In March 2020, days after COVID-19 lockdowns began, Ashleigh Bell Pedersen was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Treatment began immediately, starting with six rounds of intensive chemotherapy. It was followed by six weeks of radiation, multiple surgeries and, eventually, 10 months of maintenance chemo.
Bell Pedersen lived alone and was single at the time. But she had a large community that came together to support her. Friends dropped off meals and art supplies and chatted with her from the sidewalk.
"But they were all afraid to come close to me because I was immunocompromised, so everybody abided by the pandemic protocols to the letter," Bell Pedersen said. "[It] was wonderful in a way. I knew they loved me. I knew they were protecting me. But it also meant that I was going through chemotherapy and surgeries and radiation with not a single hug from anyone."
This lack of physical contact impacted Bell Pedersen in unexpected ways. She started noticing that she looked forward to odd things, like having blood drawn.
"I remember feeling such delight when the technician would hold my arm to tie on the tourniquet or when I would show up for a chemo infusion and the medical staff would put their hands on me in order to stick a needle in my IV port, and it was, like, the best part of my day."
These interactions made her realize just how much she needed and missed contact with others.
"It was dawning on me that this was something I was really craving, and I just didn't let myself think about it very much because it was so painful to not have human touch."
Bell Pedersen hadn't mentioned this loss to many people. But one day, while getting a chemo infusion, a nurse named Pat shared something that hit home.
Pat's adult son had moved to be close to her during the pandemic, and while she saw him all the time, she and her partner had agreed not to hug him and to remain 6 feet apart at all times. Sometimes, though, when her partner wasn't looking, Pat would break the rules.
"Pat [told me], 'Sometimes ... I go up and I just hug him anyway and grab onto him from behind.'"
This admission prompted Bell Pedersen to admit her own struggles.
"I found myself saying, 'Oh, that's actually been one of the hardest things about going through cancer in the pandemic — is I haven't just had someone to give me a hug at the end of the day.'"
Pat didn't say much in return, but at the end of the infusion, as Bell Pedersen was walking out of the cancer ward, Pat walked up to her.
"She pulled her mask down for, like, a fraction of a second, and she said, 'I'm going to break pandemic protocol.'"
Then, Pat wrapped her arms around Bell Pedersen's waist and enveloped her in a huge hug. It was the first hug Bell Pedersen had received in months.
"It felt ... [like a] reminder that I existed and was seen at this time when so much of my experience with cancer had really been behind closed doors," Bell Pedersen said. "It's not only that she heard me, but she knew that I needed this really essential thing and she was willing to do it for me."
It has been about six years since that embrace, but the thought of it always brings Bell Pedersen to tears.
"If I could see Pat again ... I would just thank her for being such a source of light throughout treatment and for ... risking getting in trouble at her job to give this patient something that she needed so much."
Bell Pedersen has been cancer-free since August 2020.
My Unsung Hero is also a podcast — new episodes are released every Tuesday. To share the story of your unsung hero with the Hidden Brain team, record a voice memo on your phone and send it to myunsunghero@hiddenbrain.org.
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