From the moment my sister took me to the pub and told me that our mother had cancer, to the last day with her in the hospice, the word 'cancer' was something I couldn't bear to speak. I would mute the TV if someone spoke about cancer, and I would cringe if someone used the word casually as an adjective. But then I was asked if I would take on a project in Seattle telling the stories of cancer patients, nurses, and doctors. I couldn't believe that the subject I had done everything to avoid would be something I would spend the next three years studying through a lens. In many ways, it is a classic example of getting what you need, not what you want. It was a job that would force me to confront a lot on a personal level in order to do the best job I could for my client, and more importantly, on behalf of the patients and those who care for them.
Sarah Y. Apheresis nurse
When I first arrived in Seattle, I was told that I would be working with a marketing manager called Shari who herself had cancer and had only months to live. She reminded me very much of my mother, and within 6 months, she had passed away. The family asked me if I would photograph their last family gathering, and as I stood in the corner of their living room, watching a mother hug her sons for the last time, I remember asking myself how I got here, and how someone with so much unprocessed grief of their own could find themselves in a room documenting the grief of others.
John, waiting for his wife to finish treament.
During the time I spent in Seattle, I met, as I always do, people whose fortitude transcends what could be reasonably expected of a person. One such person, who holds a special place in my heart, is Terrie Asplund, a patient in her 60s who had survived bladder cancer and returned to her beloved sport of synchronised swimming following a horrific path of complications and exhausting treatments.
There were times during this project when I was thankful to be asked to design merchandise, from mugs and water bottles to conference booths, billboards, print ads, and wraps for shuttle buses. Design work was a break from the intensity of the complex subject matter. But there is nothing like spending time with resilient people who lift you up with their courage and generosity. One evening I filmed Terrie and her husband attending a line-dancing evening at a lodge in suburban Washington. All of the couples took to the dance floor, and the more experienced of them took the lead while the less experienced tried their best to follow. There was, for me, a kind of innocence in the air, as I watched the couples weave, scoot, brush, and kick, as if all of life's complexity and hardship were left at the door, a collective acknowledgment that healing requires space.
RECENT ACTIVITY
I jumped in the pool with Terrie and her swim team and attempted to balance my arms over an inflatable noodle and operate a camera while the three women performed one of their routines. As Terrie emerged from beneath the water's surface with an outstretched arm pointing to the sky and a beaming smile, I couldn't help but be in awe of the sight of someone feeling so alive. Documenting the stories at the heart of the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance felt like a tightrope walk between life and death. There is a cruel lottery that plays out in any hospital, but there are also these two momentous forces at play that have unyielding energy: the dedication of the medical staff who genuinely invest their hearts and minds in curing this disease and the patients and their families who refuse to lose hope. In the face of such a relentless foe, it serves as a stunning portrait of humanity to see a group like this fight for life.
Terrie and her synchronized swim team.
One of the biggest lessons I have had to learn, to be able to do this work, is to manage my emotions and gain a deeper understanding of why I photograph and capture stories of people who are experiencing some of life's greatest challenges. The question of 'why I do this work' is one I may have to ask myself each year for the rest of my life. The answers I give myself change, but I think the answers get a better with time and experience.
Shari and loved ones during their last family gathering.
