatment, and there really isn’t much direction to go seek it out on our own either. If my doctors shared some messages differently at the end of our time together I believe it would have been different for me. If my surgeons changed their messaging around my recovery then I know things would have been different for me, and it would have been easier to manage my expectations around it all. Here are a few things I would have liked to have heard, now that I look back. If you’re in my shoes now, or will be soon, or might be one day, or have a loved one in the middle of it all – here they are. 

 

From my oncologists:

 

Hey Lindsy, you’re going to need ongoing support for a really long time now that your treatment is over – don’t be worried, don’t feel ashamed about it, it’s normal and everyone recovers differently. In fact, some people and most people never feel back to normal, they learn to live with a new version of normal – but one thing I can promise is that it will eventually feel normal to you and you’ll be happy. And although some people can move on from treatment without many long term physical effects, there are lots of people who experience them for months or years. Here are some resources to help you if you’re one of them. 

 

From my surgeons:

 

Hey Lindsy, this is an intense and life altering surgery. If there are complications, it’s even more involved. It’s going to be a longer recovery than you’ll probably expect, but it’ll be worth it. The recovery doesn’t end when the wounds heal, it is a process of getting to know your new body and learning to work with it. It will not be the same, it won’t ever be the same, but it’s what you have to work with, and you will be able to make it work. Depending on what your expectations are, the time will vary, so let’s talk about your expectations so we can properly prepare you. Here are some resources to help you.

 

I can go on. And maybe I will. I think these messages can help others who feel the same way I do. Physical pain and complications are inevitable and very real – but how we react to it, feel about it and let it affect our mental health is the real area of concern here. There is a difference between pain and suffering. Pain is pain, but how we suffer from it is what really affects how we live our lives, and how we let it control our thoughts. 

 

There is an opportunity to improve how we send our cancer patients and survivors out into the world, because I have experienced the gap first hand, and I hear about it all the time from others in the cancer community too. I know our system is doing the best they can most of the time, and the care I received during treatment was amazing, and I’m here today typing this article out as proof – but we can always do better. More information and resources, better communication, and a focus on mental health is where we start. 

A shot in the dark

I feel great. That’s something I haven’t been able to say for a really long time, without some kind of ‘but’ attached to it. Isn’t that incredible? I feel great. End of sentence. 

 

I’ve been off my pain medication for about 10 days now, and I’m so happy to be done with all of that. I feel clearer and more focused on healing than I ever have, and being off pain medication was a huge first step I needed to take to move forward. It wasn’t easy, because feeling all the things I’ve been taking the medication to avoid for so long was incredibly unpleasant. But more than the physical effects, the emotional and psychological toll was much more challenging to get past. I had to really work hard at reminding myself that the discomfort would be temporary, and worth it. And I was right, it was temporary and it has been so worth it. 

 

So am I off pain medication and pain free? Technically yes. Which is something worth celebrating! But there is a little catch… I saw a second rheumatologist last week to see if there was anything that could come out of it – it never hurts to get a second opinion – and our conversation was very interesting. 

 

One of the things I asked him was about whether he had any insight on the whole ‘my body could be fighting the foreign objects (my implants) and creating an inflammatory reaction’ thing.

“I’ve seen it one time.” He said.

I was shocked – no doctor has ever even said that much to me! I was clearly taken back, and asked him more questions. He told me he had one patient who benefited from having her implants removed, and it cleared up symptoms she was experiencing that mimicked other autoimmune diseases. I asked how they knew it was her implants, and he said it was only figured out after surgery. Damn. Back to that. 

 

Then after lots of questions from him about my medical history and symptoms, he talked about how he thought my issue could be spondylitis  – a kind of inflammatory condition and arthritis in the back and spine. I asked him how it could be that, if there aren’t any markers in my bloodwork. He said it doesn’t always show up in tests. Oh, here we are again. 

 

So I’ve been told my implants aren’t a problem by many doctors because my bloodwork shows no inflammatory markers. But now this doctor is telling me that I can have spondylitis without any inflammatory markers in my bloodwork. Do you see why this is so frustrating? I’m always back to the same dilemma – how and when do I decide I have no choice but to remove my implants, as a complete shot in the dark. 

 

The reason why I feel great is this. The rheumatologist gave me a hydrocortisone shot. He said that if I got the shot and the pain went away then it would be a good indicator that the inflammatory condition in my back was likely a problem – maybe even THE problem. I wasn’t interested at first, the idea of taking a shot of medication as a guess didn’t feel right. Plus I was only off the Percocet for a few days at this point, so I wasn’t through the amount of time I needed for the withdrawal symptoms to wear off. To put it simply, I didn’t know what was responsible for the pain and discomfort. It wasn’t until he assured me it is relatively low risk for a possibly big pay off – OH and he may have mentioned that his schedule was booked so far in advance it was kind of now or never – so I decided to give it a shot. A shot. Get it?? Besides, it’s not like pumping my body full of medication was something I wasn’t used to… What’s one more try? I got the shot, booked a follow up and went on my way. He said that if the pain disappeared, and then reappeared in 2-3 weeks then it was a strong indicator that we were on the right track.

 

So here I am, a week after that appointment and I haven’t felt my achy and radiating pain in pretty much that entire amount of time. Sure, there is a bit of lingering fatigue and malaise… but where did the pain go? It’s gone. Was it the shot? Probably. Or has my pain been better for a while now, but the Percocets had me on the revolving cycle that perpetuated the pain and unwell feelings? I guess I’ll know in a couple weeks. 

 

The very optimistic side of me thinks that maybe this shot will wear off and I will feel as good as ever. Maybe my body just needed time to get back to a place where I didn’t have to worry about it as much. It isn’t impossible for things to just get better – and I’ve been putting in the work with my mind-body connection, mindfulness, mindset and physical rehab – so it isn’t impossible that I just may have made the best effort and a lot of good decisions lately to support this. I am doing this, everything I’ve been working for could finally be here. 

 

My energy level fluctuates, but for the most part I’m happy and hyper. My workouts at the gym have been better than I imagined this early on, and I think being back at the gym (now that you need to have your vaccines, it made me feel comfortable going back) with machines that can help stabilize me so I can be more targeted with my strength training has been a game changer. I’m less likely to hurt myself, or overdue it, or tweak something when I’m being so intentional with what I do. It feels great to be back! And I’m stronger than I thought I would be, so that’s a bonus. 

 

As for the Spartan race I spoke about a few weeks ago – I’ve decided I can’t do it. It pains me to make that decision, because I love jumping into challenges like that… but I’m terrified of hurting myself and setting myself back. Doing hundreds of burpees and all those intense obstacles would definitely be risky, and I just can’t take those risks. My husband is going to do it, and my kids will do the kids race. So this year I’ll sit on the sidelines and cheer them all on, the same way they’ve sat on the sidelines cheering me on so many times before. And next year will be my turn of course.

 

Well, here’s to another week of strength and optimism! 

Quit it and hit it

Earlier this week I woke up one morning and I thought to myself ‘today is the day’. The day I won’t take any of my narcotic painkillers, and the day I’d try something new to feel better and live better. That was the day I had the courage to let it get worse before it got better, if that’s what it took. It was the day I had to quit taking something that I’ve grown very used to needing to get through my days – for almost nine months. 

 

I’ve been wanting to stop taking Percocet for many months now. I didn’t like being so reliant on medication like that, and there is a huge stigma that follows opioids, making it something I didn’t particularly like to share with many people. When I did mention it to people, the amount of times I heard ‘be careful, those drugs are super addictive you know’ are too many to count. Yes, yes I do know, thank you. 

 

I started taking them in January of this year, 2020. It started a couple days after we rang in the New Year virtually with friends – when I realized I wasn’t nursing a hangover, I was just straight up not feeling well. I remember thinking ‘Oh no… I must have another infection’, because that is exactly what it felt like. A flu-ish type malaise, body aches, headache, sore muscles, fatigue, etc. were my symptoms – but I couldn’t figure out where the infection actually was. I hadn’t had any operations or surgeries for a few months, and there wasn’t any visible sign that my body was fighting something, like it had in the past. 

 

I had an appointment with my family doctor, and after trying anti-inflammatory medications and muscle relaxants – we switched to the Percocet because I had success with it in the past, and I tolerated it well. I also really needed it, the symptoms were getting really bad and it was hard for me to get through my days. It started with just one dose a day, eventually moving to twice a day, and a few months in – since this past summer – I have been taking it three times a day. 

 

A drug like Percocet can begin to lose its effectiveness over time, so I assumed that’s why I kept needing more of it. My doctor assured me that since I was on what was considered to be a very low dose, it was more likely that my symptoms were getting worse. I was taking the medication at strategic times during my day so I felt well for specific or important parts. I’d try to hold off as long as I could in the morning on days when I had later nights, or I’d take them much earlier in the day sometimes for things like work and it meant I’d have a more challenging evening. It was exhausting constantly counting the hours in my head, analyzing every little thing I felt in my body, and knowing that I couldn’t be on this medication forever… I have to be careful you know…

 

I hated taking it, I felt guilty, I was worried about addiction – because even though I was fine, I’m smart enough to know that no one starts taking medication like that with the intention of becoming addicted – and there were negative side effects as well. I couldn’t imagine being on it for so long, but that’s how time works… it just keeps ticking by, one day at a time, while I hunted for answers regarding why I was dealing with everything I was dealing with. 

 

BUT. Here I am. Opioid free for almost a week. I know it doesn’t sound like a very long time, but I promise you, the days have been incredibly long while I wait out and analyze everything I’m feeling, to see what I’m actually feeling. I knew I had to be off the medication so I could really know what my symptoms are, and how bad they are, before I make huge decisions about what I do next. I couldn’t keep silencing the symptoms, because there was always a chance that things had been improving, but the medication could be masking it, or the side effects could be disguised as my original symptoms. It was complicated. So I’m trying to make it simple. No drugs, just symptoms. 

 

Of course I can’t even trust my symptoms right now, because there is definitely a period of detox. Although I was on what would be considered a low dose, you can’t consistently take something like that and expect there to be no withdrawal symptoms for at least a small period of time. I couldn’t get an appointment with my doctor fast enough, so I did what all humans would do in my position – I googled the shit out of it. 

 

Let me tell you, Google was not kind. When you google this kind of thing – ‘how to stop taking opioid medication’ or ‘how to ween off Percocet’ or my personal favorite, ‘how long do withdrawal symptoms last’ – you get a whole bunch of information that was designed to help people kick a serious addiction, and although I would never consider myself an abuser of prescription drugs, it definitely doesn’t make me feel good to be reading up on all of it. And it definitely didn’t make me excited to go ahead and stop taking it. The internet told me it was going to suck, so it was going to suck.

 

But I had to quit. I knew what I had to do, and I had a timeline in my head. For a little while, every day I hoped it would be the day, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was scared, and I didn’t want to feel like shit, because well quite frankly, it sucks. But then one day I got an advertisement on my Instagram feed for the Spartan race. It’s happening at the end of October in Ontario, and it’s the race I did a little over three years ago, before the whole cancer thing went down. Maybe I could do it. This gave me the push I needed to make it happen. This is the kind of unrealistic goal that makes me overcome and thrive! It’s what I do.

 

So, in an effort to kick the drugs, and determine if it was actually a realistic possibility for me to be able to do the race that definitely requires a considerable amount of upper body strength – I decided my strategy would be to keep moving and exercising through all of the withdrawal symptoms. I would walk, strength train, run when I felt good, and walk some more. I even did three full sets of proper burpees on the first day, to see if I could do them. In the Spartan race, if you can’t do an obstacle then you have to do a 30 burpee punishment, and I know I’ll be doing a lot of burpees – like a couple hundred –  if I decide to take this on. 

 

It was hard, but I believe I’m through the hardest part. I obviously felt the aches and pain that the medication used to cover up, but I also dealt with insane restlessness, insomnia, hot flashes and chills, fatigue, shortness of breath, lightheadedness, heart palpitations, excessive yawning, and really bad nausea. Plus, my head was not in a good place. I was depressed, unhappy, irritable… and even though rationally I knew that it was the effect of not having that happy kick in the brain the Percocet used to provide – it didn’t make those psychological symptoms any easier. I have been taking regular strength anti-inflammatories like Advil to help me get through the busier parts of my days, but that’s it. 

 

Then yesterday I woke up and my body and mind felt lighter. I got up early, had a really great strength training session, walked it off afterwards to help my body recover… and had a really good day. Was it totally normal? No. I still have some shit to deal with. BUT, I will admit, my symptoms are not as bad as I worried they’d be. In fact, I’m even optimistic that in a few more days I’ll feel even better. Maybe – just maybe – my body just needed all that time to straighten itself out. I’m choosing optimism, and hope. 

 

My rheumatologist told me that it is possible that my body hasn’t recovered from the serious infection I had last summer. He told me that when someone goes through something like I did, and dealt with all the harsh treatments and surgeries that I did, my body’s pain receptors could have been affected, and essentially they could have been malfunctioning. He told me that it wasn’t impossible to be experiencing all these symptoms and issues even a year later. It’s frustrating to have all sorts of guesses about what the problem could be, but no answers. I’ll have to get comfortable with the fact that I may never get a proper explanation, but I’m not against never knowing as long as these symptoms go away and I can enjoy a pain free existence. That’s a problem I’d love to have – never knowing. 

 

So what’s next? More time off medication, another appointment to get a second opinion with another rheumatologist this week, a naturopath appointment with a specialist in the mind/body connection, more mindfulness and meditation practices – something I give a lot of credit in my ability to work through pain and discomfort everyday – and lot’s of moving. Remember, moving not only helps you physically, but it does even more mentally. Plus, apparently I have a spartan race to train for! (wink)