April 2, 2026April 2, 2026 Amy

Boat Ride

Canada

This piece of art represents a window into the dream/nightmare I had whilst in an induced coma and receiving chemotherapy for leukaemia in intensive care (ICU) at Sacre Coeur Hospital in October of 2024. I had been recently diagnosed with an aggressive form of blood cancer: Acute Myeloid Leukaemia (AML) to be precise.

The boat in the top left corner of the artwork is painted a deep dark red to represent the colour of blood. Blood cancer. Aggressive leukaemia. (The dark red also symbolizes the thousands of blood draws I have had in the past year. Blood samples which give the medical team important information and help monitor the progression of the disease; and leave my arms looking battered and bruised.)

While I was in ICU, I had a terrible nightmare; it was vivid and very powerful:

I found myself captive in the dark, dank and filthy hull of a pirate ship.

The rickety boat was rolling up and down on the huge waves of a dramatic ocean storm. The waves were noisily crashing into the hull of the vessel. By the dull glow of a lamp, deep in the hull of the boat, I was forced to watch people perform awful drunken and hideous acts on innocent victims. To this day, my skin bristles at the memory of the putrid smells and loud screams of misery that enveloped the filthy space whilst I watched on.

Mercilessly, I could not help any of the victims, my hands were tied. Instead, I was forced to stand and bear silent witness while I watched the atrocities unfold. Each time I tried to leave, I would be thrust back into the dark damp hull of the tiny boat rollicking on the powerful vast ocean waves. And the atrocious scenes, sounds and smells of torture would begin all over again. I was stuck in the repeated loop of despair…

Until, I gathered all my strength and yelled with all my might:

STOP!

Then, everything went black. Pitch dark.

I struggled to breathe.

This tunnel of darkness was even more unbearable than the previous scenes of torture.

(It felt like falling down the dark hole in the book Alice in Wonderland.)

Despair. Fear. Breath held tight.

Until I saw a minuscule yellow light flicker at the end of the tunnel.

HOPE

Jagged breath in. I am a MOTHER.

As I breathe out, I conjure images of my happy children.

Jagged breath in. I am a WIFE.

Loving memories of my husband surface and slip away and I release my breath.

Take a deep breath in. I am a DAUGHTER.

As I slowly breathe out my parents merrily float by. Laughter fills the air.

I inhale another breath. I am a TEACHER.

Images of me reading picture books in the classroom envelop me like a warm blanket.

Breath. I am a PRESENTER

Projections of my future self fill the scene. Listening. Sharing. Leading. Learning.

Another jagged breath. I am a FRIEND.

They need me. I need them.

It is excruciating. I must focus all my strength on this normally unconscious task.

I work so hard to harness the positive energy. The wonderful past memories.

And those still to come.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Slowly the yellow light becomes brighter. The dark tunnel falls away…

In the artwork, the yellow and green cherub angels symbolize the passage from patient to survivor. The shift from hospital to home. They play joyful music and sparkle with expectation. As I was painting the boat, I had a thought for the friends and family who individually, and as a collective, support me through it all. They are the wood that makes up the boat, the mast and the wind in my sails for which I am so grateful. The large boat in the foreground, which is painted blue and green, is in much calmer seas as it rests in the harbour. Like my body after the trauma of treatments and ICU, the boat is slowly and meticulously being repaired in the port -piece by piece. Finally, the yellow lights in the lighthouse are a beacon of hope.