In reverse:
One of my most enjoyable post-diagnosis moments occurred last night as Owen and I watched from the couch as Frances and CJ had a dance-off to "Little Red Corvette."
Christi asked me to buy his Greatest Hits since all my Prince records were curbed long ago and the CDs are boxed up in the basement.
Christi saw Prince in concert last Saturday.
I urged Christi to go to the concert for a well-deserved night off from running the house and keeping me healthy.
Christi's friend Susan asked her to go to see Prince in concert.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
2B or not 2B
Yesterday I received my pathology report, and for what it's worth, my cancer has been staged as "2B." I say "for what it's worth" because my Oncologist may stage it differently based on the blood work and CT scan I will have before beginning my chemo. And also because it's just a number (with a trailing letter.) I think we all know or have heard of people who have died from lesser cancers and survived greater cancers.
In all, my surgeon removed twenty-five lymph nodes from around my pancreas. Nine of them came back cancerous. Twenty-five would have been worse - one would have been great. Not unexpected news.
As for the tumour itself, the margins surrounding it came back cancer-free, which is nice. Also not unexpected news.
The tumour had grown quite quickly. I am willing to believe this since I felt pretty fit all spring and summer, when it was likely just a cute little baby tumour.
I can't recall the big word used to describe my tumour, but I do think that it meant the cells were poorly differentiated, which limits the variety of chemotherapies available to me.
What none of the above changes is the severity of chemo I will undergo. What made me an unlikely candidate for this disease continues to work in my favour when it comes to beating it. My young age, physical fitness and (cookies and ice cream aside) healthy lifestyle mean I am able to absorb the most effective/brutal treatment they can throw at me.
Six months (or more) of discomfort and misery is a pretty cheap lottery ticket if the prize is a few more decades of life.
In all, my surgeon removed twenty-five lymph nodes from around my pancreas. Nine of them came back cancerous. Twenty-five would have been worse - one would have been great. Not unexpected news.
As for the tumour itself, the margins surrounding it came back cancer-free, which is nice. Also not unexpected news.
The tumour had grown quite quickly. I am willing to believe this since I felt pretty fit all spring and summer, when it was likely just a cute little baby tumour.
I can't recall the big word used to describe my tumour, but I do think that it meant the cells were poorly differentiated, which limits the variety of chemotherapies available to me.
What none of the above changes is the severity of chemo I will undergo. What made me an unlikely candidate for this disease continues to work in my favour when it comes to beating it. My young age, physical fitness and (cookies and ice cream aside) healthy lifestyle mean I am able to absorb the most effective/brutal treatment they can throw at me.
Six months (or more) of discomfort and misery is a pretty cheap lottery ticket if the prize is a few more decades of life.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Cyclocross Revisited
Today was the last CX race of the season, and I couldn't resist the pull. So I borrowed my Mom's car (thanks Mom!) and drove up to Albion Hills in style. I'm not a car guy, but her 2011 Mini Countryman squashes our 2007 Toyota RAV4 like a grape.
With my 3D camera (which I won (this year hasn't been all bad)) in hand, I wandered around the course shooting footage of Ed and James. Sadly for James, he flatted on the first lap. Ed rode a pretty solid race, but since his last big ride was the 3000m gain up the 57km of Mt. Haleakala, he wasn't feeling too punchy.
More than a few people approached me to see how I was doing. Although I am a bit sick of talking about my cancer, I didn't mind it today. I felt genuine belief from everyone I talked to that I'd be back on the bike and covered in mud next year. As far as vibes go, belief is better than hope.
The best part (I think) was that I was happy just to watch, cheer and heckle. Even I am smart enough to know that I would have suffered miserably if I were out there - that knowledge suppressed any desire to be on my bike.
But there's still the New Year's Eve race.
With my 3D camera (which I won (this year hasn't been all bad)) in hand, I wandered around the course shooting footage of Ed and James. Sadly for James, he flatted on the first lap. Ed rode a pretty solid race, but since his last big ride was the 3000m gain up the 57km of Mt. Haleakala, he wasn't feeling too punchy.
More than a few people approached me to see how I was doing. Although I am a bit sick of talking about my cancer, I didn't mind it today. I felt genuine belief from everyone I talked to that I'd be back on the bike and covered in mud next year. As far as vibes go, belief is better than hope.
The best part (I think) was that I was happy just to watch, cheer and heckle. Even I am smart enough to know that I would have suffered miserably if I were out there - that knowledge suppressed any desire to be on my bike.
But there's still the New Year's Eve race.
First Backwards Step
The confidence I've been building from my steady improvement has been blunted somewhat. For the past few days I've had pain in my abdomen that can best be described as a dozen little knives stabbing me just below my ribcage. Before my operation I was told that about 20% of distal panceatectomies leak through the stitches. Basically, the digestive enzymes created by the pancreas make their way into the body cavity. I understand this is usually accompanied by a fever, so the fact that I feel otherwise healthy is a good sign.
Maybe I'm just overeating.
Friday, November 25, 2011
It's Been At Least A Week Since I Mentioned Cycling
So I will do so in two ways.
While I am amazed at how well I feel, it's a fact that I don't feel 100% healthy. I get tired pretty quickly, my stomach gets upset easily, and I feel as if Nolan Ryan drilled me in the Xiphoid Process with his fastball. So I don't think I'll be hopping on the bike any time soon. All the better that my teammates not only had me over for a surprise dinner last night, but they also chipped in the get me an indoor trainer.
Riding indoors is going to suck, but at least it won't cost anything! If all goes well, this baby will be for sale before next winter. Feel free to inquire.
The second bike thing is far more important.
On the day of my operation there was a terrible accident that claimed the life of a wonderful woman in our neighbourhood. I myself did not know her, but as a yoga instructor she volunteered her time to teach in my daughter's kindergarten class - her son was Frances' classmate. She was pregnant with her second child when she was killed riding her bike at Dundas and Sterling Avenue. And if that's not tragic enough, her husband is a cancer survivor.
So if you're wondering what to do with some holiday money, please consider a donation to her surviving family. You can do so by checking this page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/192944870785646/
Or through PayPal at https://www.paypal.com to the email in_loving_memory_of_jenna@hotmail.com
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Operation Detail Dump pt. IV: Not A Trilogy
Here's something I learned while I was in the hospital: a sponge bath really isn't enough of a bath for me. I was glad to have Christi try (and really, no offense to my nurses, but none of them were "sexy fantasy nurses") to sponge me clean, but the highlight of my stay was definitely the day I was well enough to have a shower. Looking back, I don't know if I was motivated by health or my own bad odour.
Now you might think that six days in a hospital mostly spent lying down would be excruciatingly boring, but it wasn't. Being tired and being uncomfortable kept me busy enough, but having lots and lots of visitors was the real panacea. I had lots of visitors but not a whole lot of interaction; mostly I enjoyed hanging out with my eyes closed listening to people talk.
My roommates had lots of visitors as well. At times it became a bit of a shouting contest, but even when you whisper in a semi-private room there are no private conversations. Knowing so much about people I couldn't see through a curtain made me feel like I was on "The Dating Game."
But all the racket never bothered me. I guess it was the realization that there's a direct relationship between the decible level of one's visitors and the number of people who care. So it just felt like room 413 was full of patients with friends and families who cared.
Now you might think that six days in a hospital mostly spent lying down would be excruciatingly boring, but it wasn't. Being tired and being uncomfortable kept me busy enough, but having lots and lots of visitors was the real panacea. I had lots of visitors but not a whole lot of interaction; mostly I enjoyed hanging out with my eyes closed listening to people talk.
My roommates had lots of visitors as well. At times it became a bit of a shouting contest, but even when you whisper in a semi-private room there are no private conversations. Knowing so much about people I couldn't see through a curtain made me feel like I was on "The Dating Game."
But all the racket never bothered me. I guess it was the realization that there's a direct relationship between the decible level of one's visitors and the number of people who care. So it just felt like room 413 was full of patients with friends and families who cared.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Operation Detail Dump pt. III
All in all the time I spent in my hospital room was pretty positive. If I graded the experience as an employee evaluation, I would say it "exceeded expectations."
The doctors and nurses at TGH were generally great. They were positive and helpful, if a little laissez faire; I now know that with all the patients they are juggling at any given moment, one can help oneself a lot with self care. Things like how often I should walk, how much I should drink and pain management will all go better if (and I hope there isn't) a next time.
For the first few days I had no compulsion at all to get out of bed. Light squirming to avoid bed sores, ankle turns and leg lifts to avoid clots and breathing exercises to open my lungs were about all I could handle, both physically and mentally. The breathing exercises were especially hard. All I was required to do was six deep inhalations through my nose followed by sharp exhalations through my mouth, then a few coughs. The problem was that the desired result, loosening of phlegm, was pretty uncomfortable. And it bugged the heck out of my mom that the sign on the wall imploring me to breathe was hung off-kilter.
What was not difficult was the food. Although the hospital was kind enough to bring me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I never ate a speck of it. Christi brought me homemade smoothies and soups and my mom found an excellent and healthy sandwich joint a few blocks from the hospital. Of course, even that food went largely to waste. I had a nibble here and there out of a primeval sense of self-preservation, but I felt not a pang of hunger during my entire stay.
On only the second day it was time for me to get out of bed. Thank goodness these sorts of things are done in baby steps. Here I am enjoying my first extra-bedular activity:
If I look bad in this photo then the photo isn't doing a good job. I felt like death warmed over. I was sweaty, nauseous, tired, and hyper aware of my IV, catheter and epidural lines. After less than ten minutes I was helped back to the horizontal position whereupon I fell fast asleep.
But it was not for nothing. The next day I took my three tubes for an assisted walk into the hallway. If I had to guess I would say that I walked thirty yards before crawling back to my bed for another sleep. But it was easier than sitting up the day before.
And the day after that I walked further. And the day after that further again. As I gradually shed one tube after another, I was starting to feel like Dustin Hoffman in "Marathon Man." You can't stop me now!
Well, if I don't wrap this post up I will have written myself out of the hospital without divulging all sorts of fun stuff. So I'll sign off now, only two weeks after my surgery on a day when I walked 2km for a coffee, drove myself to an acupuncture appointment and surprise visited my friends at work.
Until someone tells me different, I feel great.
The doctors and nurses at TGH were generally great. They were positive and helpful, if a little laissez faire; I now know that with all the patients they are juggling at any given moment, one can help oneself a lot with self care. Things like how often I should walk, how much I should drink and pain management will all go better if (and I hope there isn't) a next time.
For the first few days I had no compulsion at all to get out of bed. Light squirming to avoid bed sores, ankle turns and leg lifts to avoid clots and breathing exercises to open my lungs were about all I could handle, both physically and mentally. The breathing exercises were especially hard. All I was required to do was six deep inhalations through my nose followed by sharp exhalations through my mouth, then a few coughs. The problem was that the desired result, loosening of phlegm, was pretty uncomfortable. And it bugged the heck out of my mom that the sign on the wall imploring me to breathe was hung off-kilter.
What was not difficult was the food. Although the hospital was kind enough to bring me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I never ate a speck of it. Christi brought me homemade smoothies and soups and my mom found an excellent and healthy sandwich joint a few blocks from the hospital. Of course, even that food went largely to waste. I had a nibble here and there out of a primeval sense of self-preservation, but I felt not a pang of hunger during my entire stay.
On only the second day it was time for me to get out of bed. Thank goodness these sorts of things are done in baby steps. Here I am enjoying my first extra-bedular activity:
(dig the off-kilter breathing sign and the sexy white stockings)
If I look bad in this photo then the photo isn't doing a good job. I felt like death warmed over. I was sweaty, nauseous, tired, and hyper aware of my IV, catheter and epidural lines. After less than ten minutes I was helped back to the horizontal position whereupon I fell fast asleep.
But it was not for nothing. The next day I took my three tubes for an assisted walk into the hallway. If I had to guess I would say that I walked thirty yards before crawling back to my bed for another sleep. But it was easier than sitting up the day before.
And the day after that I walked further. And the day after that further again. As I gradually shed one tube after another, I was starting to feel like Dustin Hoffman in "Marathon Man." You can't stop me now!
Well, if I don't wrap this post up I will have written myself out of the hospital without divulging all sorts of fun stuff. So I'll sign off now, only two weeks after my surgery on a day when I walked 2km for a coffee, drove myself to an acupuncture appointment and surprise visited my friends at work.
Until someone tells me different, I feel great.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Operation Detail Dump pt. II
After the operation I awoke in the Step Down room. Christi and mom seemed to be there every time my eyes cracked open. And it's a good thing, because I had two immediate needs: a bad case of cotton mouth and the itchiest face in the world™.
The woman attending me was dressed like a nurse but didn't seem to know how to nurse. Every time I needed something she asked another nurse to either assist her or do it outright. Christi asked for some Benadryl to be put in my IV. This is something she is more than capable of doing herself and it's too bad she didn't, since the dose given me seemed to have no effect. It turned out I had only been given half the recommended amount. When you have oxygen tubes below your nose and an NG (acronym! (nasal gastrointestinal)) tube in your nostril, it's really hard to do a good job scratching your face.
As for my dry mouth, I was only allowed to suck on the occasional wet toothpick sponge. The nurse gave me one when I asked, but then left a pile of individually wrapped sponges next to a cup of ice. Even in my doped-up state I was wise enough to know that unwrapping a sponge and soaking it was beyond my capabilities. If I hadn't asked for her to prep some I feel like there would have been sponges and ice cubes on the floor in no time.
I spent about 18 hours in the Step Down room floating in and out of consciousness, doing battle with my itchy face, before they needed to clear me out for some more pressing patients. A super-capable nurse took over and transferred me into my semi-private room. Along the way she assured us that my first nurse was in fact a real nurse. Huh.
Things were looking up; I got a room with a view.
The woman attending me was dressed like a nurse but didn't seem to know how to nurse. Every time I needed something she asked another nurse to either assist her or do it outright. Christi asked for some Benadryl to be put in my IV. This is something she is more than capable of doing herself and it's too bad she didn't, since the dose given me seemed to have no effect. It turned out I had only been given half the recommended amount. When you have oxygen tubes below your nose and an NG (acronym! (nasal gastrointestinal)) tube in your nostril, it's really hard to do a good job scratching your face.
As for my dry mouth, I was only allowed to suck on the occasional wet toothpick sponge. The nurse gave me one when I asked, but then left a pile of individually wrapped sponges next to a cup of ice. Even in my doped-up state I was wise enough to know that unwrapping a sponge and soaking it was beyond my capabilities. If I hadn't asked for her to prep some I feel like there would have been sponges and ice cubes on the floor in no time.
I spent about 18 hours in the Step Down room floating in and out of consciousness, doing battle with my itchy face, before they needed to clear me out for some more pressing patients. A super-capable nurse took over and transferred me into my semi-private room. Along the way she assured us that my first nurse was in fact a real nurse. Huh.
Things were looking up; I got a room with a view.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Operation Detail Dump pt. I
I thought I should write down my remembrances of my hospital experience before they are consigned to the dust bin of my aging brain.
On the morning of Monday, November 7th, I woke up before my alarm, which was set for 5:15 AM. The first thing I did was look out the front window, and sure enough my dad was already there. A quick shower and a long brushing of the teeth later, Christi and I were ready to go. Traffic is pretty light at 5:30 as you might expect, so we got to Toronto General in no time.
Finding the surgery admitting room was no problem. A shockingly cheery man with an Eastern European accent asked us to sit down in the steadily filling room. A very short time later we were sent into another waiting room. Sitting around, both Christi and I noticed that the photographs hanging on the walls were all quite nice. If I had to guess I would say that a few well-traveled surgeons with nice cameras had supplied them.
Being foolishly self-conscious I thought I would try to have a bowel movement - it was a regular part of my morning that my body was too shocked to consider - but no luck. I didn't like the idea of something happening on the O.R. table even though I'm sure there's a very medical way to deal with it. These are the things you think of when you're trying to avoid visualizing your major organs being shuffled.
Next a man asked me to come to a change room where I exchanged my clothes for a hospital gown. I had worn my "Unlucky" shirt at my mom's suggestion. Now no one would get the joke!
The change was followed by a thorough belly-shaving. As a hairy guy I had no problem with this.
The third room of the day was the large but-as-yet-not-full pre-op room. Now things were starting to look more hospital-like; bright lights, white floors, lots of med students and lots of machines. Here a nurse brought me a fresh-from-the-dryer blanket. I wasn't cold but it sure made me comfy and secure. While a R.T. (acronym! (Respiratory Therapist)) started my arterial IV, the nurse measured me up for anti-clotting stockings. In a very ego-fuelling way it was nice that she considered me a medium but "perhaps we'll need a large since your legs are so muscular." That's from bike racing lady!!! I don't know what size she decided upon in the end, but as she was rolling them on she kept urging the two male doctors to check them out. They demurred. By this time the RT had given up on my IV. My wrist was poked full of holes but the artery hadn't been found. She apologized profusely but I was okay. That freezing works like a dream.
Just as the room was starting to fill up and really buzz I was rolled into my operating room. I sat up to receive my epidural. While this was going on one of my surgeon's staff (who was not operating on me) dropped by to say hi. She's the sister-in-law of one of Christi's friends, so there's not a strong connection there. I thought it was nice of her to do so. Laying on my back again, the anesthesiologist put a mask over my face and asked me to count to ten. I don't think I made it to two...
On the morning of Monday, November 7th, I woke up before my alarm, which was set for 5:15 AM. The first thing I did was look out the front window, and sure enough my dad was already there. A quick shower and a long brushing of the teeth later, Christi and I were ready to go. Traffic is pretty light at 5:30 as you might expect, so we got to Toronto General in no time.
Finding the surgery admitting room was no problem. A shockingly cheery man with an Eastern European accent asked us to sit down in the steadily filling room. A very short time later we were sent into another waiting room. Sitting around, both Christi and I noticed that the photographs hanging on the walls were all quite nice. If I had to guess I would say that a few well-traveled surgeons with nice cameras had supplied them.
Being foolishly self-conscious I thought I would try to have a bowel movement - it was a regular part of my morning that my body was too shocked to consider - but no luck. I didn't like the idea of something happening on the O.R. table even though I'm sure there's a very medical way to deal with it. These are the things you think of when you're trying to avoid visualizing your major organs being shuffled.
Next a man asked me to come to a change room where I exchanged my clothes for a hospital gown. I had worn my "Unlucky" shirt at my mom's suggestion. Now no one would get the joke!
The change was followed by a thorough belly-shaving. As a hairy guy I had no problem with this.
The third room of the day was the large but-as-yet-not-full pre-op room. Now things were starting to look more hospital-like; bright lights, white floors, lots of med students and lots of machines. Here a nurse brought me a fresh-from-the-dryer blanket. I wasn't cold but it sure made me comfy and secure. While a R.T. (acronym! (Respiratory Therapist)) started my arterial IV, the nurse measured me up for anti-clotting stockings. In a very ego-fuelling way it was nice that she considered me a medium but "perhaps we'll need a large since your legs are so muscular." That's from bike racing lady!!! I don't know what size she decided upon in the end, but as she was rolling them on she kept urging the two male doctors to check them out. They demurred. By this time the RT had given up on my IV. My wrist was poked full of holes but the artery hadn't been found. She apologized profusely but I was okay. That freezing works like a dream.
Just as the room was starting to fill up and really buzz I was rolled into my operating room. I sat up to receive my epidural. While this was going on one of my surgeon's staff (who was not operating on me) dropped by to say hi. She's the sister-in-law of one of Christi's friends, so there's not a strong connection there. I thought it was nice of her to do so. Laying on my back again, the anesthesiologist put a mask over my face and asked me to count to ten. I don't think I made it to two...
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Staples
If you do not want to see my incision, do not click on the links below.
Do Not Click Here
And Definitely Don't Click Here.
Do Not Click Here
And Definitely Don't Click Here.
Monday, November 14, 2011
I Finally Broke The Log Jam
I had barely been eating enough food to keep up with a girl's gymnastics team until last night, when I had a break through.
My mom's poppyseed cake.
This is a cake that goes way back to the days when the Irish began inhabiting the shores of the Mississippi river dividing Wisconsin and Minnesota - which is to say that my mom's mom made it for her family.
At any rate, today I ate all my porridge for breakfast, had a good chunk of Kirsten's lasagna for lunch, and a medium-sized piece of Trevor and Adrienne's chicken pot pie for dinner.
And one last piece of cake for dessert.
My mom's poppyseed cake.
This is a cake that goes way back to the days when the Irish began inhabiting the shores of the Mississippi river dividing Wisconsin and Minnesota - which is to say that my mom's mom made it for her family.
At any rate, today I ate all my porridge for breakfast, had a good chunk of Kirsten's lasagna for lunch, and a medium-sized piece of Trevor and Adrienne's chicken pot pie for dinner.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Cancer Walk
Today the two cancer-sufferers got out for a walk.
It was slow but we were both happy with the pace.
It was slow but we were both happy with the pace.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Home-in-again
If you are not from Toronto you will have to believe me when I say that today was an absolutely wonderful day to go home. My step father John picked up Christi and me in his nice, tall truck. Normally I hate SUVs but today it was kind of nice.
Some observations: our bed at home is more comfortable than my bed in the hospital, the music at home is better than the chorus of pings at the hospital, and my dog and my cat are fantastic roommates.
So far today my wife has only picked me up, checked me out, fed me, undressed me, dressed me, rented me movies, and warmed my bed.
Although it's hard to predict when I will be awake and when I will be asleep, if you don't mind the risk of catching me sleeping I'd be happy to have some visitors.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Starting Over
Imagine being 12 months old but having a 42 year old brain; acting like a baby but being self-aware enough to know the militude (I made that up, it means "the opposite of magnitude") of your accomplishments.
I've spent the last 4 days being heartily congratulated for drinking, sitting up, peeing, moving my feet, walking, and having a bowel movement.
None of it feels belittling though. Every one of these actions feels like a very big deal to me!
Winding down for my last sleep in the hospital. It will be nice to be home but I will definitely miss this electronic bed.
I've spent the last 4 days being heartily congratulated for drinking, sitting up, peeing, moving my feet, walking, and having a bowel movement.
None of it feels belittling though. Every one of these actions feels like a very big deal to me!
Winding down for my last sleep in the hospital. It will be nice to be home but I will definitely miss this electronic bed.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Thank You To Our Sponsor!
Well, it didn't take me long to start talking about cycling again; my bed is made/serviced by Hill-Rom, which sponsors the Sound Solutions team. So although I'm not sipping Cherry Bomb Coffee, quaffing Steam Whistle or riding my Orbea bike, I am recovering in a Hill-Rom bed!
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Day After
Greetings from the other side!
Here I am with my friend Jeero. Thanks Ross! I also got a massive flower arrangement from the good people at Shaw Media. And of course I am keeping busy with the iPad from all my work buddies.
The surgery was quick and I'm told it went well. My family has been at my side watching me sleep ever since. It's ironic that Christi gave birth to both of our kids but I'm the only one who's had an epidural. I am feeling no pain.
On the bummer side, the cancer did get into some lymph nodes. My surgeon cut out everything he could find, but I'll be crossing my fingers for good news on the pathology report and my next CT scan.
Here I am with my friend Jeero. Thanks Ross! I also got a massive flower arrangement from the good people at Shaw Media. And of course I am keeping busy with the iPad from all my work buddies.
The surgery was quick and I'm told it went well. My family has been at my side watching me sleep ever since. It's ironic that Christi gave birth to both of our kids but I'm the only one who's had an epidural. I am feeling no pain.
On the bummer side, the cancer did get into some lymph nodes. My surgeon cut out everything he could find, but I'll be crossing my fingers for good news on the pathology report and my next CT scan.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
The Bikes Are Hung in the Bike Room With Care
I can't promise this will be my last bike-related post, but it will be a post about my last bike race of 2011.
Yesterday I participated in my second Canadian Cyclocross Championships. I was a fair bit slower this year, but on the flip-side I was far less nervous. The race went great. The weather was nice (maybe too nice) and I had loads of family, friends and teammates cheering me on seemingly at every corner.
The last two laps I battled it out with this fellow:
I've been at events where I've raced against guys with vocal cheering sections, and when they're cheering for the other guy it really sucks. So it should come as no surprise that I gapped him on the last lap to at least win one small battle.
Had I not fallen three times I might have nabbed a better placing, but all the dirt on my back only proved that I rode with everything I had - it's such a good feeling knowing that all your effort is spilled out on the course - no regrets.
I ended up 24th out of 55 starters in the Men's 40-49 field. Not great, but I bet I was the first guy to cross the line with cancer. Or at least the second.
- - -
This will be my last post for a day or two, so some house cleaning is in order:
See you on the other side,
Kevin
Yesterday I participated in my second Canadian Cyclocross Championships. I was a fair bit slower this year, but on the flip-side I was far less nervous. The race went great. The weather was nice (maybe too nice) and I had loads of family, friends and teammates cheering me on seemingly at every corner.
The last two laps I battled it out with this fellow:
(click to see my poppy)
I've been at events where I've raced against guys with vocal cheering sections, and when they're cheering for the other guy it really sucks. So it should come as no surprise that I gapped him on the last lap to at least win one small battle.
Had I not fallen three times I might have nabbed a better placing, but all the dirt on my back only proved that I rode with everything I had - it's such a good feeling knowing that all your effort is spilled out on the course - no regrets.
I ended up 24th out of 55 starters in the Men's 40-49 field. Not great, but I bet I was the first guy to cross the line with cancer. Or at least the second.
- - -
This will be my last post for a day or two, so some house cleaning is in order:
- Apologies for the depressing turn at the end of the last post. I was quoting my kids where a cheerier paraphrase would have sufficed.
- I'm checking in at 6:00 AM for what should be an 8:00 AM surgery. If all goes well it will only take 4-5 hours.
- After that I'm in ICU (acronym!) for a few hours, followed by a day or two in a step-down room.
- Once I'm out of there I can start taking visitors if Christi deems me lucid and handsome enough to do so.
- If she's up for it you might get a guest blog post or two from her. Hopefully she won't Wally Pipp me. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wally_Pipp
See you on the other side,
Kevin
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Tucking In
Tonight I tucked Owen & Frankie into bed. Since they are sleeping at Grammie's (Christi's mom, Liz) tomorrow night, I won't be doing so again for at least ten days.
Really, ten days without tucking one's kids into bed is not that big a deal. Heck, there are nights I don't want to tuck them in. But tonight kind of felt like a big deal.
Many people have asked me how they're doing with my cancer. I think they're doing pretty well and I hope it's not taking up too much of their day to day thoughts. But the truth is that I don't know. How do you crack into the brains and emotions of a nine and five year old? I think what they really want is a definitive answer to a simple and beautifully childish question: will Daddy die?
Perhaps it's not such a childish question after all.
Really, ten days without tucking one's kids into bed is not that big a deal. Heck, there are nights I don't want to tuck them in. But tonight kind of felt like a big deal.
Many people have asked me how they're doing with my cancer. I think they're doing pretty well and I hope it's not taking up too much of their day to day thoughts. But the truth is that I don't know. How do you crack into the brains and emotions of a nine and five year old? I think what they really want is a definitive answer to a simple and beautifully childish question: will Daddy die?
Perhaps it's not such a childish question after all.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Alliance/Alliance Atlantis/Canwest/Shaw Media
You should be so lucky to work where I work.
You guys are the best.
(click to embiggen)
Thursday, November 3, 2011
D-Day Minus Four
Today Christi and I went down to TGH (Toronto General Hospital for those of you fortunate enough to not have entered the world of hospital acronyms) for my pre-op.
Most of it was pretty mundane. Here's the proof:
Most of it was pretty mundane. Here's the proof:
- They X-Rayed my chest.
- They drew my blood.
- They performed an EKG (acronym!)
- They swabbed me for superbugs.
- They checked my current medications and supplements.
- They took my blood pressure and temperature (pulse is still under 60 bpm.)
- They gave me a more detailed rundown of the procedure and the timing.
The closer I get to the operation the more I think: "But I feel fine!" But as I stated a few days ago, I won't be pulling a "Steve Jobs."
I'm getting this thing out of me.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Remember the Second Time You Fell In Love?
Not the first time. The first time you fall in love your head feels so swampy that it's hard to walk a straight line.
The second time you fall in love you have a bit more control and are able to appreciate how everything suddenly seems more amazing.
That is how I feel these days.
The second time you fall in love you have a bit more control and are able to appreciate how everything suddenly seems more amazing.
That is how I feel these days.
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