Rescue

Navigating cancer treatment during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic was an isolating and emotionally overwhelming experience for many, myself included. Sara Machnik, co-founder of Bloom Club, also navigated a cancer diagnosis during the pandemic and today she shares a bit of her story and how a rescue pup helped transform her experience. Continue reading to learn how Sara's rescue dog, Hudson, and her found healing together, learning to cope with their respective traumas and slowly embracing a new chapter in life.

Before the rescue… is a situation that you need rescuing from. My experience with cancer during the height of the covid-19 pandemic was nothing short of traumatic. Unlike many other cancer patients that endured treatment before and after lockdown restrictions, I had the unique experience of moving through the motions of grief, trauma and agony in complete isolation. My surgery, chemotherapy and radiation was completed alone, my husband couldn’t come with me and it was recommended that we don’t interact with anyone outside of our household for the
duration of my treatment. I had remembered my mom talking about visits with her friends during their chemotherapy and I was so jealous. I remembered seeing pictures of matching t-shirts, family and friends attending various appointments and planning big parties for the bell ringing ceremony at the end of treatment. In addition to lack of support, there was a large staffing shortage of nurses and healthcare professionals, so much so that the operating room actually closed for 3 weeks after my surgery date. I had very little interaction with humans during my
treatment and that impacted my wellbeing largely. I became incredibly depressed, so much so that I no longer cared about my treatments success or failure, I just wanted it to end. What I didn’t know at the time was that chemotherapy can increase your likelihood of depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts and ideation by more than 70%.

“In one study, 70.86% of cancer patients on chemotherapy experienced depression.” (National Institute of Health)

In efforts to cheer myself up, I had decided to focus on things that bring me joy. Insert many nights googling rescue animals from various locations. After treatment, I wished to pursue my long term goals sooner rather than later. I wasn’t guaranteed 80 years on this earth and that was made abundantly clear to me. If I wanted to adopt a dog, I had better look into it and start moving toward that goal. I looked into local animal shelters but again, with lockdown restrictions, I was unable to walk in and view animals, I had to make appointment times and timing didn’t
always work out. Then my husband and I decided to move to a new place, 3 hours away from the city we had called home for more than a decade. We longed for a fresh start and moved somewhere we knew absolutely no one. It felt like turning the page and I appreciated not having to see the cancer centre where the worst memories of my life were triggered. Adopting a rescue moved onto the back burner for a while until I began making new friends in my new hometown. I met a new friend and fellow cancer rebel named Steph, who highly recommended a rescue
agency to me where she had rescued her own pup. Again, many long nights were spent looking through pages and pages of dogs looking for a fresh start, just like me. We ended up adopting a dog from North Korea where he had been abused. We picked him up from the airport and brought him to a completely new place, where he didn’t know the language, the climate or the allergens, apparently. In the days that followed I anxiously longed to bond with him, I wanted him to trust me. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and soon I was at the 6 month point. He still hid for most of the day and many noises frightened him to his core. To be honest, I
was frustrated with his lack of progress and it made me sad that he was living his life in fear. One day I was observing him on a walk, which mostly consisted of his tail being tucked between his legs and jolting from side to side. I had observed him for so long, but it was the first time I was seeing him for his past. I knew his triggers in detail, he loved the park but we dare not cross the bridge because he is terrified of confined spaces, he doesn’t mind cars but vans with sliding doors made him shake. He especially dislikes anything going around his neck which made it difficult for quite sometime taking him on walks. All of the sudden, I was realizing in a new way that he was not reacting to me or my actions, he wasn’t even reacting to his surroundings, his trauma was telling him that these things had been scary in the past and his PTSD took over his body. I was overcome with emotion and I felt shame in not having looked at him this way before. We are so alike, in so many ways. When I drive past the cancer centre I was treated at I cried every time, for more than 6 months. To this day, I can’t focus on a conversation in that place
because may memories come flooding in and I’m no where to be found on the surface.

My rescue pup, Hudson and I were both in the midst of the healing process, and that takes time. He makes slow progress that I truly believe patience and love will eventually conquer. He may still have certain triggers well into his life, and I cannot fault him for this. Humans were unkind to him, and I was told more than once he would have been euthanized had I not adopted him. Perhaps it sounds cliche to say but I truly believe my rescue…rescued me. He let me see the other side, watching him react to external factors that triggered unkind emotional responses. It
was both fascinating and heartbreaking to witness. Each little win with Hudson feels like a great day, the first time he licked me I cried tears of joy. The first time his tail went up on a walk, I felt ecstatic. I know it’s a long road ahead of both of us. I’m told healing isn’t linear and we are both fantastic examples of that being true. We both have our good days and our bad days, and sometimes we both struggle with being present. It’s not the easy road, but it’s the road that we ended up on, together.

Sara began writing poetry during chemotherapy in the confines of her bedroom during the pandemic. She writes about both the disparity of a cancer diagnosis as well as the profound joy and celebration of life a new perspective offers. Find her book link here.