Daffodil Day spotlights Jess Thompson’s moving account of surviving stage 4 colon cancer.
On Daffodil Day, Jess Thompson shares her cancer diary and message of hope
“Cancer has changed me”, Aucklander Jess Thompson says. “It doesn’t define me, but it will always be part of my journey.”
Thompson, 28, was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer in 2022. A diagnosis like this would be overwhelming for anybody, but for Thompson it came on top of an already turbulent life.
Her father’s support was minimal throughout her life, and her mother died when Thompson was just 15 years old.
“My experience is something people my age can empathise with, but few have lived,” Thompson says. “I’ve learned a lot about people over the last two years. They can only meet you as far as they meet themselves.”
“Seeing my friends’ reactions during points of my cancer journey was tough,” she says.
“I consider myself pretty emotionally open but there were times when I wanted to bury my head in the sand. The unmasked and genuine shock on their faces hit me in a different way. I’d think I’d got my head around what I was going through and then their response would bring back the reality of how terrible the situation was.”
Thompson kept a diary, documenting her thoughts and experiences, from the moment she was diagnosed, through to her treatment, and the associated highs and lows.
“When you’re in the eye of the cancer storm, it’s totally overwhelming and scary, intrusive thoughts are coming thick and fast,” Thompson says.
“But in a year life can be so different. I genuinely didn’t think I was going to live past a certain point. Looking back now a year feels like not much time at all, six months of treatment isn’t that long. It’s a blip, it can just be a blip. It’s important to have hope and to realise you’re not simply a statistic, everyone’s situation is different.”
Now, having been in remission for nearly two years, she shares some of her diary entries with the Herald, along with an update of life now.
I feel numb. This can’t be real. I can’t have to deal with this too. I don’t know if I can… I am so tired of fighting to simply survive. I don’t want to be strong anymore.
My whole life is about to change.
I’m scared of what this journey will entail. I’m scared I won’t be able to live the same way again. I’m scared I’ll feel alone. I’m scared I’m losing precious time I could be spending living, growing and experiencing new things. I’m scared I will lose relationships and friendships; I’m scared I will feel helpless. I’m scared that this is all out of my control. I’m scared that people will look at me differently.
Tomorrow is the day I’ve been dreading. I will find out what the next few months will look like for me. I am scared… but I’m ready. I know I have it in me to come out the other side of this, having grown into an even stronger and more empathetic version of myself.
The past five weeks have been some of the toughest of my entire life, apart from losing my mum. Two weeks ago, I had surgery to remove the cancer from my colon. I’ve been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and am about to start chemotherapy.
I can’t even begin to explain the feeling of helplessness and detachment you feel when your body is calling the shots, and you have no control over the outcome.
Life is not fair. Shitty things happen to people who least deserve it, but life is also so beautiful. It’s so fragile, fleeting, unpredictable, exciting and scary. Life is constantly reminding me to live right now, because tomorrow is never guaranteed. I’m so grateful that I’ve got the opportunity to fight for my life, unlike so many who don’t get a choice.
I feel scared today. I know what I’m about to endure will test me to my full capacity. It’s hard watching everyone around me worry so much, they’re scared and hurting too. I’m trying to be strong for them.
The trouble with being so strong is the people around you forget that it takes an army to win a battle. You stand so tall with your roots firmly planted, they can’t imagine that you would waver in the storm. They may not show up for you, they’ll think you’re capable.
Some relationships will crumble, but some will blossom. People come into your life amidst it all and restore your faith in humanity. You will see the world around you in a brand-new light, you will see yourself with fresh eyes. Once this challenge is over you will have been gifted with an outlook and appreciation people spend their entire lives searching for.
I can barely write this; my hand function is so poor. I’ve accidentally slammed my finger in a car door because I can’t feel where my fingers and toes end anymore.
I feel completely disoriented. I am angry. I am frustrated. I feel like people don’t understand what I’m going through. I miss being able to distract myself and feel normal. I can’t do normal things and feel normal anymore.
I’m young, fit and “healthy” and yet I can’t even open a can of cola.
I can’t believe I’m at the end of this journey. This has been the most difficult thing I think I’ll ever have to do in my life. I am so scared of moving forward from here. I am excited to live again but I now have so many decisions in my life to make with this second chance.
Sometimes it all hits me at once. Why did this happen to me? Was last year even real? How did I go through that? Why did I have to?
It feels like a terrible dream, it doesn’t feel real.
The whole experience has merged into a blip – the pain, the grief, the loss. I’m an entirely different person now. I’ll never be the person that I was before cancer. I’m so proud of myself for my strength, but I truly wish I didn’t have to be strong. Sometimes that weighs heavy on me.
I feel broken by the cards I’ve been dealt and the person I’ve had to become to survive it all.
Speaking to the Herald this week, Thompson says she has learned a lot from her experiences.
“It was clear that some friends were overwhelmed by what I was going through, and they were unable to support me,” she says.
“At the time I felt abandoned but now I’ve learned that it’s okay to have people in your life that might not fill your whole cup. Some friends were amazing at emotional support and others were better at offering practical help, like doing my laundry or cooking dinner.
“I’ve learned not to cull people from my life because they’re not everything I expect them to be. People have different strengths and ways of showing up, and that’s okay.”
Since her diagnosis, Thompson has received professional support from the Cancer Society, who assigned her a supportive care nurse and access to a psychologist.
“The professional support I received was so important,” she says. “My care nurse was there to guide me through my treatment and check in with any questions I had about my diagnosis and chemo.
“The psychological support was actually there for me beyond my treatment. I reached out to them once I was cancer-free. I felt I was moving too fast trying to get back to ‘normal’.
“I wanted to get back to work straight away. I wanted to move on with my life. I was in a rush. I soon realised I needed to slow down and re-evaluate who I was and what I needed.”
Thompson says talking to other people who have had cancer has been incredibly helpful and she herself is always happy to chat with someone dealing with their own diagnosis and treatment.
“That feels like the silver lining,” she says, “being able to connect with others experiencing a similar thing”.
Two years into remission, Thompson says she’s been trying lots of new things – she’s taken up running and plans to do a half marathon later in the year; “something I would never have thought about before”, she says.
“That’s what I want people to know, life doesn’t have to be derailed. Cancer’s an interruption but there may come a time when it’s all in the past and you can look forward to where you want to be.”
Today, Friday August 30, is The Cancer Society’s Daffodil Day. Daffodil Day donations can be made online at daffodilday.org.nz, at any branch of the ANZ bank, and look out for volunteer street collectors.
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