January 23, 2026January 23, 2026 Amy

Gratitude

Canada

As I close the book on 2025, a year where survival, resilience, and healing became my primary focus, I would like to take a moment to share a list of the many people I am thankful for. 

I am thankful for my children who love me unconditionally through it all. 

My daughter is the best cozy cuddler; as well as a keen storyteller. We have our own shared world of invented characters—each with a unique and distinct personality—that has been growing in our imaginations since she was a baby. Despite being hooked up to all sorts of machines, and lying immobile in a hospital bed, my daughter saw right through the medical devices -straight to the mama she knew and loved. “I love you B.” “I love you more,  Mama.”

The eldest and more practical, my son, sees through the weak body and looks past my bald head to find a person with endless courage and laughter to spare. “You can rest with my sloth if you like!” He offers his favourite stuffy for me to cuddle on a particularly difficult day. I am thankful for his eternal optimism. 

I remember his astonishment when I got up from my wheelchair and made two steps on my own after weeks of lying in bed in intensive care. “Look everyone, Mama can walk!” Such a simple statement, but his pride underscored the strength and determination required to get myself to that point. 

I am thankful for my eldest’s physical support when we go on walks in the neighbourhood or in the forest nearby. He intuitively knows when a tricky spot appears and rushes over to hold me up—without question—as we approach a slippery patch or a steep climb. “Let me help you, Mama.”

I am thankful for my parents who take care of me day after day. I should be taking care of them in their retirement, but since my cancer diagnosis, the roles have been reversed. 

I am grateful for both my parents who bicycled regularly through the Fall leaves to visit me in the Sacre Coeur hospital. At times, that visit meant helping me take a bath, walking me down the hallway of the busy hospital floor to the calm and serenity of the hospital chapel, or simply getting me to eat morsels of mushy hospital food. Other times, we would share a hot cup of tea from their thermos as the three of us struggled over a supposedly “calming crossword” puzzle; I must admit that more laughter came out of these sessions than correct answers! 

When I was discharged from the hospital, they welcomed me into their home. They made sure I took my medicine, ate well, and got out of bed for short walks around the block -when I had the strength. 

I’ve lost count of the number of appointments my father accompanied me to at the different hospitals downtown. I am grateful for him patiently waiting by my side before a blood test or scan, or to be seen by yet another specialist. He would diligently take in all the new medical information so we could discuss it together on the drive home. 

My parents happily took care of the kids for a day, a night, or even a weekend, which allowed me to rest. The children came home full of stories of adventures in the canoe, on their bikes, in the forest, at the library, in the backyard, or learning to knit and crochet…

I am thankful for my husband who received the fateful telephone call that morning of October 2024 in Barbados: “Amy is not doing well. You must come here immediately.” 

The day after my diagnosis of acute myeloid leukaemia (AML), my body shut down. It started to overproduce white blood cells. My organs were failing. Upon hanging up the phone with the ICU doctor in Montreal, my husband (who was still living and working in Barbados) had 45 minutes to pack a bag for himself and our two children before jumping on a plane back to Canada. Several hours ensued with no updates or communication with the hospital. The doctors had told him that they were starting chemotherapy, while I was in a medically induced coma, and that I had very low chance of surviving the next few days. 

I am thankful for his daily visits while I was in intensive care and beyond. In a matter of weeks, he found and fully furnished an apartment, bought a used car, and registered the children in school. All while visiting me regularly in the hematology-oncology ward of the hospital.

Superdad. 

Words cannot do justice to how much I appreciate his steadfast love and support.He’s been flying solo for many months and does not complain. He always helps me look at the bright side of things as we plod through life and a cascade of medical jargon.

I am thankful for my friends who showed up in so many unique and amazing ways. Each one brings me joy. Here are a few examples in no particular order:

Bringing the kids to the clothes store to shop for Fall attire upon their sudden arrival to Montreal. 

Surprise gift baskets from colleagues past and present, which kept me entertained during the long hospital stays. 

The friend who would drive to the hospital in the evenings after work to massage my feet until I fell asleep whilst glued to my bed in intensive care. 

I am thankful for the friend who regularly checks in on Messenger and does not give up until she gets a reply. Or the friend who introduced me to voice notes and sends long rambling messages, which both entertain me and help me stay abreast of island gossip. And the What’s App groups which were formed to keep friends near and far abreast of my developments.

I am thankful for the friend who drove from Ottawa on her day off so we can have tea with fresh scones and a hearty chat. Shout out to the families who drove in from Winnipeg and Port Stanley. The friends who drive over from Manotick and Bromont so we could spend time together in person.

I am thankful for the friend who picked me up at the last minute to escape the confines of the hospital room -if only for a short walk outside and a refreshing dip in her pool. 

The friends who quickly adapted as we chatted through the hospital window on the ground floor because I was in isolation in my room. 

The friends who check in on my husband and the children and suggested taking them on an outing when I needed some rest. 

I am thankful for friends who took time off in their busy schedules to come and visit me in hospital and at home, and send me text messages of encouragement, joy, and laughter. 

And the list goes on.

I am thankful for the doctors and nurses who worked tirelessly to assure not only my well-being, but also my survival.

One friend, who visited me while I was in a coma in the ICU, recalled how she counted three nurses buzzing around me like bees each checking and adjusting the 14 machines hooked up to my veins and organs.

I recall waking up from an afternoon nap to see the same nurse I had that morning. “Don’t you ever go home?” I tease her. She replied that the nurse on the shift replacing her never showed up so she had to stay and cover the extra shift. Despite being on her feet for at least 16 hours already, she took my vital signs and checked in on me with a gracious smile.

I was such a complicated case oncology-hematology team from three different hospitals had to meet and confer on the best course of treatment. (I have many more examples of the medical professionals who took care of me when I was at my weakest… I will save this for another post.)

We complain about wait times and the cracks in our health care system, but I am comforted but the fact that it is accessible to all Canadians and, in my personal experience, when one is really sick, one gets the appropriate care.

2025 was a difficult year for so many reasons. But I am eternally grateful for the small gestures from friends, family, professionals and strangers, which helped me get through it – one day at a time.