Salutaris

It might sound odd to say I’m grateful for this situation—because it’s not one I’d wish on anyone. But without the incredible support of those around me, my mindset, outlook, and mood would be very different. And those things, I’ve learned, are vital to recovery.

First and foremost, my partner. She has been incredible—offering physical, emotional, and organisational support with a strength that continues to inspire me. My first stint in hospital came unexpectedly. A routine check-up with my haematologist quickly escalated into an afternoon of tests. The results showed that the leukaemia we’d been quietly monitoring for the past seven years had suddenly transformed into an aggressive lymphoma. It was news I wasn’t prepared for. I was admitted to hospital immediately and stayed for just over three weeks. During that time, my partner coordinated so many things, kept friends and family updated, and still had the patience to listen to my dull hospital tales each day. She takes everything in stride, and somehow, even through all this, brings her incredible smile and infectious laugh to every visit.

Not wanting to broadcast my situation widely, I only told those who needed to know. When friends asked how I was, only then would I share what was happening. It was humbling to experience such heartfelt, genuine support from so many people I’m lucky enough to call friends. The ongoing messages, calls, visits—and, of course, the jokes—made my hospital stay easier than expected. The thoughtfulness of those around me shone through in countless ways. One friend even drove over three hours just to mow my lawn. I’m ever grateful for this remarkable community of friends.

Ours isn’t a particularly close family. Since Dad passed away almost a year ago, it has felt like he was the mortar holding us all together. It was only after I’d been in hospital for a couple of days that I let Mum and my two brothers know about my diagnosis. They were, of course, concerned and supportive, and each stepped up in their own way. One meaningful act was both of my brothers volunteering to get tested as potential marrow donors.

I changed jobs about six months ago, joining a team full of enthusiasm, positivity, and friendly banter—a welcome change from where I’d come from. Even though I’m still relatively new, the friendships I’d already formed became clear when several colleagues reached out to offer help and support. Our new manager also showed great kindness, encouraging me to focus entirely on my health and not to worry about work. That kind of understanding makes a huge difference.

Another vital community I’ve come to appreciate is my healthcare team. My haematologist immediately stepped into overdrive, coordinating an exceptional treatment plan—making calls, sending emails, and being present in ways that went well beyond what was required. His plan was flawlessly carried out by the amazing hospital staff, who were kind, patient, and always up for a laugh. I was kept informed about my condition and progress, even if my foggy brain couldn’t always take it all in. The dedication and passion of this team were evident every day, no matter what challenges came their way. I also had the support of the Leukaemia Foundation. One of their representatives visited me in hospital to explain the services they provide, and since then, I’ve received a wealth of resources and practical assistance to help me through ongoing treatment.

Through this experience, each of these communities—my partner, friends, family, colleagues, and healthcare professionals—has supported me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. As someone who values independence, I’ve often found it difficult to accept help, especially for things I’d normally handle myself. But in this vulnerable state, the comfort of knowing these people and groups are in my corner has been both humbling and reassuring.

The role of community—one of the five pillars of good health—has never been clearer to me. In this journey, it has become not just helpful, but essential.

Image by 8photo on Freepik