Rural and remote communities 

Debra: I grew up in a small town called Pangnirtung, Nunavut with a population less than 2,000 people. I'm the second-oldest of my 4 sisters, and my whole family lives in the town. We are very close with each other, so it was really difficult for us when we lost my younger sister, Samantha, 5 years ago to a brain tumour and my older sister, Julia, to a colon cancer 3 months before my high school graduation.

Samantha was in treatments for a long time in Ottawa, but Julia found out that she had cancer late and passed away 2 months after her diagnosis. Three months after Julia passed away on May 31, I was on my way to Ottawa with my 8 classmates for our graduation celebration trip. Our plan was to go to Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City.

During our second flight to Ottawa, I started vomiting. It was strange for me, as I felt normal at that time. I continued to vomit everything I ate for the first 4 days of the trip until the teacher made the decision to take me to the hospital in Quebec City. My aunt from Ottawa travelled to meet me while my classmates continued on with the rest of their trip.

I remember sitting in an emergency room with people speaking French all around me, and both my aunt and I had no idea what they were saying. I was scared. My aunt told him we didn't understand, and he came back with a translator who told us that I had a brain tumour the size of a lemon and 3 polyps. Me and my aunt just looked at each other in shock.

Thankfully the surgeons were able to remove it all. And a few weeks later, I was transferred to a hospital in Ottawa where I did radiation for 6 weeks. I didn't get back home until 4 and 1/2 months after I left.

Today, 3 years later, I have a full-time job as an office clerk and still have to travel back down to Ottawa for tests every 3 months. I bring one family member on each trip, because I can have a seizure at any time and my doctor doesn't want me to travel alone. Sometimes I look forward to the trip and sometimes I don't, but I am glad that I am still here to help my mom take care of my older sister's daughter, Faith. Her singing brightens my day.

[Music playing]

Kim’s voice: My 56th birthday started like many others with a traditional family barbecue. After some discussion with my son about the proper way to light a barbecue, I ended up with singed hair. In an attempt to rid myself of the smell, I took a shower. And that's where I found the lump in my breast. I was hoping for chocolate. Instead, I got cancer.

My husband and I had just downsized to a small cabin by Algonquin Park. Our adult children were off on their own, and the vision of retirement was just before us. In my 30-plus years as a social worker, I was blessed to work with children, families, adults who showed such incredible courage in their lives. They work through trauma, life threatening illness and events, situations that were beyond their control.

I never considered myself courageous until my sister decided to create support for me on social media using the hashtag #kimskourage. I certainly didn't feel very courageous. I had so many questions. I lived over 3 and 1/2 hours from my cancer centre and 5 hours away from where I would do radiation. How was it going to manage the travel and not being around family and friends?

I felt scared, anxious, and overwhelmed. Physically, I felt confident in my oncologist and medical team. Emotionally, I was a mess. I knew how to guide other people in their mental health journey. But for my own, I was a disaster. In the middle of a dark, cold night before my surgery, I signed up for Cancer Connection and sent my first message.

That lovely "bing" happened almost immediately. I remember the words. “Welcome. You are not alone.” Followed by some words of wisdom and support. There was somebody else out there who had felt the same and had survived. All of a sudden, I started to feel a trickle of courage.

I was part of the health team in treating my cancer. Even being so far away with no other social supports, I wasn't alone. I began to realize that courage comes from within and from the support of others. Reading other posts on the online site inspired me and gave me hope.

Now, two years later, what I would tell my 56-year-old self is that cancer also affects our mental health. I would share that you are not alone. Living in rural communities doesn't mean you are disconnected. Lean in and embrace the support.

And I also tell lots of other cancer survivors this every day as a community mentor. We each have courage within us, and by reaching out for support or to ask more questions, our courage builds.