Cancer Selfies

Huntsville - Tom Thompson and Wood Fired Pizza

I visited Huntsville, Ontario (the only Huntsville of consequence) when I wanted to take a break from exploring the Trent-Severn Waterway, but still wanted to see some historical locks, the Brunel Locks. It's just a single lock in a pretty little park, nothing special other than the fact if exists at all.

Huntsville's more navigable past is also on display at their decommissioned swing bridge, located downtown.

But really none of this is why I visited this little city. Huntsville is home to dozens of murals inspired by the works of Tom Thompson and the Group of Seven. I chose this as a perfect place to push myself, physically, a bit to see how I was recovering from the failed surgery earlier in the summer. I managed to find most of the outdoor art with listed locations, and did find all of the pieces that mattered most to me.

I ate at That Little Place by the Lights and had their Diavola pizza, and I genuinely regret not getting two more kinds as takeout so I could try them later.

Huntsville was a easy adventure for me, lots of sight seeing, as much exertion as I wanted, fantastic lookouts, a little bit of mystery (why is there a single lock in the middle of no where?) and the exact sort of food I craved.

While I was taking these trips, it was as much about proving to myself I was still capable of living a life worthwhile, even in the face of death krwld, as it was generating the positive memories that would carry me through the (in hindsight, not so) harsh winter. And Huntsville, with its statue of Tom, abundance of his works and a pizza I remember fondly nearly a year later, may be as close to the platonic ideal of what I was doing. It was beautiful, the sun was warm, the cola was icy and the dough had just enough of that yeast flavour I crave so much.

A perfect day in a place I'd have never otherwise visited. There's a lesson there, but it is left as an exercise for the reader.

Scrap-Book Post

Trips & Treatment

This set of photos was taken over the past month.

I can't remember if I've said anything about the CT scan I got a few weeks ago, or the blood work I had done before I left for Bancroft, but that has happened, and it's time to see my oncologist. The appointment is tomorrow afternoon.

I don't have a good understanding of how people think I'm doing. I know I've been pretty vocal about how the surgical recovery has been going (very well, overall, but further gains are likely to be small, although its possible I don't yet know my capacity in some regards). But I have been less vocal (I think) about cancer symptoms.

I haven't been able to sleep through a night in weeks. I'll wake up, with my guts feeling like their solid, in the middle of the night. Sometimes water makes me have to use the bathroom with urgency. Sometimes it makes me throw up for a half an hour. Either way, sometimes I can get back to sleep, sometimes I doze until noon.

The list of things my dietician recommended I avoid a month or two ago has become largely mandatory. The small amount of coleslaw you get with fish and chips is usually fine, but salad or a helping of broccoli is a mistake. Fish never seems to be a problem, chicken is fine unless fried, and most red meat should be avoided. These rules must be followed exactly when far from home, or if I want to travel the next day, but can still be relaxed a bit if I'm staying in the Midland area.

The combination of chemotherapy and sleeplessness, at least, have left me extremely forgetful, clumsy and sluggish. I keep losing my keys. I've forgotten how to do basic computer stuff I've known for decades (or have tried to do it the Windows 95 way). I cannot focus on books, even though I got a fun adult book about dinosaurs from the library. My cooking abilities, long atrophied by years of deep depression, can't manage with my boring diet, tiny kitchenette and lack of energy to do dishes or other chores.

There are pains. Pains in places I especially don't want them, places that might indicate tumor growth (but probably not spread). But are they the sort that predate all this? I can't remember. I'll bring them up.

I'm extremely tired. I'm not particularly jazzed about continuing to do this. I've grown more and more convinced that the Bancroft trip is my post surgery peak, and that it's slow decline from here on. Those sort of thoughts are the way of madness, but the nature of the recovery and the disease means there will exist a peak or plateau.

Two weeks ago I was pretty certain I would not be restarting chemotherapy this time. The CT scan report only reinforces this conclusion. But the last few weeks have been rough, and I'm a lot less sure now.

<figcaptionHuntsville sculpture forest

From the comments

James Petrosky: When I started, I had many reasons to take my selfies, but I was pretty certain they weren't for me. I have no idea if they were then, I don't have access to that brain state. They're absolutely, in part, for me now

James Petrosky: I took a drive, ate a shawarma, almost ate some additional Taco Bell (the line was too long), had a nice drive until I met a raccoon, found a potential corn maze that's very close, and feel a bit better. It's hard to make yourself eat when your stomach is off, even when you know it'll make you feel better. And I need to try harder to get out of the apartment every day, even for a little walk, even if it's hard once the October storms come and it's always so rainy. None of these steps solve anything, but it isn't about solutions, it's a about comfort. For that reason, I'm happy to see my oncologist tomorrow. I get to do a trip to Barrie, I get to talk to people and be around people who, sadly, understand my situation. I get to go for pho after, which is damn near the perfect food for if you're chronically underhydrated like me.
I don't like chemotherapy, but I like trips and cats and people, so if it's time for it, then I look forward to quiet days laying in bed watching old noirs.