Bunchland

Meri Perra blogs about the challenges she and her partner face in trying to raise their girls with feminist values

Two young mothers with breast cancer make the news on Wednesday and the universe shouted two lessons my way. They were reminders of what my mother taught me. Be grateful for what we have. All we have is now.

Wednesday started with a healthy dose of outrage. It always does; I read the news. But this story was personal. You likely heard, OHIP is denying crucial drug therapy to a woman with breast cancer. Jill Anzarut, a mother of my age, with two kids my kids’ ages, has a tumour too small to qualify for OHIP coverage of the drug Herceptin. The cost is $40, 000 for treatment at a private clinic. The benefit more than pays back. The drug cuts the chance of re-occurrence within four years by half for the type of cancer Anzarut has. Odds a young mother needs, since Anzarut’s cancer is, unfortunately, aggressive.

Anzarut started her chemotherapy on Wednesday and told the Globe and Mail, “There’s a countdown for me. The reality of what I’m going through really hit me.” For now, I can’t even imagine. But that’s the thing with cancer. It could happen to any of us, at anytime. In two weeks, two years, or two decades.

That doesn’t sway Ontario’s Minister of Health, Deb Matthews, who told the Globe and Mail, “We can’t make decisions about what drugs to fund based on what stories are on the front page of the newspaper.”

As if facing cancer wasn’t enough. As if keeping it together for her family, wasn’t enough. Anzarut has to fight for a chance to best her odds. The government asked Cancer Care Ontario to review their policies.

“I feel defeated; I don’t know what I expected to happen,” Anzarut told the Globe. “I feel like I am fighting a constant uphill battle.”

She is. And despite her overwhelming situation, Anzarut has compassion. “Nobody else should have to go through this and I think it’s important that some changes be made,” she told the CBC.

No wonder the news sites picked up the story.

And then, a quieter story came through on the same day. Another young mother ended her journey with breast cancer. But not before she went out with a huge, explosive, bang of love and wisdom. Jenn Zahavich inspired thousands through her blog ‘Baby will you love me when I’m bald’. Her breast cancer diagnosis came just months after her baby arrived, and just after she finished her university degree, with a newborn on her hip.

The newborn time is overwhelming. It’s overwhelming with joy, and challenges, and life. It’s not supposed to be overwhelming with life-threatening illness. But that didn’t stop Zahavich from finding unlimited joy in her son, Coady, and the love around her.

After a year of treatment, and just over a year of remission, Zahavich’s cancer came back, hard. She never stopped blogging, or inspiring. She died Sunday. Her message, simply, wisely, and without sentimentality, was about love. In her last month, Zahavich reached for her life’s dream and wrote a children’s book in one afternoon. Her sister is doing the art, and you could bet she’ll get it published.

In her last weeks, she wrote about living, and lived hard. Coady is as much blessed to have had her as his mom as he is cheated to be without her. I’m sure Zahavich’s words, left behind, will be a lifeline.

She was 31.

Here’s a sample of why she inspired so much:

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2010
Staying Positive

“A few weeks ago I was walking downtown and ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. She asked me how I was doing and it was clear that she hadn’t heard about the cancer returning. I began to tell her and as the word “terminal” parted my lips, I thought to myself, I have to stop saying that word. There is really nothing good to be said about this word, it’s not very poetic, it doesn’t feel good in my mouth when I say it, and furthermore, it doesn’t describe me. As I left her and headed towards home, I passed a car parked along the sidewalk. I glanced through the passenger side window and on the dashboard was a giant neon pink sticker that read, POSITIVE. Okay, I get it, I thought out loud, I have since decided to disown the word “terminal”.

Two years ago, my own mom never gave the doctors the chance to call her cancer terminal. She gracefully denied continuing treatment. She finished her days surrounded by love, neighbours, family and my expanding belly. Our second daughter came five weeks after she died.

In her blog, Zahavich wrote, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

Words my own mother lived by.  For my part, I have a letter to write to Ms. Matthews.

If you want to keep up with how Anzarut is doing, you can follow @Jill_Anzarut on Twitter

Meri Perra is a community worker-turned-journalist living in Toronto’s Riverdale neighbourhood with her partner and two daughters

Images via @Jill_Anzarut and Baby will you love me when I’m bald?