The aircraft has mercifully stopped bouncing through the sky. A few hours ago, we hit terrible turbulence and the cabin instantly filled with gasps and panicked voices. I had the unfortunate challenge of getting back from the bathroom amidst the roughest patch of air and I have never felt so happy to sit down and put on my seatbelt.

Now, with only 2 hours left in my 20-hour travel day, I begin to get excited about my favorite Canadian holiday. As I sit here and reflect on all that I have to be grateful for, I am truly in awe of the overwhelming support I have received over the past year.

I now understand that cancer affects everyone around you. Getting diagnosed at 30 meant that many of my friends hadn’t yet had to deal with sickness, divorce, death, and other terrible, but real life events that we will slowly learn how to handle.

Tears fill my eyes when I think of how seamlessly they became experts at helping me fight both my emotional and physical battles. With my immediate family 1000km away and my Dad struggling with his own health challenges, I became completely dependent on my closest friends and extended family to take care of me.

How do I thank the friend who sat with me on the bathroom floor as I cried and hunched over the toilet? I asked her how I would get through 3 more months of this hell. She rubbed my back and cried along with me. What about the friend who quietly scrubbed my skin of the surgery antiseptic after she had to literally change my clothes for me? Or the man who stoically shaved my head, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do? I saw the concentration in his eyes as he tried to do this unthinkable thing perfectly, in order to make the experience a little less painful for me.

How do I thank a company and a benefits provider that has taken such good care of me when I haven’t been physically or mentally able to work? What about the colleagues who paid to have someone clean my apartment when I couldn’t lift myself off the couch?

How can I repay the friend who organized an army of volunteers to prepare meals for my ever-changing chemo taste buds? The other friends who come over to keep me company and tried to force me to eat those meals? Who slept over when I was high on Benadryl and Adavan, post chemo, and nothing I said made any sense? Who were there when I fell apart emotionally, post surgery, because I was so damn depressed and in so much pain that I couldn’t see straight. Who just sat with me and let me cry and didn’t try to say anything to make me feel better because they knew they didn’t have the words?

Then there is my family who did whatever they could, given the distance. The daily calls from my parents to help break up the endless hours spent captive in my apartment in a post chemo fog. The nights my Mom spent on the couch so she could take care of me post surgery. When she had to be my constant gofer and even help bathe me because I couldn’t do anything for myself. The kindness in my Dad’s eyes when he saw me post chemo and we knew we had both been through a major battle. The long conversations with my sister when the drugs turned me into a raging hormonal lunatic and I needed to confess my craziest thoughts to a non judgmental party. The text messages and emails from my brothers that came at just the right time.

My army of devoted Aunts who took it upon themselves to be my surrogate mothers when mine couldn’t be with me. The Aunt who knew what I was going through because she had been there herself, so she sat quietly by my hospital bed putting cold clothes on my face when my fever raged to almost 104*. The Aunt who came to Vancouver to fill my freezer with more food than it has ever held. The Aunt who always seemed to know when I was having a lonely day and would come by the hospital with Starbucks. Or sit with me in my apartment and sip tea.

Finally, the Aunt who became my true partner in crime on this yearlong, messy adventure. Who helped me laugh through the most terrifying moments. Who sat with me during chemo and who rushed me to the Emergency room on more than one occasion. She still talks about the night that I scared the life out of her by claiming that I was going blind and then slumping down in my wheelchair during the discharge process. She had to watch wide eyed as the doctors rushed me back to my hospital bed. She thought I was dying, but the doctors knew better. I had simply passed out. The look on her face when I opened my eyes spoke volumes of her love for me. I continue to feel so lucky to have her by my side.

I don’t have the right words to express the gratitude that fills me to the brim for everyone who has reached out to me in the last 12 months. I know how blessed I am. I only hope that one day, I can give back just a fraction of what I have gained.