Cancer Selfies

Keep Moving Forward (We Interupt this Regularly Scheduled Scrapbook Post for a Health Update)

After two months of largely stable physical health (and stabilizing mental health), I've started to notice a real decline in things. Had you seen me until the start of September, you might not have even noticed anything was wrong, physically. Early on there was a sepsis scare, but since then it's been relatively clear sailing.

In the past few weeks I've needed to spend a lot more time resting. It started by just requiring me to be off my feet more of the day, taking it easy in the hospice suite, but more and more I'm bed bound.

Fortunately I'm still able to create nonsense from here, and watch the trash tier movies I adore, and continue to make something of all the moments I can capture.

My train is slowing, coming into its final station, but that's still some ways away, and I have much still to partake in and try. Just, slower, less energetically, and from a comfortably reclined position.

Scrap-Book Post

In This Moment

In hospice, most days are not easy. There's a parade of pills, injections, infusions and pumps that have to be gone through to maintain the balance of health that is visible from outside the walls. It is the hard work the medical staff constantly do so that I can be as joyful about the little things I still, happily, get to experience.

And sometimes I need a stronger reminder. And today, I need an extra strong reminder. Which, happily, I have in the form of Healey and Balm Beach.

Healey, the only place in the whole oblate spheriod that's ever had the fortune of being home. A place where a railway meets a bay on a lake, where trains traveling from east or west light up the land and water in dramatic effect, passing each night. Where the full moon turns the gently rippling water into billions and billions of fish scales, seperating the millions of fireflies stuck in the sky from the cold dark where the scaled ones really live. The place I like to swim, to campfire, to watch the sun silently set, night after night, as I do here, in hospice.

The home to the last of my railway demigods, totems to a telegraph age long gone by, replaced by fiber and reliability. Replaced Healey. There's no where like it, yet everywhere is or could be. It's just my spot.

You shouldn't visit, there's nothing but ghosts left, and they're not you ghosts to play with. Balm Beach is much more inviting, has a similar sort of specialness to me, but in a sharable sort of way. Its ghosts are inviting, at least during the summer months, so you have a little time left to acquaint yourselves with them. It would be more rewarding, try yourself the brisket poutine and a Wasaga Beach Cerveza, it comes with a recommendation from the living James, too.

Scrap-Book Post

We All Have a Beautiful Story to Tell

September 2022, just finished chemo cycle 1, at the boardwalk on Woodland Beach in Tiny township.

August 2023, the main chunk of surgical recovery complete, I'm ready to have my autumn of adventure, exploring central Ontario. Picture taken at Science North in Sudbury, as part of a day where we honoured our grandfather by doing the activities he used to take us out for.

August 2024. Last night. Hospice Suite, St. Joseph's Hospital. I'm noticeably weaker and more tired than I was, but I still have my good moments. There's still joy to be found.

Scrap-Book Post

Today I Choose Life: A Cancer Eon Scrapbook

I really lucked out that the software I chose at random for my digital scrap book had a perfect cover page for me. I get to choose joy and wonder and whimsy and to experience the beautiful madness of the world because of all of you supporting me throughout the whole of my cancer journey.

Scrap-Book Post