When I first started experiencing unusual symptoms – constipation, bloating, heartburn, abdominal pain – in the summer of 2024, my first instinct was to put pen to paper. I drew a diagram of my body and wrote down all the things I’d been feeling. That’s the art therapist in me. When I showed the illustration to my doctor, she immediately recognized the signs of ovarian cancer. A CT scan revealed a large tumour over my right ovary, confirming her suspicions. I was completely shocked and devastated.
My career as a clinical counsellor and art therapist with preteens and teenagers abruptly stopped when I was diagnosed. It was such positive and enjoyable work. And not only did I have to leave my private practice, I had to stop doing things that gave me pleasure and joy in life.
I love being active: Zumba, belly dancing, strength training, circuit training. I also enjoy cooking wonderful food and travelling. But quite suddenly, my life was now filled with endless medical appointments. Testing, scans, blood work, chemotherapy, surgeries. It was surreal.
With my psychology background, I knew I had to look after the other parts of myself. The physical was being cared for. What about my emotional self, my sense of self, and my need for connection?
It had seemed that all the joyful activities in my life had come to a halt, but I was able to resurrect some activities that I hadn’t done in a while – things that I could go back to. Those included reading and art. I love art, especially drawing and painting with watercolours, and it has always been my resource during the tough times in life. It’s a wonderful outlet for sorrow and other emotions that need to be released.
I had no words for what was happening to me, and so I started to draw. I drew myself sitting in the middle of a tsunami wave – the tsunami of grief after diagnosis. I painted myself at nighttime in a jungle, with moonlight pouring down – standing in the garden of hope. I created more and more art, navigating the back and forth between despair and hopefulness.
I also talked with my caring partner, Bill. I cried a lot. I got a counsellor. I connected with friends. And I found community. When I first heard about Look Good Feel Better (LGFB), from a woman in the cosmetics department at Shoppers Drug Mart, a little spark went off. I signed up right away. At the workshop, I was amazed by how supportive it felt to be in a space with other women who I could relate to. I wasn’t alone – we were all going through it. The workshop was so informative, helpful, positive, and uplifting – something I dearly needed. And with my body having surrendered to all the necessary medical procedures, learning how to use makeup to my advantage was a way to take back my sense of dignity and to connect with my femininity.
LGFB brought me a respite from my sorrow and loss. It was a bright light, bringing a sense of community and breaking the isolation I was feeling – just like my art. Body, mind, and spirit are all integrated parts of us, and throughout my cancer journey, what really needed tending was my emotional side. It was stormy and intense – it needed to be expressed. We don’t have to be positive and brave all the time.
I can’t control everything, but I can control how I care for myself. Eating well, staying connected, and doing things I enjoy – reading, creativity – have made all the difference.
