The case for respair

There is a word that has almost disappeared from our language: respair. It means the return of hope after a period of despair. I didn’t know I needed that word until this year.

Respair first appeared in the English language in the 15th century, before quietly disappearing from everyday use. In recent years writers and word enthusiasts have been trying to revive it. Consider this my small contribution.

It is interesting to me that we have an abundance of words for loss, grief, disappointment, and heartbreak. We speak of despair, despondency, and discouragement. Yet are there as many words for the journey back?

Respair does not pretend that suffering never happened. Rather, it is the quiet reappearance of hope after it has been absent. It is the first glimpse of light after a long night, a hopeful medical result after an avalanche of bad news, a reconciliation after estrangement, or simply the realisation that having endured hardship, we will carry on.

Most of us have known despair at some point in our lives. What we may not have recognised is the moment of respair—the moment hope returned.

This year, I’ve come to understand respair in ways I never expected. The sudden loss of my friend and business partner in February has really impacted me. I miss her and my heart breaks for her family. Around every corner in the office is a memory of her.

Grief is like spilt glitter. At the beginning it is messy and everywhere. You try to clean it up but you keep finding it. As time progresses you find it in unexpected places. You open a drawer or move some furniture and there it is again, catching the light, reminding you of what you have lost. I was out for dinner the other night and I noticed some glitter on the floor. I was hit with the memory of the last time I was at that restaurant, sat at the same table. I had been sitting with my friend. I let the sadness wash over me. I feel grateful to have that memory. To have had that friendship for over 20 years. To have seen her that last day.

This month also marks the 25th anniversary of my sister’s death from meningococcal septicemia. She was only 22 when she died. She has been gone longer than she was alive. She still walks with me. I try my best to live life for the both of us. I still find her glitter all the time in all sorts of places. 25 years on when I find that glitter, maybe tucked inside a book or in a shoe, I smile because it reminds me of love, of connection, of someone who really mattered to me. That’s respair. The grief has not disappeared but it has made way for gratitude.

So what’s news on the Big C front? Respair does not mean uncertainty has disappeared for me. It means I have learnt to live well alongside it. I am counting down to the cessation of my monthly zoladex injections. 57 down, 3 injections to go! My drug regime changes in October. I swap from tamoxifen to an aromatase inhibitor. I am worried about the change because I have tolerated tamoxifen really well and one of the common side effects of aromatase inhibitors is joint pain. I have a really active life and I do not want to have to tolerate joint pain for 5 years, especially when one of the other side effects is loss of bone density. Weight lifting will be incredibly important for bone health and it is also one of my great loves. I am back training with my first ever personal trainer, Mike, and lifting as much as I did pre cancer. Mike shows me no mercy. I love that about him!

In May I had my annual appointment with Sheridan, my oncologist. As much as I love her, I get anxious every time I have to see her. I’m still all good - I’m NED (No Evidence of Disease). My annual mammogram, ultrasound and check up with my breast surgeon, is at the end of the year.

Finally, I am going to be featured in a book called “The Beauty of Survival” which is being released in October. It tells the stories of breast cancer survivorship with the intention of helping women facing a breast cancer diagnosis. I have had a sneak peak at some of the images and it is going to be gorgeous. It is uncomfortable for me to be so vulnerable and put my scarred torso out there - but the experience has been empowering and validating. Women lose a lot when fighting breast cancer. It is important that those newly diagnosed see what comes afterwards - not because life returns to what it was - but because hope returns. That is respair.