tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80804635120040346972024-03-18T21:18:19.973-07:00Kinda Has CancerUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-83591350608219142822014-05-12T16:23:00.000-07:002014-05-12T16:23:08.642-07:00Giant Robot Slippers!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.dudeiwantthat.com/style/shoes/giant-robot-slippers-with-sound.asp"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEr_GYRJkikRNEhUG5cwSFlCbjbpj5NlGQTEBA8g9RJHLQB7ZYIyrvxbUavUWUt0MW9ohbcHROMMHcv0_gXUl0eypqHjooBFCF_jAxEX2-TbvTpI61AfvI_65o9gpubJsHtCaRwMdJEA0/s1600/Giant+Robot+Slippers!.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.dudeiwantthat.com/style/shoes/giant-robot-slippers-with-sound.asp">ThinkGeek: Giant Robot Slippers!</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-9303501815030309152014-05-12T16:00:00.001-07:002014-05-12T18:22:31.528-07:00Happy Cancerversay!<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA">Two years ago yesterday, they pried open my chest with a ribspreader and hacksaw and dragged the little sucker (hopefully screaming) into the daylight. </span></span><br />
<br />
Since then, every <span style="font-family: inherit;">three months I go in for blood work and x-rays or a CT-scan. Then about a week later I
get a quick exam by a nurse followed by a consult with Dr. Robyn where
she tells me that the blood work is clear, the scan looks good
then we talk about our dogs for ten minutes. I think they like seeing
me because when you work in oncology it must be nice to give good
news.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="en-CA"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That doesn’t mean
that every time I sit in that exam room waiting for the nurse, that
I’m not just little bit terrified.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA">But it’s now
officially two years since the surgery and as a reward; I only have
to get the scans and blood drawn twice a year. I’m still
technically a patient for the next three years, but I guess I can
call myself a survivor now. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="en-CA"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="en-CA"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On my last visit,
Doctor Robyn also gave me a present, a disc containing one of my CT
scans from back in 2012. This is a top down view of my chest; the
white notch at the bottom center is my spine. The white lumpy thing
in the center is my heart, the grey mass attached to it...</span></span></div>
<div lang="" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cKYWH0j7io5ypyKPc6nm3zAUEhcfuN_T9l310LVWeJJDGh2aIUfh_jhJl3psZR7tuYyUmDljvUL5QkR2UtLRvq5bNCabEW48Pzd48jGGAVUQJH6waXL8swp2fV0rWUGr4znr1woe6W7z/s1600/mychest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cKYWH0j7io5ypyKPc6nm3zAUEhcfuN_T9l310LVWeJJDGh2aIUfh_jhJl3psZR7tuYyUmDljvUL5QkR2UtLRvq5bNCabEW48Pzd48jGGAVUQJH6waXL8swp2fV0rWUGr4znr1woe6W7z/s1600/mychest.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">...is not. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the movies and in
books, people who have lived through this sort of thing always seem
to have gained some profound insight into life. I wonder if
that is true.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA">The physical changes
are obvious. My hair came back a lot thinner for one. My hands are
stiff and I have to wear gloves if the temperature drops below ten
degrees centigrade (you don't want to know what it did to my already atrocious). I can’t tell if my feet are getting better or </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m just getting use it, but the idea of walking barefoot on a hard
floor is akin to the idea of walking across a bed of hot coals. I’ll
do it, but I’m going to do it in a hurry. Unfortunately, my
attempts to wean off the pills always end in a week after I’ve been reduced to a twitching, limping, hunched-over mess.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnw-O6zZjSuH2QNab_NkCuOVtKEcH3c0Gv3FFgDHvagTKEq3ss90zR2Uka1xCl2Jt-d4Xd_Qhcf63IVwbfQc-AFPJc8bYs-QDK5eKHif3nIg3rfehGmopB8ntJmIVuSODiGtuHrC5Mlcv/s1600/kotegashi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnw-O6zZjSuH2QNab_NkCuOVtKEcH3c0Gv3FFgDHvagTKEq3ss90zR2Uka1xCl2Jt-d4Xd_Qhcf63IVwbfQc-AFPJc8bYs-QDK5eKHif3nIg3rfehGmopB8ntJmIVuSODiGtuHrC5Mlcv/s1600/kotegashi.jpg" height="200" width="158" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA">I am feeling better
enough to try to get back into regular Aikido. I am happy to announce
that I can still take a fall, but I swear that that the last
kotegashi (wrist-throw) shifted one of the wires holding my chest
together. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="en-CA" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span lang="en-CA" style="font-family: inherit;">I can feel those,
btw. There is a nub sticking up just below the </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">suprasternal notch (that
dip at the base of your neck where the collarbones meet)</span><span lang="en-CA" style="font-family: inherit;">,
and sometimes when I’ve been sitting hunched over for too long,
there is a sensation like a popped knee or elbow when I stand up.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-CA">But do I have any
great insights into the human condition? No more than anyone else
accumulates as they go through life. Some things I’ve always
believed were reinforced, while a lot of other things don’t seem as
important anymore. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-CA" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One thing I will stress ... hold on to your
friends and family as hard as you can. We’re all going to go
through this in one form or another and there was nothing more heartbreaking than seeing those who have to go through it alone. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-53374940344020283032013-12-13T07:03:00.001-08:002013-12-13T07:27:08.025-08:00Hospital Survival TipsA friend of mine went through a difficult operation yesterday (successfully, by all reports!). To help her out, I wrote down some Hospital Survival Tips. I thought I'd post them here in case anyone else needed them.<br />
<br />
1) Items you must pack: A padlock, comfy & warm jammies, an extra blanket, warm socks, slippers, a tooth-brush, toothpaste and floss, and most importantly .. this cannot be stressed enough ... quality tp. <br />
<br />
2) Supply lines are critical. You will need a steady supply of laundry, rides and meals. Someone to go out and scrounge up local take-out menus is also a plus. <br />
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3) Just because you picked it from the menu doesn't mean that you will get it. Beware Fish Fridays! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.retailhellunderground.com/.a/6a00e54f10a0988834019aff0f913e970d-pi" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://www.retailhellunderground.com/.a/6a00e54f10a0988834019aff0f913e970d-pi" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You will come to dread this sight...</td></tr>
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</div>
4) On your first day, act crazy then pick up a chair and beat the hell out of the biggest person you can find. That way, no one will mess with you. <br />
<br />
5) The TV and phone service are scams. Find a wifi connection asap and remember to bring your cell-phone charger. <br />
<br />
6) Despite the joy and happy purple kittens that it brings, pain killers also bring dyschezia. Fibre is your friend. <br />
<br />
7) They have drugs for almost everything; Do not be afraid to ask. While this might seem facetious, they cured my hiccups. <br />
<br />
8) Hording is key. If they will give you extra of ANYTHING, take it. <br />
<br />
9) Suck up to the Chaplin. He can get you discounts on parking. <br />
<br />
10) Roomates are a blessing or a curse. Your best bets are coma patients or people whose spouses like to bake. In the event of an overly Chatty-Cathys or the late night flatulents/nurse callers, try slipping a few random meds into their breakfast. If nothing else, the side-effects might provide some entertainment. <br />
<br />
11) Sleep when you can. Nurses' shifts start early and the bloodsuckers and orderlies start even earlier. Between that, bed checks and midnight meds and tests, I usually got my best sleep after morning rounds. They usually leave you alone for a while after that. <br />
<br />
12) Make sure that the guy giving you that exam is a qualified medical professional and not someone who just wandered down from the psych floor. Boy, did I learn that one the hard way.<br />
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<a href="http://static.fjcdn.com/pictures/Sonic_e860d3_856295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="http://static.fjcdn.com/pictures/Sonic_e860d3_856295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://static.fjcdn.com/pictures/Sonic_e860d3_856295.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-6222749385969107132013-05-23T16:09:00.003-07:002013-05-23T16:12:21.595-07:00A Cancer Reader<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Our-Cancer-Year-Harvey-Pekar/dp/1568580118/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369347822&sr=8-1&keywords=our+cancer+year" style="font-size: x-large;">Our Cancer Year</a><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<a href="https://news.uns.purdue.edu/images/2010/our-cancer-year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://news.uns.purdue.edu/images/2010/our-cancer-year.jpg" width="158" /></a>The godfather of indie-comics, Harvey Peckar and his wife Joyce Brabner, write about the year Harvey found a lump in his groin in this Harvey Award winning graphic novel.</div>
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This book begins as a reminder that almost everyone’s life will be touched by cancer at some point. Just after his lymphoma diagnosis and up to his surgery, Harvey and Joyce are constantly talking to people, sometimes close friends who, almost shyly, begin to talk about the loss of their partner or their parents or even their own ordeals.</div>
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The book begins with Joyce’s involvement with a youth group for teens from trouble spots around the globe, which seems a bit extraneous at first, but begins to pay off throughout the novel.</div>
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After his surgery, Harvey begins a brutal chemo and radiation regiment that in addition to the all the standard joys of chemotherapy, leaves him covered in weeping sores, severly disoriented and in screaming agony. </div>
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As Harvey becomes weaker and more difficult to care for, the book comes back around to Joyce and the meaning of ‘Our Cancer’. At first the couple tries desperately to maintain a normal life; they had bought a fixer-upper home almost immediately before Harvey is diagnosed, Joyce has a visit to Israel already planned and Harvey tries to keep working through the chemo, but they are both forced repeatedly, sometimes violently, to come to terms with the realities of cancer. For Harvey, it is the toll that the chemo takes on his body and mind. For Joyce, that means watching as her husband degrades into this helpless, toxic, desperate, sick and disgusting <i>thing</i> as she is forced to care for him and deal with all the details of regular life. It is clear that she is determined, but she is also frightened and scared to show any weakness in front of her husband. She makes mistakes; she gets angry and frustrated and she sometimes takes it out on Harvey. In short, she is a kind and good human being doing the best that anyone could under the circumstances.</div>
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It is Joyce’s experiences, with Harvey and with the people around the couple who help out in ways that range from tiny to massive, that show how a disease as deeply personal as cancer can, if you are really lucky, become “Our Cancer”.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/APpxQm7sH5k?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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For more about Harvey and Joyce, there is an excellent and funny movie about their lives called, “American Splendor”.</div>
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<a href="http://www.themindfulword.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/the_fault_in_our_stars_.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.themindfulword.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/the_fault_in_our_stars_.jpeg" width="149" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Fault-Our-Stars-John-Green/dp/0525478817/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369347945&sr=1-1&keywords=fault+in+our+stars">The Fault in Our Stars</a></span></div>
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</div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
A coming of age novel about a girl who has battled her whole life against cancer. This book is pure fiction, but it skillfully blends the frustrations of growing up, with the frustrations of being sick. It is in a lot of critic’s top-ten lists at the moment for good reason, though I found it read a little too much like a movie script in parts.</div>
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Read it and tell me that the part of author Peter van Houten wasn’t tailor made for Jim Broadbent.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Emperor-All-Maladies-Biography-Cancer/dp/1439170916/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369348414&sr=1-1&keywords=emperor+of+all+maladies"><span style="font-size: large;">The Emperor of All Maladies: The Biography of Cancer</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://img2-1.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/101108/ew_picks/siddhartha-emperor-of-maladies_212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://img2-1.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/101108/ew_picks/siddhartha-emperor-of-maladies_212.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
The best layman’s guide to cancer and its place in history that you are going to find. Though it casts its net pretty wide, the historical approach really helps you put into figure out just what cancer is, what it is not, and its place in society over the past two hundred years or so (before that, not much is known).</div>
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And after reading about some previous kinds of treatments they did in the (not so recent) past, it also made me incredibly happy and relieved that I got sick in the 21<sup>st</sup> Century.</div>
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Also smoking and tobacco? Though they only get a surprisingly short chapter here … <b>SO MUCH FUCKING WORSE THAN YOU THINK.</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Immortal-Life-Henrietta-Lacks/dp/1400052181/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369348539&sr=1-1&keywords=immortal+life+of+henrietta+lacks"><span style="font-size: large;">The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://rationalist.org.uk/images/immortal-life-of-henrietta-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://rationalist.org.uk/images/immortal-life-of-henrietta-.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
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Anyone who have ever cared about has been through a serious illness and is still alive today owes their life to Henrietta Lacks.</div>
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Mrs. Lacks was born and raised in Roanoke Virginia during the first half of the last century. In her early thirties she was diagnosed with cervical cancer and died in 1951, probably more from the treatments than the disease. But she left behind two samples of cells that were cultivated by her doctors that would go on to become the HeLa cell line, the first human cells that continued to grow and dived more than a few months beyond donation. There are HeLa cells still growing and thriving in labs all over the world today, used in thousands of different experiments.</div>
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This book is a history of Mrs. Lacks’s life, her family, her disease and her incredible gift to humanity. It also presents some troubling arguments about medical ethics as mega-labs make millions from discoveries made possible by those cells while her family continues to struggle in poverty and try to understand just what it means when they are told that a part of Henrietta is still alive.</div>
<h2>
<span style="background-color: transparent; text-align: center;"> MOVIES</span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/50-Bilingual/dp/B00650RWRI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369350276&sr=8-1&keywords=50%2F50"><span style="font-size: large;">50/50</span></a></div>
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The screenplay was written by Will Reiser based on his own diagnoses and treatment of a sarcoma in his spine. Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays Adam, a young journalist who learns he has cancer, and Seth Rogan plays Kyle, Adam’s slacker buddy who almost imperceptivity shifts from being that goofy friend, to Adam’s primary support and caregiver.</div>
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While the bromance angle isn’t that applicable, there were some moments in this film that mirrored by own experiences so closely that I spent much of the movie bawling my eyes out.</div>
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It is also very funny.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Wit-Widescreen-Emma-Thompson/dp/B00005MKKV/ref=sr_1_1?s=dvd&ie=UTF8&qid=1369350525&sr=1-1&keywords=wit"><span style="font-size: large;">Wit</span></a></div>
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2001 television movie based on 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning play of the same title by Margaret Edson. In it, a reclusive English professor discovers she has a virulent form of breast cancer. The play is about a lot of things, but it also about the costs of going through something like cancer alone (sort of an antithesis of ‘Out Cancer Year’). I saw a few people in this situation; mostly older people … words cannot describe how heartbreaking it is.</div>
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‘The Emperor of all Maladies’ talks about this period of time in treating breast cancer; it was a kind of ‘scored earth’ approach. It was brutal and unfortunately ultimately, ineffective.</div>
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While the movie (and I would assume the play) are hard to watch, the narrator’s titular Wit is what helps you get through it. At one point she describes herself as “published *and* perished”.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-65699124940789186402013-04-27T20:09:00.001-07:002013-04-28T05:12:39.701-07:00My Cancer Dog<br />
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When I first met my wife she warned me
that she had dogs. No problem, I like animals. ..but I may have been
too distracted to focus on the operative word, 'warn'.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA6VCrN7gW_M3Xhb3HrSZQkX3Ia6dS4FdiY8b7PYEYP_K4jMbIyKqdHNCNAR9yxP7L6GvVFK3bZsG6_DQVhthX8E9Cbuk5AoIpukBAyvhf2BOwTRiBS35TWhj4Ek2daIrk9TebMdy1oiB/s1600/219419_10150529931725504_8189986_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA6VCrN7gW_M3Xhb3HrSZQkX3Ia6dS4FdiY8b7PYEYP_K4jMbIyKqdHNCNAR9yxP7L6GvVFK3bZsG6_DQVhthX8E9Cbuk5AoIpukBAyvhf2BOwTRiBS35TWhj4Ek2daIrk9TebMdy1oiB/s320/219419_10150529931725504_8189986_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then I was introduced to Tasha and
Nakita. My experience with pets up to this point had been a revolving
door of disposable hamsters and a couple of chubby cats, and now I'm
facing down two very big, very scary Huskies who are staring me down while trying to figure
out exactly why this skinny little white boy was in their home.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I had to learn fast how to handle big
dogs and made some very notable mistakes along the way, but I quickly
came to love the both of them. Soon I wrestling them
into snowbanks and had persuaded them, for the most part, not to
feast upon my pale, soft flesh. Nakita was even the first dog to ever smile at me, which is a hard thing to describe unless you've seen it. </div>
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Tasha died a month before my doctor noticed a problem on the x-ray and scheduled a biopsy.
She was sixteen and it was simply her time. A fighter until the
end it took four people and three muzzles to keep her from taking a
chunk out of vet, all while under heavy sedation. Also, my wife
wrecked the car that month. Suddenly our lives had become a country song.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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By this time, Natika was pushing
fourteen. A little grayer around the nose and definitely slowing
down, but still going strong.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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The hardest time of the
whole cancer ordeal was those first few months. The first biopsy took
place at the beginning of December, but came back inconclusive so
they scheduled another one. It being the Holiday Season, that didn't
happen until just after New Years. Then during the second procedure
some idiot radiologist assistant offhandedly tells me, 'its probably
lymphoma'. We were left with that dangling over our heads for a month until the beginning of February when I finally got to see an
oncologist. I started chemotherapy the very next day.</div>
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Needless to say, January was pretty
bleak, but I do have one good memory We live at the end of a
cul-du-sac and beyond us is a sliver of woods that spreads out,
leading down to a network of creeks. Those all eventually spill into a two small lakes, the closest of which with the imaginative name of, 'Second Lake'. Now in a straight line,
Second Lake is maybe only a couple of miles from the house, but if
you go down into the woods and follow the creeks it can take hours.
There are lots of different trails, thickets for the dogs to crawl
around in, even train tracks and a horse farm if you know where to
look. Over the years, we spent hundreds of
hours exploring down there. It gave the dogs a chance to be let off their
leads to roam and run around. They got to chase squirrels, rabbits
and deer, but the only animal they ever seemed to catch
were porcupines. The one thing we could never seem
to do was reach Second Lake.
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8s8LGhPal17WNODuUPtZlwW8HxwCyqeh0X9-M8w0IyCMwihg-Xyzcf05EuXxlE2RlfN9hQ69rFo3Bq4oAE1D9gJsPsmL9MWySa8_2XGuaO1uIg2gr5HhVgGJWJevn0y2j-KtrrjWj_LRL/s1600/P040212_10.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8s8LGhPal17WNODuUPtZlwW8HxwCyqeh0X9-M8w0IyCMwihg-Xyzcf05EuXxlE2RlfN9hQ69rFo3Bq4oAE1D9gJsPsmL9MWySa8_2XGuaO1uIg2gr5HhVgGJWJevn0y2j-KtrrjWj_LRL/s320/P040212_10.55.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One weekend that January it
was nice and cold, with a fresh layer of snow on the ground. Nakita needed a
good walk and I needed a distraction, so we set out with the express
purpose of getting to Second Lake by going the long way. I think
round trip took us close to five hours, but we did it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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During that hike, I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities, procedures and
prognosis, but right then, right there in those woods none of it
mattered. Nothing was going to kill me in the next five hours, so I
could concentrate on the walk, the snow the sun and Nakita.
</div>
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I can't remember which one said it, but
early on one nurse or another asked if we had pets. When I eagerly
started talking about Nakita and the cats, grateful to be talking
about anything else, she responded with, 'oh, you'll have to get rid
of those. They'll bring infections into the house.”
</div>
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<br /></div>
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I'd seen similar statements in the
occasional pamphlets and literature I'd read, but bless them all,
none of the other nurses or doctors ever brought it up, even after I
did get a couple of bad fevers. There are certainly some
cancers where any chance of infection is critically dangerous, and I
have no doubt that my parents in-law would have taken in the fuzzy
brood if it had come to that, but in all due respect to that first
nurse ... what an utterly asinine thing to say to a patient.
</div>
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My wife was in school while I was sick
and I absolutely refused to let her quit, so there were many days
when I was alone in the house. Having the cats and Naktia around gave
me company. They didn't care if I wanted to talk, or not, which is helps
avoid some of those awkward conversations you have with people when
you're seriously ill. The pets were someone to watch TV with, take
naps with, to give a cuddle when I needed it and the cats would even
play board games with me, as long as I was okay playing by their
rules.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What I came to realize was that, sick
or not, they still needed me. I was the guy with the opposable thumbs
who got them their food, stuffed them with treats, played with their toys and scratched their ears. And Nakita still needed her walks.
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Around this time, Nakita was starting
into that inevitable decline familiar to anyone with an older dog;
walking a little slower and sleeping longer. She was getting too old
to run away, was never that interested in other dogs and completely
ignored cats and kids. All she really wanted to do was sniff at
things. This made her the perfect dog for someone in my condition and
between February and April we wore a groove into the neighborhood sidewalks, getting the exercise and fresh air I desperately needed
between the long stints stuck in the hospital. She got so
good at the route that I stopped holding her lead most of the time.
I'd just drape it over her back so I could grab it to cross the
street or if we were near a strange dog.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEljCyS7N133-K1gxLrOswngiWW8m-Pekqa31yUvc2-6O1yROepsoW4W1QvVT6oJkmrta5ddpbZSTbUMV9jFogpmK0_lQyB_qYCqaVuy5AZszufWqMVc6Ui5oGC1wt7sRB1Y_kN9QzUJE/s1600/1938_109304175503_1444_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEljCyS7N133-K1gxLrOswngiWW8m-Pekqa31yUvc2-6O1yROepsoW4W1QvVT6oJkmrta5ddpbZSTbUMV9jFogpmK0_lQyB_qYCqaVuy5AZszufWqMVc6Ui5oGC1wt7sRB1Y_kN9QzUJE/s320/1938_109304175503_1444_n.jpg" width="237" /></a>That year, all my interactions with friends
or family had a constant undertone of concern; the closer they were
to me, the more pronounced the feeling. And being alone just gave me too
much time to think. Being with Nakita gave me something that absolutely nobody else could have. She never asked how I was feeling and gave
me something mundane, but necessary to focus on. What she ended up giving me were a few blessed minutes a week when I wasn't sick.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Just like that day in the woods back in
January, I was just some guy taking his dog for a walk.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Last Thursday night, we took Nakita for
her regular walk around the neighborhood. Then after supper she
got a pork-chop bone to chew on and she went to sleep. When she
woke up the next morning, her back hips had completely given out and
she couldn't stand anymore. We took her to the vet for the last time
that evening.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was almost one year to the day of
my last chemotherapy session.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Goodbye my Nakita. I am going to miss that smile. </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-84724556366454744062012-11-29T07:12:00.002-08:002012-11-29T09:04:11.679-08:00Tumour Tatt<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
We asked Doc if it was okay for me to get a tattoo over my left chest to commemorate the removal of Kuato and she was surprisingly supportive. Apparently, it is not uncommon, though a Google search turns up mostly pink ribbons (and having learned a little about the insidiousness of Breast Cancer I completely understand why). </div>
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What I am trying to do know is figure out what I want and what would be fitting. I'm looking for comments and suggestions. Here are my ideas so far:</div>
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<a href="http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs12/f/2006/320/9/5/Celtic_Knotwork_Spider_by_sidneyeileen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs12/f/2006/320/9/5/Celtic_Knotwork_Spider_by_sidneyeileen.jpg" tea="true" width="143" /></a></div>
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<strong>Spider</strong></div>
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A play on my last name combined with (like a snake on a caduceus) the dual symbolism of healing and poison. I was thinking of a knotted spider sitting on a web that stretched between my many scars. M is not a fan of this one, saying it would be gross and morbid. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDCALqWqC-wcP5TBtfhwIUrm6M5P2S-dMGaYOXsf_F9rWckcn4LIsKIwNLjOs7cPopUtAGH3lE7T6iV-OtuuycYw5XekzOzz8nmRm9nEGJm9TaLuOJpZdSotyDjq0PBKpZ-ya1lsI0Tmm/s1600/fif=sc1_SC110495_fpx&obj=iip,1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDCALqWqC-wcP5TBtfhwIUrm6M5P2S-dMGaYOXsf_F9rWckcn4LIsKIwNLjOs7cPopUtAGH3lE7T6iV-OtuuycYw5XekzOzz8nmRm9nEGJm9TaLuOJpZdSotyDjq0PBKpZ-ya1lsI0Tmm/s200/fif=sc1_SC110495_fpx&obj=iip,1.jpg" tea="true" width="181" /></a><strong>Tsuba</strong></div>
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The guard of a samurai sword. The story I heard was they were made to be works of art so that the last thing your opponent would ever see would be beautiful, but I like it more for its actual purpose as a protector. What to put on it is the question. The common battling dragon and tiger motif is one idea (also happen to be M and my Chinese horoscope signs), as well as possibly combining the spider or kraken ideas, though I haven’t found a good model yet. </div>
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<strong>Kraken</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUftBWqcUM9Rdod-2oRw_rtVLzc17aLXcv8aUUzYymM4xgUcI2JOPASBxhxPtqi8QEq7LI7ibKGpY1gkzHlLqn5jvFbvzeMZ5fprOy3VGR4dh-Jcz7Pqpah2YY0WErQ0TvrRGyPCUrD0I-/s1600/Kraken_by_verreaux.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUftBWqcUM9Rdod-2oRw_rtVLzc17aLXcv8aUUzYymM4xgUcI2JOPASBxhxPtqi8QEq7LI7ibKGpY1gkzHlLqn5jvFbvzeMZ5fprOy3VGR4dh-Jcz7Pqpah2YY0WErQ0TvrRGyPCUrD0I-/s200/Kraken_by_verreaux.jpg" tea="true" width="165" /></a></div>
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This one I keep coming back to. To me it represents mystery and loss. The mystery of how I got cancer (it doesn’t run in my family) and the ever constant threat of its return. Plus the permanent damage it and the chemo have wrecked on my body and all the losses that have come with that. But to me mystery also represents hope and the future; there is so much we do not know about this limited reality in which exist. It is the desire to unlock those mysteries is what pushes us forward and makes us grow, both as individuals and as a species. </div>
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It also happens to be a really kick-ass rum. </div>
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<strong>OTHER TATTOO IDEAS</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNB6kEyCMVQmGbI_eeFWs6Wa0ensvE9HBlIkrG-ojBVQJDaRXmOB5wA_VkIqri8ecsgzX0HgkSGFt3R-IAfcuth_nD7JW91siThqXaAFIw-I39vPieGNfoMDpXvj5nSvlAHQ5I6enQ99Yr/s1600/Never+Say+Die.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNB6kEyCMVQmGbI_eeFWs6Wa0ensvE9HBlIkrG-ojBVQJDaRXmOB5wA_VkIqri8ecsgzX0HgkSGFt3R-IAfcuth_nD7JW91siThqXaAFIw-I39vPieGNfoMDpXvj5nSvlAHQ5I6enQ99Yr/s200/Never+Say+Die.jpg" tea="true" width="200" /></a></div>
As some point I am getting a version of this:<br />
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though I don’t see it on my chest.</div>
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And I want the line, <strong>Still is still moving</strong> (Willie Nelson), maybe on my forearm. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-12474403293675315182012-08-24T13:24:00.001-07:002012-08-24T13:24:43.026-07:00My Own Fucking Fault<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVbmDGJuYI4wXj6bV2tbzWPVIbCWnFmKVHgdvOhrSc51SqNBSlK-TCOQQey21eeFZd7Bgm_TWpr30-p1UuCg-DEnNl8ebEJKR1loVXtuQ0fDqdnTEYSZhFS14LOWkwQDCEUSSdLWXtzU6l/s1600/choose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="225" width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVbmDGJuYI4wXj6bV2tbzWPVIbCWnFmKVHgdvOhrSc51SqNBSlK-TCOQQey21eeFZd7Bgm_TWpr30-p1UuCg-DEnNl8ebEJKR1loVXtuQ0fDqdnTEYSZhFS14LOWkwQDCEUSSdLWXtzU6l/s400/choose.jpg" /></a></div>It is my fault I got cancer. I don’t mean that I did it deliberately or that I wanted it to happen, but cancer is a glitch in the body’s normal system of cell division. The resulting cancer was as much a part of me as my lungs, my eyes or my heart.
<P>
My body, my fault.
<P>
This is a thought that occurred to me sometime about halfway through the chemo when I was looking for someone to blame. Best guess is that the medication I was taking for my Crohn’s Disease may have triggered the cancer, but ultimately I was aware that there was a one in a thousand chance of developing cancer associated with the drug and I took it anyway.
<P>
My fault.
<P>
Then I began to think of everything else that had gone wrong in my life and kept coming back to the same conclusion; I could blame other people and make all the excuses I wanted, but ultimately it comes down to one very simple thing …
<P>
It was my own fucking fault.
<P>
When we’re babies almost nothing is our fault. We at the mercy of our caregivers, our environment and a world we cannot hope to understand yet. As we grow we take on more and more responsibilities until sometime in your late teens when pretty much everything in your life is now your responsibility. That is not to say you won’t make some colossally stupid decisions along the way, but that is okay; screwing up is a crucial part of growing up. Fuck, it’s a crucial part of being a human being. We don’t ever stop making mistakes. <P>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRU-64xpO1mbAAjARsK39iebuspAsKX-Pif0G24sietkh-I8AsHSdOlqTqGOx8OlfYhu4mzI5LjDH8pQcOmaJSYPW2SqvANwPqSzOU3LeipBM2oYVrBFLkDjVbzCBIQ7MV3dCpg5HMRfHc/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="194" width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRU-64xpO1mbAAjARsK39iebuspAsKX-Pif0G24sietkh-I8AsHSdOlqTqGOx8OlfYhu4mzI5LjDH8pQcOmaJSYPW2SqvANwPqSzOU3LeipBM2oYVrBFLkDjVbzCBIQ7MV3dCpg5HMRfHc/s400/images.jpg" /></a></div>
But if you are truly honest with yourself, almost everything that happens to you is your own fucking fault. Whining that it was someone else’s responsibility or screw up is useless at best and sheer cowardliness at worst. Either way, nothing gets done.
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It sounds bleak, but there is a very powerful upside: if it is your fault, you can fix it. And if you can’t fix it, at least you will learn from it, which is the whole point of fucking up in the first place. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-29394080128173162492012-07-20T16:09:00.000-07:002012-07-20T16:09:57.958-07:00The Incomplete Diver<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4INpUmThrcbiQ745OlLrMyg9Q5iq7vPga_5d83y3lLWaGEikLidy88Q8rQYzUILKTl5fWfhsO6CJh43YKYPMCw7A6znZsIw9_IP7bmcv-q6oXRg2Xre9R2KY_S7PQrsYit0khyphenhyphen8vwI9T/s1600/CompletDiverR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4INpUmThrcbiQ745OlLrMyg9Q5iq7vPga_5d83y3lLWaGEikLidy88Q8rQYzUILKTl5fWfhsO6CJh43YKYPMCw7A6znZsIw9_IP7bmcv-q6oXRg2Xre9R2KY_S7PQrsYit0khyphenhyphen8vwI9T/s320/CompletDiverR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">In retrospect I was probably a terrible diver. I could never quite figure out the correct weight I needed for buoyancy in salt water and as a result, I usually ended up slowly sinking to the bottom. It might not sound like much, but buoyancy is a critical skill for divers, both for the prevention of stuff like the bends, and for the protection of the plants and animals that don’t appreciate some idiot in a hundred pounds of gear crashing down on their heads. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">But I love the smell of neoprene and salt water and had I had always planned to getting into it more seriously. I was getting close too; through ebay, kijiji and some generous donations, I had almost a complete kit. The only thing left was a couple of good tanks and then I could go whenever I wanted and all I’d need was an air-fill. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">And therein lies the rub. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Chemotherapy fucks you up. My hair didn’t even start coming back until two months after my last session. It’s coming back gray and I’ve still got some bald patches that only my wife knows about. My thumbnails look like they’ve been run over by a bulldozer and by the end of the day my feet and hands feel like they’ve been hooked up to a car battery. Nothing too serious, but I GOTTA get a decent pair of shoes.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">But it also took a weed-whacker through my lungs. I’m now at a permanent risk for pulmonary fibrosis and oxygen toxicity; my lungs can turn to tissue paper at any time or cause a buildup of oxygen in my tissues leading to everything from delusionary euphoria to being dead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, breathing compressed air is not such a good idea and the doctor even recommended I get a medical alert bracelet, which makes me wonder how often she thinks I like to suck on a hose. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I sold the last of my diving kit this morning. It was hard to let it go. Harder than I thought it would be. If you've ever thought about trying it, I cannot recommend it enough. I've had some amazing times and met some incredible people, and then I realize all the amazing things and unfufilled plans that I will now never get to see or do. It sucks and it is not fair. But cancer sucks and as for fairness well, spend some time on a cancer ward, or any hospital for a day and talk to talk about life being fair. It will leave scars, and I’m not just talking about the zipper strip down my chest or my extra belly-button. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Fuck it, there is no sense hanging on to the things you will never use. I can’t dive, but from a certain perspective that seems like a fair trade-off to not dying. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Besides, I kept the wet-suit. Next summer I am thinking about taking up surfing. </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-90218057266102799782012-06-27T21:06:00.000-07:002012-06-27T21:06:07.750-07:00The fine line between replicating cells and cancer,<a href="http://io9.com/5915426/the-fine-line-between-replicating-cells-and-cancer-explained?tag=io9-backgrounder">expained.</a> via io9Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-30897478686977223712012-06-08T12:40:00.000-07:002012-06-08T12:40:01.380-07:00My New Bellybutton.The surgery was not nearly as fun as the made it look in the brochure. I actually do have a brochure; it is what they give you nowadays instead of having a surgeon actually come out and talk to you. There is large rack in the surgical ward filled with similar brochures covering everything from appendicitis to open heart surgery and eye-removal.<P>
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I don’t remember much, just them jamming the epidural between my shoulder blades and the anaesthesiologist saying goodbye, but from all reports everything went spectacularly well. They pulled Kuato screaming into the daylight and sliced him up on a laboratory plate. He measured about the size of my fist and according to the report, contained muscle, lung and keratin fibres. Extreme teratomas have also been known to have hair and proto-teeth, which makes them fun fodder for freak-o-the-week medical shows, but if Kuato said anything about his treatment, they didn’t tell me.
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As one friend said, it doesn’t matter if he contained pure plutonium, what matters is that they got him out clean. That they did and the worst case post-surgery scenarios (not being able to talk properly, partial paralysis of my diaphragm and the tumour having invaded nearby organs, etc) are now behind me. I do now have an extra bellybutton, which was not a scenario they covered in the brochure.
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I’m not 100% out of the woods yet though; they are going to run the mangled pieces of Kuato under the microscope to check the location and percentage of the remaining active cancer cells. Depending on those tests, they may determine that I need another round or two of chemo just to make sure that no active cancer escaped during the surgery. Even if I get the chemo it is more of precaution, but I would really rather not. It seems a shame to go through all that again just as my hair is starting to come back in.
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In the meantime, it’s been almost a month since the surgery and also two since I’ve finished chemo and I’m starting to climb the walls at home. The list of do’s and don’ts after the surgery was pretty long because they don’t want me pulling at the rabbit wire they used to knit my sternum back into place: I’m not allowed to lift anything, pick anything up, let the cats sit on me, walk the dog, drive, mow the lawn, sleep on my side or take a bath for at least six weeks. I’ve never felt so much like a sick person in my life than watching my wife and mother-in law garden all weekend while I sat on a chair like Grandpa at Shady Pines.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-16724803222180743512012-05-22T12:48:00.001-07:002012-05-22T13:30:04.513-07:00Chemo's Last LaughI stink. I don’t mean just because I just walked the dog wearing four layers of clothing on a warm spring morning (I get cold), but there seems to have been a fundamental shift in my body chemistry. I don’t smell like myself anymore.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivVEafC-dc6sWKCeKd_dBQizrss3ovcev8f057FKgJ9bO6h_No4vgSzm_yb5Sakmea61g4691L0TmrtLU5j8VhoTL7HWIB-RNpGoPp1s8E9NXg1mGFQeRPfNiPYXxmb-LIBKqbcxl-YKx/s1600/hexxus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivVEafC-dc6sWKCeKd_dBQizrss3ovcev8f057FKgJ9bO6h_No4vgSzm_yb5Sakmea61g4691L0TmrtLU5j8VhoTL7HWIB-RNpGoPp1s8E9NXg1mGFQeRPfNiPYXxmb-LIBKqbcxl-YKx/s320/hexxus.jpg" /></a></div>The chemo had one last laugh sometime between the end of my treatments and the surgery. Nothing serious, but my thumbnails now look like troll claws, I lost the remaining hair under my arms and the chemical stink oozing out of my pores means I’m showering as often as possible and wearing out deodorant sticks at a furious pace. When I came out of surgery I had thought the smell was coming off the hospital issued gowns and slips of paper they call bedsheets, but alas, the first night home in my own bed confirmed that it was in fact, coming from me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-54069471197077336112012-05-09T18:03:00.001-07:002012-05-09T18:03:29.413-07:00Cuz Clowns are Scary Too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnAVZ9elsA1oh6BREahhUlHmqRe6JqVBEbPJGzUS6TYy1tsa33TkbWAjj_7caeUkH2rNmezQu_uiKTKslgfEs6xJqGkK1oaseVXXQjacO62D-28xuKorQNuZYOB8C7YJHZkiiRgm2piNk/s1600/childrens_hospital_bloody_clown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnAVZ9elsA1oh6BREahhUlHmqRe6JqVBEbPJGzUS6TYy1tsa33TkbWAjj_7caeUkH2rNmezQu_uiKTKslgfEs6xJqGkK1oaseVXXQjacO62D-28xuKorQNuZYOB8C7YJHZkiiRgm2piNk/s200/childrens_hospital_bloody_clown.jpg" /></a></div>The circus really begins tomorrow with the arrival of my parents in town, just in time for me to get a last minute transfusion to top up my platelets before the big show. Friday morning I am getting a Transternal Resection, or a Sternotomy … or in laymen’s terms, open heart surgery.
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Actually, I’m not sure that is technically the right term for it as I don’t think they will be directly exposing my heart, even with the ribs open the heart is in a big bag called the pericardium sack. Anyway, they aren’t interested in my heart; they are going in after Kuato, the cancer that has been squatting in my chest the past year or so.
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We did find out, through a conversation with a very friendly, if gigantic Russian doctor, that the chemo pounded the little fucker down from 13.2cm to 9.1cm. It’s nice to hear that I didn’t go through three months of hell for nothing. Big Russian Doctor btw, is the guy who’ll be giving me my drugs because in Russia, drugs do you. Its cool though, he’s the same guy who hooked me up when they yanked out my gallbladder and I didn’t feel a frackin' thing! The guy actually cutting me open has a wing of the hospital named after his family. I choose to be encouraged by that and not suspect nepotism or a large endowment of any kind.
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Can’t say I’m not nervous about this, but I’m a little excited too. If all goes well, it represents the beginning of the end of this, rather unexpected chapter of my life.
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Here goes … everything!
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For the less squeamish, here is some youtube footage of how they are going in after the little fucker.
<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/r7RsB0BA4EI?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-49190998593872924082012-05-02T07:36:00.000-07:002012-05-02T07:36:25.625-07:00The Post Chemo BluesI had my last scheduled chemotherapy last Friday. I’d have posted sooner, but I find that I’m not really in the mood to celebrate, mostly because there was the wave of side effects to get through first.
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The chemo did another number on my blood cell counts. Not enough to require another transfusion, but enough to push them to the borderline which meant getting up very early on a Saturday and trudging all the way downtown for a simple follow-up blood test. In more productive testing news, Monday morning I had my post-chemo CAT scan to see if the treatments have had any effect on the size of the tumour (I find out the results next week). They had to put an IV line in to inject some dye, but when the test was over and they removed the line, they didn’t put enough pressure and I didn’t pay enough attention. Thanks to my low platelets, I ended up bleeding all over the floor of the CT room which I though was pretty funny, but that may have been the lack of blood.
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Then right on schedule the wave of side-effects hit me yesterday. My brain was filled with chemo-fog and my body felt like it weighed twice what it should. There isn’t much you can do on those days besides nap and feel useless.
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Cancer is easy to understand, or at least mine was. There is a tumour so you fry it in chemo then cut it out. It is the side effects of the chemo that scare me. I can’t look down at my swollen, discoloured fingers and wonder what scars the treatments might have permanently left me with. They told me going in that I’ll never scuba dive again or be able to have children. Both took some getting used to, but in the end they seemed a reasonable trade off for saving my life.
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What they don’t tell you are the side effects they can’t predict. Everyone gets their own unique set and they can’t tell you how long it will take for them to fade away, or even if they ever will. Will I ever be able to walk barefoot on a hardwood floor without cringing or climb a flight of stairs without wheezing? Swimming through high school and university had left me with a pretty solid set of lungs, but now I get winded after a vigorous shower. If I push it too far, I can feel my body sucking in breaths in ways it never did before and it terrifies me. They are going to be cutting into my chest soon and there are risks associated there as well, so will I ever get back to where I was? Almost forty is a tough time to be starting over.
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I’m not really depressed or anything, just venting. On the good days I try to get ahead and plan for the future. On the bad, I do what I can and listen to a lot of Warren Zevon, Today I feel better than yesterday. Tomorrow I’ll take as it comes.<br><center>
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rxt_GHYmolI?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-69185290748690995812012-04-16T08:17:00.001-07:002012-04-16T08:19:13.778-07:00A Season in Hell<a href="http://boingboing.net/2012/04/12/hell.html">A Season in Hell,</a><br />by Mark DeryUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-35806755932958663512012-04-09T18:13:00.004-07:002012-04-09T18:36:40.011-07:00My Five Side Effects that have Stumped the DoctorsI’m alive! Turns out the fever was a drug reaction, not an illness, but it still meant I had to spend five days in hospital while they pumped me full of blood and electrolytes to get my counts up.<br /><br /><center><iframe height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-Vw2CrY9Igs?rel=0" frameborder="0" width="420"></iframe><br /><span style="font-size:+0;">(If you've not seen this movie, do so)</span></center><br />The bad news is I have to go back in Thursday or Friday and will have to spend another weekend in the ward, but the good news is that it’s the start of my last round of chemotherapy! Can’t say it’s been a fun process, but so far I’m still on track to be done with this nonsense. It hasn’t been without it is surprises however, for me and for my doctors. So in honour of my last visit, here are:<br /><br /><strong>My Five Side Effects that have Stumped the Doctors</strong><br /><strong>1) Constantly Running Nose</strong><br />Not the most socially pleasing effects, but thankfully one that can be treated by making sure that I’ve always got one of the dozens of mini-kleenex boxes I stole from the hospital close at hand.<br /><br />I’ve had, at rough count, blood taken twenty times in the past five days (and from the same two veins, just to torture the crap out of me), and I have been tested for everything from ebola to corn pops, so they know that I’m not sick in sense of having a cold or flu. Then just for fun it culminates every couple of days in me blowing a blood clot the size of a loonie out of my nose.<br /><br />Likely Cause: No idea, but in a pattern that will become apparent, the nurse were not surprised by this, even if the doctors can’t tell me why it’s happening.<br /><br /><strong>2) Fevers</strong><br />Like the runny nose, I don’t have any signifiers of being sick, yet that was my second severe fever in two months. Luckily, they know exactly how to test and treat it, (I even carry around a take home crib-note version to give to Emergency Room doctors), but I never did get an adequate explanation as to why it happened.<br /><br />Likely Cause: Some sort of reaction to the chemo drug. It came on almost instantly after my last express-chemo session.<br /><br /><strong>3) Blisters</strong><br />My fingers are turning brown and I’m getting gross blisters growing on my fingers and palms. This has been happening since the last time I was in hospital two weeks ago and I pointed it out to the doctors back then. One of the nurses sent me home with a couple of creams that have worked on other patients, but this morning when I pointed out the new blisters forming on my ankles and elbows to the oncologist on-call, she said, ”I dunno. I’ll have to look that up.’<br /><br />Thanks, genius!<br /><br />Likely Cause: Thankfully, that oncologist isn’t one of my regular doctors. A two second Google search backed up by a consult with my actual oncologist who explained that the chemo drugs can filter down to the finer capillaries at the low gravity points (like hands and ankles) and leak out, causing blistering or sunburn-like symptoms.<br /><br /><strong>4) Neuropathy</strong><br />My personal choice for least favourite side effect. The crippling pain in my feet that left me barely able to walk and the lobster-claw stiffness in my hands has faded considerably, but still not gone and I still take a couple of pills a day specifically to prevent it from becoming more uncomfortable. Nor can they promise me that it will ever go away, though they are “pretty-sure” that it will fade with time.<br /><br />“Pretty sure” is a pretty big leap considering that when the symptoms first presented they were flinging me back and forth to rheumatology, to infectious disease, to neurology to GI in an effort to prove that the pain was being caused by anything but the chemo drugs.<br /><br />Likely Cause: Chemo neuropathy isn’t that uncommon, but it normal presents as tingling or numbness. I’m sure that the exact reason I got it so quickly, severely and painfully is buried in some medical journal somewhere, but so far no one has been able to adequately explain it to me.<br /><br /><strong>5) Kuato</strong><br />As I’ve said before, and even explained to a number of emergency room doctors, councillors and med-students, a teratoma is a “side-effect’ tumour that normally indicates the presence of other, more common germ-cell tumours. And in a man my age it almost guarantees the presence of testicular cancer.<br /><br />I don’t have any sign of any of that (knock wood!) As far as anyone can tell, it is just the teratoma. No one has any real idea why, but it is rare enough that I’m getting a little extra attention from the oncology department, so I’m not complaining.<br /><br />Likely Cause: All cancer is caused by genetics plus environment. So somewhere in me was the genetic disposition to getting a teratoma, though cancer in my family is rare. The environmental factor is harder to pin down, but my personal hunch is that it had something to do with the drugs I was on to treat my Crohn’s disease.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-3020043226471335672012-03-31T08:59:00.000-07:002012-03-31T09:00:36.352-07:00The War Inside MeI keep thinking that I’m going to get used to this. The first round laid me pretty flat, but I came out of round two feeling pretty good. So this round was supposed to be easier, right?<br /><br />The doctors did warn me that it doesn’t work that way; the chemo builds in your system and each round takes a little more out of you than the time before. <br /><br />After weeks of being assaulted by chemo and hospital food, my taste buds seem to have completely packed it in. I wouldn’t mind so much, but the dead taste they left in my mouth is truly revolting. Add to that the other, “digestive issues” I’ve been having and it can make for a pretty disgusting day. <br /><br />The pain in my hands and feet has faded, but there is new evidence of the chemical warfare raging inside me. The skin on my hands has become thin and blistered as the chemo slowly ekes out of the capillaries. It makes things like holding stuff, turning on light switches, and brushing my teeth painful and stingy, and I tore a good chunk of skin off one finger undertaking the delicate procedure of opening a blind. At least this is a side effect they were expecting, even if their best treatment option is just lots and lots of glycerine. <br /><br />Add to the general malaise, fatigue and a serious case of chemo brain has made the week go by in a hazy fuzz. The good news is that round three is over on Good Friday, which puts me within striking distance of finally being finishing with this nonsense.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-79015080156044378552012-03-29T06:54:00.002-07:002012-03-29T06:58:45.606-07:00Well these are not reasurring<a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/03/28/us-science-cancer-idUSBRE82R12P20120328">In cancer science, many "discoveries" don't hold up.</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.cbc.ca/marketplace/2012/dirtyhospitals/">And a Marketplace report on just how dirty Canadian hopsitals are.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-49649965035419068522012-03-16T19:41:00.002-07:002012-03-16T19:55:35.689-07:00Halfway ThereToday was a good day. I got downtown early and was able to get through blood tests and express-chemo in record time. I was already downtown, so I stopped in to see some work friends, fill out a little paperwork and was still home before noon. <br /><br />Today is the unofficial last day of winter here on the east coast. There’s still snow on the ground but the temperature is rising with double digits expected over the weekend. It was still cool and snowy enough when I got home that I was able to take Nakita on a long romp down the street and into the woods for a bit. <br /><br />This morning was also the last session of round two, making it the official halfway point of my chemotherapy. Next week round three starts in earnest, meaning a couple of longer sessions in the chair but at the end each day I’ll be able to go home, sleep next to my wife and most importantly, eat non-hospital food. <br /><br />I’m feeling pretty good right now. I’ll spare you the details about the blood clots in my nose and I have a few achy bones and joints from the home injections to boost my white-cell production. I’m still experiencing chemo neuropathy: muffled hearing, stiff hands and pain in my feet, but I’m able to walk well enough to take Nakita out, I can do stuff around the house and the pain is manageable with meds. <br /><br />There’ll be more side effects to come, but at this halfway point I have come to realize just how lucky I’ve been through this process. I’m otherwise feeling fairly healthy, my diagnosis hasn’t changed (official update to come on Tuesday) and my long term outlook remains positive. If everything goes to plan, I’ll be done chemo in six weeks then I’m looking at the surgery, which we’ll deal with when it comes. <br /><br />I have a huge support network I love more than anything and that I owe more than I can ever hope to pay back. Support ranges from my wife, our families, Nakita (never underestimate the help of a good dog), the nurses and doctors (I’ve been EXTREMELY lucky), friends who came to visit my in hospital, took me to movies, cooked me dinner, and made me hats. Then there’s everyone who’s sent me a card, email or posted an encouraging comment. Believe me, every little gesture is appreciated. <br /><br />When I think of people I’ve meet that aren’t as lucky, I realize how good I’ve got it. There’s <a href="http://www.teamgreggybear.com/blog/">Greg Hebert</a> and our friend who watched her boyfriend waste away from throat cancer. The man I met who casually mentioned he just started his sixth year of treatment or the elderly couple dealing with liver cancer. The joking teen in the hospital kitchen with testicular cancer who was clearly terrified and certainly not last nor least, the leukemia patient who was about to be released after six months in the oncology ward, but didn’t want to go home because the last time he’d gone back to Cape Breton an infection set in and nearly killed him. <br /><br />I can’t buy into the premise that people who are suffering with, or have survived serious illness are suppose to come out of it better people with some sort of insight the rest of the world doesn’t have. I think they are regular people just trying to get by under incredible circumstances. But no matter what kind of person they are, they will find a depth of both courage and fear they have never experience before. And I also know that at some point, it is coming for everyone. <br /><br />So what whatever your journey is through life, I wish you all the love and support that that I have experienced these past months, and it breaks my heart to know that not everyone will get it. <br /><br />“May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you, and the pure light within you guide your way on your way home.”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-12688059982214287922012-03-07T05:33:00.003-08:002012-03-07T05:51:42.654-08:00Surviving the HospitalBarring another fever, my days as an inpatient should be over! However, I did get to spend the bulk of February in the hospital and I thought I'd pass on a few tips about surviving your Hospital visit. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaT54isL23o9vaPRTziE2E1ElNrGAfEG2q6j7_S8jupRcFeBa5kPiVN7yvMeExhw-h4P7Ig1Xh5dvVDl3GZiCscMXmC2mk0gxpNppDBRrTe_-B5RjQtcjmUlA38LCqq16hZaLrIt58KBEd/s1600/tumor.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaT54isL23o9vaPRTziE2E1ElNrGAfEG2q6j7_S8jupRcFeBa5kPiVN7yvMeExhw-h4P7Ig1Xh5dvVDl3GZiCscMXmC2mk0gxpNppDBRrTe_-B5RjQtcjmUlA38LCqq16hZaLrIt58KBEd/s400/tumor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717152084681979650" /></a><strong>Sleep When You Can</strong><br />It starts very, very early in the hospital. If I was lucky I’d get to sleep until 7am before the morning rush of nurses, blood tests, doctor visits, vital signs, cleaners, breakfast, students, nurse’s aids and morning meds. Then once that started to die down, chemo would start around nine, which meant having the nurse come in every hour or so change the bags and deal with the constant beeping of the IV. For my first round of chemo, that went on for nine hours a day. When I went in to the hospital a second time, I had a fever which meant the IV was running constantly for three days. <br /><br />You’re nights won’t be much better. Look forward to nightly meds, vitals checks, bed checks and bored nurses talking in the hallways. Sleep when you can. <br /><br /><strong>TV Service</strong><br />If you must, but my advise is to get internet and/or a portable DVD player. At plus+ten dollars a day for basic cable, the hospital TV service is pure rip off (see below)<br /><br /><strong>Internet</strong><br />Not all the wards have internet, but it is becoming more common. Immediately check to see if you have access to a network to avoid paying the TV costs because it is easy nowadays to catch up on most shows via the web. <br /><br /><strong>Movies</strong><br />If you have access to a portable DVD player or a tumbdrive full of favourites, this is also far and away a better bet than the TV service. <br /><br /><strong>Shave your Forearms</strong><br />If you’re due for a lot of IV, it is better this than having each individual hair pulled out painfully piece by piece every time they have to move a piece of tape. <br /><br /><strong>Bring Food</strong><br />They make hospital food jokes for a reason. It is really, really bad. Make sure you have a bag of granola bars, fruit and some treats stashed somewhere. And god help you on fish Fridays – diet permitting, this is the day for take out. <br /><br /><strong>Learn to Horde</strong><br />If they bring it to you and you don’t need it right away, squirrel it away. This goes for everything from meds to sugar packets to peanut butter and plastic cutlery. Because there will always be a time later when you really need something but you won’t have it. My re-occurring problem was they would always bring me cereal in the morning, but no milk. <br /><br /><strong>Pillows and Blankets and Sundries</strong><br />Just when you think you’ve gotten comfortable with the blankets, they’ll come and change your bed leaving you with nothing but a paper thin sheet and napkin for a bedspread. Bring in a spare blanket from home that they can’t steal, and a pillow too if you can. The hospital ones are wrapped in plastic that always causes the pillowcase to slip off and you wake up every morning with your head sweaty and stuck. <br /><br />Things like shaving cream, razors, toothbrushes, toothpaste and mouthwash are also advised. The hospital has its own versions if you’re desperate, but you aren’t going to like them. <br /><br /><strong>Lock Up Your Stuff!</strong><br />I lost two good pens to well meaning nurses. Plus the hospitals are full of people just wandering around, not all of whom are that well meaning. Most rooms have a locker, so bring a lock and make sure you’re valuables are locked away when you’re not around or asleep (or at least lock your suitcase or bag). This goes double in a shared room and triple for day-surgeries and out-patient treatments like blood work or day chemo.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-14397945742569364752012-03-03T04:58:00.004-08:002012-03-03T07:41:01.811-08:00So What Do I Have, Exactly?I’ve been asked this question once or twice so I shall attempt to clarify:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCNUkuT4nMU8Yur8eJ-_jDyQMl8JmekIOQBmW5dD5daExlowkIK2BEjA4MhayD1RGdiCJ7H0bbONxIpqQJlVGYqNgOm0THAwSsjEtfqGySE8FyK6Z2M9442APRBaw01-cRUCnVIEK9eEQ/s1600/kuato99.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 161px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCNUkuT4nMU8Yur8eJ-_jDyQMl8JmekIOQBmW5dD5daExlowkIK2BEjA4MhayD1RGdiCJ7H0bbONxIpqQJlVGYqNgOm0THAwSsjEtfqGySE8FyK6Z2M9442APRBaw01-cRUCnVIEK9eEQ/s400/kuato99.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715655858175472306" /></a>I have a nine-centimetre mass in the left-to-mid side of my upper chest. It is sitting on top of my lung and pressing towards my heart. We have unaffectionatly dubbed him Kuato. <br /><br />Its official cancer name is an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teratoma">immature teratoma</a>, which is actually a good news since they the initial diagnosis where lung cancer or lymphoma (that was a bad month). <br /><br />There are embryonic cells left over from when you where nothing more than a zygote. These cells are primarily found deep inside your body and for most people they’ll never cause a problem. However, every once and while, one of them decides NOW is the time to start growing, but without instructions to grow into anything specific, they become a tumour. <br /><br />In men my age, that usually happens in the testicles. This can start a chain reaction up the body, stirring other embryonic cells to start to grow. Some of these grow into more aggressive germ-cell tumours (this is what happened to Lance Armstrong) while others become less aggressive teratomas.<br /><br />I’ve been poked, scanned, shot through with sound waves and Xrays until I glow in the dark, but they can’t find a trace of anything else, yet. I’m doing chemo because all that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something lurking around deep inside somewhere, still only a few cells wide but waiting to explode. <br /><br />What makes me a frickin’ medical anomaly I have no sign of the more aggressive germ-cell types. So far I only have Kuato. The chances of getting a teratoma on its own are so rare that I’ve actually become something of a case study. <br /><br />The good news in all of this is that immature teratomas are very self contained and not likely to spread (though they can grow teeth and hair). <br /><br />The bad news is that given its location in my chest, I may be looking at some major surgery. Teratomas don’t respond that well to chemo, but even if they can shrink it down a little, it would help.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-77888996741016006912012-03-01T06:13:00.002-08:002012-03-01T06:18:57.478-08:00Round II: FIGHT!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihe7DM_2YPriah0FqSWqjdPnLb__6blLVOhzsgo6khvlCsX5HQ3m1BFtBgF5cMRTeQTJC8VH3VvdWcVAQhVb7hHSOczhL1ovPhadbVo6g0ulForius5KrTM8TiXZgzlM800HumIyY1NOZS/s1600/round+two.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihe7DM_2YPriah0FqSWqjdPnLb__6blLVOhzsgo6khvlCsX5HQ3m1BFtBgF5cMRTeQTJC8VH3VvdWcVAQhVb7hHSOczhL1ovPhadbVo6g0ulForius5KrTM8TiXZgzlM800HumIyY1NOZS/s400/round+two.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714931992108778482" /></a>Fun new medical term: Chemo-induced neuropathy. After being bounced from GI to rheumatology to infectious disease and finally to neurology, it turns out the infectious disease doctor was right; it is the chemo that is causing the pain in my hands and feet. <br /><br />It is kind of a good news / bad news situation. The good news is that I don’t have complications from the Crohn’s, arthritis or meningitis, but on the other hand, they don’t know how the next three cycles of chemo will affect the neuropathy and worse yet, they can’t make any predictions of when it will fade away, if ever. I do get codine upon request now, so I suppose it isn’t all bad news. <br /><br />To try and limit the effects, they are switching out one of the chemo drugs, but like every thing else in this crazy story, it comes with some trade offs. The drug they are taking me off was the one that was rough on my bladder (V) and they are going to switch me over to the one that will be hard on my lungs (B). Real hard … like wearing a medic-alert bracelet for the rest of my life and never being able to scuba dive again, hard. <br /><br />And the fun part is that V and B aren’t even the drugs responsible for the neuropathy. That is the chemo drug called cisplatin, but cisplatin is the main fighter for germ-cell tumours and they can’t risk changing that out. However V has a history of weird side effects and they’re hoping that it was exacerbating the neuropathy. It gets a little worrisome how often you hear phrases like, ‘we hope’, ‘possibly’ and ‘we’re not sure’ come out of your doctor’s mouth. <br /><br />If my blood work is good, I start the second round of chemo this afternoon. I’m stuck in the hospital through the weekend, but the good news is that if everything goes well, this will be my last round as an in-patient! The bonus from switching from V to B is that I will be able to be an out-patient and go home between treatments. <br /><br />I’ve been in this dump for over a week now and the few precious hours I’ve been able to escape over the past two days has reminded me how much I just want to go home.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-51861754889329440892012-02-26T08:05:00.001-08:002012-02-26T08:29:00.949-08:00Good News, Bad News UpdateThe Good News: I got ice cream for lunch!<br /><br />The Bad News: my bloodwork from this morning sucked, so I have to have another blood transfusion.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-78977461956049534402012-02-26T07:18:00.004-08:002012-02-26T08:05:03.155-08:00What the Hell HappenedLast Tuesday night may have been one of the worst of my life. Soaking my feet in ice water had stopped being effective for a couple of days, but I still did it, mostly to try and numb the constant burning and throbbing that radiated up from my feet and hands and was gradually spreading up my limbs.<br /><br />Minute by agonizing minute, the night ticked by. I’d drift off to sleep for twenty minutes until a twitch or jerk would send a fresh ripple of pain. Just the weight of the blankets was painful. <br /><br />The wife finally came in around six am to check on me and quickly noticed that I’d soaked the sheets in sweat. She ran out to get the thermometer and it wasn’t long after that I was bundled in the car and headed to the hospital.<br /><br />Chemo kicks the crap out your white blood cells, which help you fight off disease. This leaves you very vulnerable to infection and all chemo patients have this card that tells you what to do in case of fever. If you have to go to an ER, you present this card and they don’t make you wait for 6 hours in a room full of infectious sick people. Luckily, we didn’t have to go to the ER this time; we had called ahead and were rushed right up to oncology where they checked me out and the next thing I knew I was admitted. <br /><br />Since we’d gone in such a rush, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and my e-reader. I also spent my few days in the transplant ward (also a place where infection is very dangerous) which didn’t have wifi. <br /><br />Quick run down on the medical stuff. One blood transfusion later and my blood counts are slowly rising plus I haven’t had a fever in a couple of days. And in a development that made me freakin’ ecstatic, this morning they gave me a break from the IV for the first time in four days! It is amazing how much you come to loath those dragging those things around. <br /><br />The silver lining to all this is that while they have to deal with the fever, they have also been looking into the hand and foot pain. They were pretty dismissive when the pain first started and tried to blame it on my Crohn’s, but the problem with that hypothesis is that chemo is usually beneficial for Auto-Immune Disease patients and I’m still taking steroids, both of which would fight any symptoms of Rheumatoid Arthritis. <br /><br />I saw my GI doc on my own while I was bumped to and cleared by Rheumatology. Then they tried Infectious Disease just to make sure I didn’t have meningitis, hepatitis or <a href="http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/001379.htm">transmissible spongiform encephalopathy.</a> My next stop is Neurology on Monday, but the old Infectious Disease doc probably summed it up best with, “All your Doctors are twenty years old, they haven’t seen shit. Its one of the chemo drugs, you’re just having a bad reaction.” Then again, he also tried to test the reflexes of my ankles by grabbing them real hard and whacking them with a hammer. He thought my reflexes were a little slow, as they might be since I was arched over backwards in pain at the time. <br /><br />On Monday I have an appointment with my main Doctor (who was on a deserved vacation last week) and will be looked over by Neurology. Hopefully they will clear me as well and we can get back to figuring out which drug is boiling my feet in acid. My real hope however is that they let me go home for a day or two this week. My next five-day round of Chemo is due to start Thursday.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-38348376761971228832012-02-21T06:51:00.000-08:002012-02-21T06:56:21.582-08:00My Crack Medical Team<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZ0qxN8F4zSdth1B4O_uxPICxrDwaGT7cG-b2gdAPwyMe772Q4YsPMlWkCzu1XqvGZ-WweAK69c4et93gjY1cl4PDmHL7ZZ9GHAqMosJsWFrq-9yGizGsReK-zYkCq_wiM5aTlngK34aA/s1600/medteam.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZ0qxN8F4zSdth1B4O_uxPICxrDwaGT7cG-b2gdAPwyMe772Q4YsPMlWkCzu1XqvGZ-WweAK69c4et93gjY1cl4PDmHL7ZZ9GHAqMosJsWFrq-9yGizGsReK-zYkCq_wiM5aTlngK34aA/s400/medteam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711602868710785090" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8080463512004034697.post-14821198150258932592012-02-21T05:16:00.001-08:002012-02-21T05:18:52.615-08:00My Cancer DayAnother sleepless night on the couch. As much as I long for my warm, comfy bed, if I am to hope for any sort of rest, warm and comfy are no longer parts of the equation. Besides, it would not be fair to the Wife to subject her to a night of twitching and jerks, especially since she just drifted off watching ‘The Walking Dead’. <br /><br />So Nakita and I curl up in the living room with the heat turned off and a bucket of cold water on the floor. Usually around three or four the Husky gives up and goes downstairs where it’s warmer, or where she at least doesn’t have to put up with me stepping over her head every hour. <br /><br />The bucket of water is for my feet when the cramps start up. After about five minutes of soaking, if I’m lucky, the water works, the cramps fade and I’ll drift off again, only to spasm awake an hour later as blood flow returns with a vengeance and my feet instantly feel like they’ve been clamped in a vice.<br /><br />It happens in my hands too, but it’s easier to ignore and I can sometimes massage the cramps out. Other times, it means stumbling to the bathroom to stick them under the sink, or if I can’t be bothered, just sitting hunched over with all four extremities in the bucket. <br /><br />So combine all that with the normal perils of sleeping on a couch just few inches short of comfortable stretching out length and as the sun rises I’m usually wide awake and watching the Canada AM hosts begin their daily death march across five and a half time zones. <br /><br />Throughout the day, my skin feels like it has shrunk three sizes making it tight and painful to move, especially around major joints or in my face. Where it isn’t tight, it feels like someone turned the sensitivity of every nerve ending up to 11 which can cause waves of unpleasant, prickling sensation from even the lightest touch. When they happen together, I twitch like I’ve just been zapped with a taser. <br /><br />I eat something small, mostly to cushion the blow of the dozen pills I’ve got to swallow, and then begin the morning rituals of wife and animal care. Once everyone is taken care off, the steroids are about due to kick in, giving me my most productive, if manic hours of the day. My goal right now is to get at least one major chore done a day and hopefully have enough strength left to let Nakita drag me down the street. <br /><br />By the time we get back I’m usually completely hobbled by foot cramps, which means sitting in a tub of cold water, psyching myself up and numbing myself out as much as I can before attempting to have a shower. What happen next is probably the most unpleasant ten minutes of my day. <br /><br />Utterly defeated and jerking around like Joe Cocker, I crawl into bed for a nap. Though I’ve only got an hour or two before the cramps wake me up again, with the steroid high wearing off and the rigours of the morning, this will be the most intense sleep I get all day. <br /><br />The rest of the afternoon and evenings pass by in a gradually thickening fog filled with whatever bouts of productivity I can squeeze in between the spasms, crawling skin, cramps, nosebleeds and general discomfort. <br /><br />The thing is that I actually think I'm starting to feel a little better. It’s been a week and a day since I got out of hospital, with about ten days to go until I go back in for round two and it finally feels like some of the chemo kickback is starting to clear. I’m looking forward to the next few days, and utterly terrified at how bad I’m going to feel in a month.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0