In April, I finished what would turn out to be my final cycle of chemotherapy.
In April, I was hospitalized in Midland, Ontario, for the first time for a partially obstructed bowel.
In April, I finally relocated from Midland, Ontario, my home for a decade, to Elliot Lake, Ontario, my parents' home for the same time period, and a place where they could assist in my increasing care needs.
In July, the obstructed bowel reoccured, canceling my Great Canadian Roadtrip Adventure, landing me back in hospital.
Briefly, for a couple hours, I was clear of this condition. But it quickly returned, I returned to hospital, and we made the difficult decision to end most interventions and transfer to hospice.
It is now late September. I've been in hospice for 76 days. I called the apartment I moved into back in April home for 76 days. I've lived in hospice half my time here.
I don't really know what to think or make of this, but I've had some fudge procured to celebrate, for a milestone is a milestone, even when it's a confusing one.
The Toronto Zoo is one of my partner, Alicia's, favourite places in the world. And over the course of our relationship, in the various forms it's taken, it's become one of mine as well.
As friends, it was a group outing we'd almost always both attend. Alicia, because she was the driving force behind nearly every zoo trip I ever went on. Me, because I went with the flow and an afternoon with friends and cool animals was always a delight. These trips were usually taken in the heat of the summer (now, as a zoo expert, I know know that summer is a fool's time to visit the zoo, it's full of children and the animals are all asleep, but, as groups, this is the time we had together).
Years later, and after many more trips, Alicia and my first real date was to the zoo. We knew we were a thing, of sorts, the day before. We'd had our conversation, started to define the nature of what we would be (which lasted about a month, before we realized we were just another romantic couple (attached, polyamourously, to another romantic couple, Alicia and her wife, Catherine)). That was the most memorable trip to the zoo I've ever taken, although I'll be damned if I remember much of the animal content of the trip. It was late August, 2018, it was hot, and the animals were all sleepy. The parrots were entertaining, monkeys rambunctious, and we drank so very much bluraspberry slushy (because we always did). The zoo membership discount was a compelling and silly argument to always have more, while the powerful daystar beating down upon us was a powerful and overwhelming argument in favour of hydration by that delicious fruitish flavoured drink.
The big cats are still an impressive sight in the heat of the sun. They're what I remember best from that trip. Basking all together, the lions especially retain their majesty and wonder more than most other animals, although a pack of wolves (which we did not see that day) can have similar effect. The tigers are somewhat less impressive, but sprawled out in the shade of their enclosures, but still radiate their beauty. Alicia and I are fundamentally cat people (even if I'm a pretty even split on dogs), observing the big cats do anything, even if it's as close to literally nothing as possible, is still a treat for us. Its an opportunity to pretend that our house cats are like the big cats. Thomasin is a Sumatran tiger, stalking the underbrush. Nemo, Alicia's cat (a sleek black house panther if there ever was one) is most like the clouded leopard, the way they both move through the trees (or bookcases, in Nemo's case) is similarly mesmerizing.
The zoo is a place that I will always think of as an us place, maybe even The Us Place, a place where we could always just be a couple. We haven't always been able to be out, career's and religion don't always agree with polyamory (or our bisexuality, but mercifully that was rarely a concern), but the zoo was far enough away from home that it was always safe to just be us, and to be an Us.
The zoo is Alicia's natural date location. A good date doesn't have to include the zoo, but a great date is going to have a targeted zoo visit. One where you pick a section and thoroughly explore it, planning things so you get to see a feeding (ideally the otters) and maybe a zookeeper talk. The whole zoo is too big for a day, and it took me a long time to realize this. The whole zoo is for tourists and families and school outings. A zoo date visits a third of the animals, then departs before you're too exhausted to enjoy a nice dinner.
Toronto has all the dinner options one could want, and we'd generally pick some nationality of food that's harder to get to in the Midland area, often stopping for dimsum before the zoo or whatever east Asian option struck our fancy as we were leaving. I generally did the legwork picking some restaurants so we'd have an easy time dealing with choice paralysis on the way home. We always ate well.
During the pandemic, these outings became how we saw each other. Which so much outside time, we didn't have to stress as hard about transmission. This became even more true after I got diagnosed with cancer and started chemotherapy. The outdoor portions let us be close, because I was always immunocompromised and Alicia is a primary school teacher. A difficult combination any time, but especially with covid-19 still surging. These outings are where we got to play pretend things were normal, and have our dates.
After the first round of chemo ended, and my surgery failed, we started taking a lot more risks. Zoo trips became more normal and frequent. We spent more time inside the pavilions, greenhouses and other indoor spaces. At the worst moment in my life, we had a special place to visit, to spend time at, and to enjoy the big cats and fatrounds. It took months before I was well enough to make the trip, but it was a highlight of that adventuring period in my life.
The Toronto Zoo did not start as a special place to me. I grew up too far away, it was a neat commercial I'd see on TV sometimes, on par with Marine Land and the occasional cross border ad for an American zoo or aquarium or African Lion Safari or similar. But it's a special place to me now, one of the most special and important in the world. Home to most of my favourite fatrounds, all of my favourite non-house-cats, and more memories than I'd care to count.
Of all the adventures I can no longer have, it's the one I'd jump at first for a do over. Fall's nearly here, the weather is just right for the large carnivores to be active, and soon Alicia will have a small break in her work schedule, just after report cards are in (school just started a week or two ago, but that's how school does), and we could have one more perfect little afternoon.
I never had a phase in high school where I experimented with my look very much. Never dyed my hair, never experimented with makeup, never even really changed up my clothing style until after I graduated from university. It's not that I didn't want to (for differing amounts of want), it's that I wasn't brave enough to take the plunge.
I recieved my last prepandemic hair cut in December 2021 (I always tried to clean up a bit for Christmas) and, when I first met my medical oncologist in late August 2022, I'd grown quite the head of hair. And that I was likely to lose it during treatment.
My partner and I picked the blue that I was supposed to end up with, and Lilly Hill and I set to work transforming my brown hair (accidentally, beautifully) green.
In hindsight, this is the first item crossed off the Remission List. Something I had long wanted to do that I needed the excuse of cancer to finally push myself into. Learning to paint my nails slots in here nicely, too. Doubly so because chemotherapy weakens your nails and raises risk of them falling off if you aren't caredul.
It helped set the stage for accomplishing every difficult or embarrassing or otherwise challenging thing I'd face at least until at least the time I'm writing this: I need to have the strength and stubbornness to say yes, to be willing to chase after the things that are important or joyous or worthwhile for me, but I can borrow a whole lot of that strength and skill from the people I'm lucky enough to have in my life.
And I'm very lucky to have all of you in my life, in whatever little capacities we can exchange
I maintained my weight during my full course of my chemotherapy treatment. From September 2022 until this spring, I fluctuated 2kg around a stable average. I am genuinely proud of this, and credit much of my end game physical resilience to this fact.
Lilly introduced me to the wonders of Taco Bell, the kind of wonderful place where ordering one of everything is possible, fun and not too outrageous (even if I never did it). The kind of place where those life giving calories are easy to eat. There were other fast food restaurants that I went to more, that contributed more to my stability, but Taco Bell was special.
Our two nearest locations were about a half hour away, which is the perfect length for one of those conversations I only seem to be have on road trips. We'd always get the same things (Delux Box + Crunchwrap Supreme for me, Taco Bell leftovers do great in a toaster oven)., but always talk the options.
We went to real restaurants, too.. More sushi than I can recall, pho, wings and everything we could find in the area, but it's the Taco Bell, and the little adventures it required, that is the strongest, most joyful of the mundane memories I call back on when the cancer pain strikes.
The nearest Taco Bell is in a mall in Sudbury. Two hours away. A doable distance, but it would never work with my nasal tube. I'm forever cut off, but the memory of food and friends is more than strong enough to keep me going
I've been discharged, I'm home. We're pretty much where we were on Monday. I've got instructions on how to manage this new condition, but managing is all there is to do. There is no cure, no further treatment. This is just another part of my life now.
Not sure if I'm more tired of the pain or being extremely high all the time.
From the comments
James Petrosky: Someone in the room has decided that we would all love to hear their country music. I made sure to pack multiple pairs of headphones so I wouldn't accidentally expose anyone to dinosaur podcasts. I'm extremely frustrated but unable to do anything about it
Saint-Louis Mission National Historic Site is located in Tay Township, Ontario, just outside of Midland, Ontario. It consists of a monument, two plaques, and a small area of cut grass in a forest. Nearby is a monument to an early Anglican Church. I visited sites in Tiny and Springwater as well, but none had much worth talking about.
I haven't felt this good in months. My pain levels, while still much higher than my pre cancer baseline, haven't been this good in months. I have energy, apatite, drive. Chores are caught up, projects are being done, hobbies being perused. But there's so much to do before Cycle 2 starts Thursday.
Laundromat selfies are practically a requirement now
Its fucking wimdy
From the comments
David: So you can do this ?
James Petrosky: David I'm going to keep going for sure. It's not a war or a battle, it's a seige. I'll hold as long as I can.
James Petrosky: I saw my poodle pal today ❤️
It was almost too dark for her goofy face
Cycle one is drawing to a close and I have A Lot of appointments this week. And I know I'll be bedridden for the first five days of cycle two at least, so there's a lot to do. But for now, I keep busy, I work on projects, I find water birds in new and exciting places. It's not the life I expected, but I'll still make it mine.
Public art in downtown Midland, Ontario
Honestly I think I like loons more than geese, they're a magnificent and haunting bird, geese are just what we deserve. Also, I absolutely love geese as much as I say I do. My love for loons is passionate, but silent.
A nice thing about being a trades person is having excellent practical outer wear. Balm Beach has no street lights, but I was extremely visible (dancing badly to Firework, no less) and completely dry.
Insurance forms are wild. "List the symptoms of your illness that prevent you from working. List which job tasks you can still preform" weren't you listening when I wrote one of the worst four word phrases possible in the English language? And you want to know if I'll still be able to bend conduit while hooked up to an IV.
Fuck these ghouls.
From the comments
James Petrosky: Those words are "Cancer that has spread", although that phrasing only makes sense on a form. The real life equivalent is "you have cancer, and it has already spread" and I don't wish that statement on anyone, whoever wrote this form should really consider that someone who's going to fill it out did and not be the worst cog in the machine about it.
I think I look sad here, and I have many reasons to, but I don't remember why specifically. I think it's the laundromat, and I've just gotten off the phone with a nurse at the Barrie Regional Cancer Center. I've said multiple times that the currency of this past month has been normalcy, and few things ruin your sense of normal like that sort of phone call.
Saturday after colonoscopy. I'd told my boss the previous week, and HR earlier this one, so the strong separation I had between work and everything else was breaking down. I had promised myself that I could get one (1) Squishmellow friend per procedure so I was excited that I was going to get one today. This was going to be my first solo trip since before I got Covid-19 (and before this nightmare started) that I was looking forward to. It was a great day ❤️
Oversharing warning!
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Whoda thought that the worst part about the colonoscopy (well, so far, material was sent out for further testing) would be that my sinuses are all plugged and painful
From the comments
Ron: Not me, but my sinuses aren't particularly prone to blockage like some of my family members. Air mask related or a reaction to the anesthesia?
James Petrosky: Ron I'm told I removed the mask, so I don't know. The side I was laying on is a lot worse, and because of the cancer pain I haven't been able to sleep on my side in over a year so I have no idea.
Never been under anesthetic before, either
Ron: James Petrosky Ugh, yeah, my sinuses are sensitive enough that I do need to flip over from time to time. Sorry. General anesthesia is really deceptive. It's like being drunk without any sense of being that way. I'm told I'm hilarious when going under or coming out of it.
James Petrosky: Ron I think I just have to get used to it (a anesthesia) because I think even the best case scenario has a lot of it coming up 😛
Which, to be clear, being it the fuck on
James Petrosky: A few more hours on and the regular cancer pain is once again the worst discomfort I'm dealing with minute to minute. Which genuinely sounds a lot more dire than I mean it to, I'm not being negative or defeatist, I promise. This is just what it sounds like when a sick engineer talks about their illness. (I checked with my friends from engineering school and we all agreed about this)
It was almost too dark for her goofy face
