FIRST PERSON | Cancer is a long, difficult journey for many people. It’s my privilege to be their driver | CBC News

This is a First Person column by Steve Watson, who lives in Markham, Ont. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, see the FAQ.

I park in the driveway of a two-storey home in Markham, Ont., and a smiling, middle-aged woman climbs into the back seat. After we greet each other, I remind her we’ll be picking up two more women who live in Markham and have similar appointment times at the cancer centre located 35 minutes away. 

I soon realize the women have become fast friends during their weeks of radiation treatment — there is a distinct “Hey girlfriend!” vibe in a conversation that has nothing to do with cancer and everything to do with family and hobbies. I smile because it’s so upbeat and I feel the power of them lifting each other up. I don’t want to break the spell. 

Last winter, I took an extended Florida vacation, which meant I also took a break from volunteering as a driver for the Canadian Cancer Society’s Wheels of Hope transportation program.

While I was away, this thought popped into my head: Cancer doesn’t take vacations. 

I’ve been driving people to radiation or chemotherapy treatments since late 2014, when I retired from a career in finance and purchasing. My love for volunteering goes back to high school when I was a part-time classroom assistant to a Grade 1 teacher.   

When I called the society, the volunteer recruiter said its top three needs were “drivers, drivers, drivers,” citing chronic shortages experienced in Markham and other municipalities in the Greater Toronto Area. I had spent the last two decades commuting 130 kilometres daily in bad traffic but a sense of mission must have taken root. I surprised myself with my immediate response: “Sure. Sign me up!” 

Conversation and connections

My role is not to ask people about their cancer or to dispense advice, though some open up about their emotional challenges or physical side effects from treatments. Other in-car conversations touch on the news or hobbies, and I bond with many older clients over a shared love for grandchildren. There is even an occasional joker. 

I’ve only driven one child, a boy of maybe five or six, who happily started playing with the toys I’d placed in the back seat. Then I glimpsed his mom’s thousand-yard stare in the rearview mirror. My eyes grew misty as she softly shared that her son faced two more years of treatment. 

Sometimes I don’t share a language with my charges, which can make the trips feel longer. I’ve learned to ask the clients’ English-speaking children if mom or dad has a favourite radio station in their language, and am rewarded by a smile or thumbs-up when I turn to it.

There was one client I drove several times. She sat with her English-speaking daughter in the back seat, who chatted with me while her mom smiled and plied me with home-made cookies. 

The daughter called many months after the appointments stopped to tell me her mom had passed away and to thank me for being their driver. 

After we spoke on the phone, I wondered if hoovering those cookies with gusto eased some stress of the cancer treatments by giving her mom something to look forward to — the next opportunity to feed Cookie Monster. 

I am inspired by the positive attitude and perseverance of my clients. It’s a privilege to share a brief journey within the long cancer journey for each of them. 

Listening and learning

My volunteer driving personality is calmer than my typical, easily annoyed self. My passengers have enough stress in their lives so I drive slower, avoid sudden starts and stops, and channel my inner Bruce Banner to keep the Hulk at bay when I’m cut off in traffic. 

I was particularly careful while driving a dapper and dignified man in his 90s who told me he fought in the Battle of Normandy in 1944.

I’ve thought about the unfairness of how, more than 70 years after his first great battle, this man was fighting another battle against cancer. It made me reflect that life is a series of battles, some bigger than we’d like.

My favourite drives are rare treasures —  driving someone with a good prognosis to their final treatment. The morning destination is the usual hospital visit, but the return trip is about resuming their lives or chasing some dreams. 

This is when I feel their power lifting me.

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