the day i became a patient

i mean, i had always been a patient — those yearly check-ups, that time i had strep throat, when i developed painful sciatica. these were all times i needed the advice of a medical professional to make sure i was healthy or to make me feel better. probably like you, i never really thought much about it — i got what i needed and moved on. i was a patient, for sure, but not a real patient — not an omg-am-i-going-to-die patient.

not until the labour day weekend in 2008, that is, when an exhausted resident in the emergency room at toronto’s women’s college hospital told me that i had a rare blood cancer called chronic myeloid leukemia (cml). that’s when it happened: full on patienthood. with a white plastic hospital identification bracelet slapped on my wrist and a blue gown that didn’t close properly at the back, i was unwillingly recruited into a world of painful tests, cancer clinics and uncertainty.

soon after my diagnosis, i founded the canadian cml network , a non-profit organization with a mission of connecting people whose lives had been changed by cml and raising awareness of what it’s like living with chronic cancer. after spending countless hours in waiting rooms, passing the time — and seeking distraction from anxiety and worry — by striking up conversations with the person sitting beside me, i learned quickly about the strength that comes with realizing you are not alone, that the resilience of others is a kind of a magic that, even when you are at your lowest and feeling most hopeless, can inspire you enough to face another day. that’s what i hoped the network would be: a community that offered knowledge and education, but more importantly, respite from the feelings of isolation and fear that come with a scary diagnosis.

this year, on september 22, a date that symbolizes the switch of chromosomes 9 and 22 that causes cml, the canadian cml network and the more than 6,000 canadians living with cml will be marking twenty years of life-saving therapies — medications that have changed this blood cancer from a death sentence to a cancer that most people can live with. we will also be thinking of those who struggle with debilitating treatment side effects and remembering those for whom medications failed , and others who simply — and tragically — were unable to access the treatment they needed to stay alive.

you may not be a real patient now, but the odds are pretty good that one day, you — or someone you love — will be. your life will change in a second and all you will be able to think about is the ability to live well — have a cure, even — access effective therapies and receive quality care. after all, it’s what we all deserve.