That day I was reminded that as long as I can do something for someone, like make them smile or make their day a little easier, I’ll keep showing up and give it my best shot.

I never planned to become a Hope & Cope volunteer. I was a communications professional in the performing arts, i.e., ballet and contemporary dance companies, Place des Arts and the National Theatre School of Canada (NTS)

My beginnings at the NTS started with a cancer diagnosis. Suddenly, I was the one sitting in waiting rooms, trying to make sense of what was happening to my body and my life.

During that time, a friend told me her mother-in-law volunteered with Hope & Cope. I learned a little about the organization and thought it sounded good, but I was focused on getting through treatment and getting back to my job.

Still, I noticed the volunteers during my own appointments. I saw how helpful it was when someone just sat beside me and asked a few simple questions like, “Would you like some tea?” That presence made a difference.

When I retired, I knew I wanted to give back. Not to talk about my own experience necessarily, but to listen to what others were going through. I wanted to be present in the way that had helped me during my own treatment.

The Work of Being Present

I started volunteering in both Chemotherapy Treatment and Radiation Oncology ten years ago but now focus on Radiation Oncology. My approach is simple: I listen. It’s easy for me to open a conversation, be it about books, videos, children, work or travels.

For me, the person comes first. The diagnosis does not define that person but informs me that it must be handled with gentleness and respect.

When first-time patients arrive, they come with a mix of hope and fear. Mostly fear. I can see it on their faces.

So I introduce myself as a Hope & Cope volunteer and ask how they’re feeling about their first treatment. The responses vary: “I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’m so scared.” Or “I brought my daughter with me. I hope everything is going to be okay.”

I try to bring down that level of fear. If appropriate, I tell them a little about my own diagnosis and my own shock when I thought, “It can’t happen to me.”

Then we either chat or not. However, I do tell them that Hope & Cope has a lot to offer but that I’ll inform them when next we see each other. I never ask about their condition. If they want to share what type of cancer they have, they will. If not, that’s their story to keep.

The Harder Moments

Some of the most difficult conversations happen with patients facing recurrence. They feel despair mixed with hope. If the treatment worked the first time, perhaps it will work again. But there’s a profound disappointment in having to go through everything once more.

In those moments, there’s simply tender hand-holding. I haven’t been given a recurrence diagnosis, so I don’t pretend to know. Instead, we talk about other things, anything that helps.

There are also practical frustrations. Sometimes patients arrive at 9 a.m. and are still waiting at 1 p.m. because machinery has broken down or an emergency took priority. I sit with them and acknowledge it; then I turn the conversation around to where they live, how long it took to get to the Jewish, and suddenly they’re not just stewing in frustration. They’re talking to someone who hears them.

I use my sense of humour a lot. It helps. Life and death are always walking beside each other. You don’t always acknowledge it or think about it until something happens that bowls you over with information you don’t know how to handle.

Why I Stay

On that first day after my return from summer break, it wasn’t just about the patients thanking me. It was the nursing staff sharing news of their weddings, the radiation technicians I’ve known for a decade welcoming me back like family. They inspire me with their diligence, their sense of love and life and humour. I try to be as good as they are.

When someone tells me, “Your presence is so comforting for all of us,” I know that whatever small thing I offer matters. Some patients are withdrawn and don’t want to talk. That’s fine. But others open up, and we connect. They recognize my blue Hope & Cope coat and say, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I’ve learned so much about life in many of its forms through this work. Every patient has given me something to cherish for the rest of my life. That’s the real gift of volunteering: not what I give, but what I receive. The privilege of being present for someone in their most vulnerable moments, of listening, of sometimes just holding their hand and saying, “I’m here.”

And that’s why, after ten years, I’m still here.

---

Inspired by this story? Hope & Cope volunteers make a real difference in the lives of people with cancer and their families.

Whether you have a few hours a week or want to support our mission through a donation, there are many ways to get involved.

To become a Hope & Cope volunteer:
Visit hopeandcope.ca/volunteer-application-form-2.

To support Hope & Cope with a donation:
Visit hopeandcope.ca/donate.