Cancer Selfies

Hospital Hallways Reprise

I really like these hallway chase scenes. I don't have much to say about them, I think they're fun and more than any photo I post on here they capture the mixed joys of the moment perfectly. I'm so glad I got my mother in one.

I enjoy the smiles, because I have to look very silly with the selfie stick in order to capture them. I enjoy the lighting challenges in editing. But mostly I like making it a game for my driver. Moments pass slowly here, but days are devoured. I hope these little races anchor a few moments in place, so we can better savour them and live within them.

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Two New Friends! (An oxygen tank and my very own walker)

Today, I woke up with an oxygen tube in my nose. Nothing unusual in a hospital, in fact both rooms in the hospice are plumbed for it, but I went to sleep without it.

Today, the surgeon who generally checks in for a chat at the end of his shift (a man truly in possession of the best bedside manner I've ever had the fortune of experiencing) visited during lunch. He overheard the plan my mother and I had of spending the day looking for a walker because I'm at the point where I really could use one. It's a small town, and his aunt runs a medical supply store. She was able to get me a loaner I could keep as long as I needed. I walked out of the store with it. It took fifteen minutes, five was spent on petting dogs.

So last night I went to sleep breathing insufficient air, and with mobility problems. Today I rest back at home, problems all solved satisfactorily, at least for the time being.

Outwardly, these are massive losses of autonomy. To me, they're the tools I need to maintain what autonomy I can possibly have left. They aren't proof in no longer capable, they're how I remain capable in the face of whatever that sneaky assed cancer is up to.

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Surprise Visit!

Yesterday, I left the hospital for a few hours to visit my apartment, visit my parents for dinner, and most importantly visit a pretty little orange tabby with an enormous head.

She was a bit shy at first, but warmed to me and the extra set of hands petting her quickly. She's the sole resident of my apartment right now, but gets plenty of visits from everyone and lots of attention. I'd rather her live with me at the hospital, but logistically that's not possible.

We're still working on getting her settled in with the dogs, but there was a but if a medical setback during the heat wave we need to address first. Things are still looking good for her, though, and I'm not losing sleep over her just yet.

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Haliburton Sculpture Garden

I can't say I ever made it to Haliburton proper on my adventure. Yes, I stopped in to have some fish and chips at McKecks Tap and Grill (and I really felt the absence of beer this time, the fish were fantastic and could only have been improved by a better drink), but we were too close to chemo starting, physically too far from home, and I'd seen half a dozen deer in the way into town. I'm crazy, not a lunatic.

The sculpture garden was one of the most magical places I had the good fortune of visiting during the whole of my travels. It's attached to Flemming College at Haliburton and, so long as you can get there, free to explore.

There were several of beavers which I particularly enjoyed, as I love my fat rounds, but I think the stone hemisphere where you could sit in the dark and quiet and humid has left the longest impression on me. I wish I'd written this post quickly, and then again later, periodically.

The Sculpture Garden is with a visit, maybe even a detour visit. I ate at a perfectly good bar and grill, because I came on an off day. You could likely do something more special to match the weird erie, possessed feeling of the place.

More information on the sculpture garden can be found here.

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Collingwood Millenium Overlook

I was in and through Collingwood quite often. Through it was one my my favourite junk shops in Thornbury, and the whole south coast of Georgian Bay all the way to Owen Sound (and even Wiarton Willie), plus being the path further into south western Ontario.

But I only spent one glorious afternoon there. Passed a old grain mill is a spot called the Collingwood Millennium Overlook. It sticks out into the Big Water like a breakwater (and probably was constructed at least in part as one) and is covered in parkland, neat historical trinkets and, while I was there, perfect weather for spotting where you live across the water (see comments).

The highlight of my day was a food truck called Han's Beach Bites, where I learned of the greatness of currywurst and curry fries. Not going back here, especially because it was so close, is a big R regret, the good was magnificent. I probably should not have eaten the leftovers for food safety reasons, but I did, so my car smelled like curry all day long and it was amazing.

On a weekend, with more food trucks, this would be a really exciting and fun spot. As it stood, on a hot day in the middle of the week, there was no wait for my food. I'd have liked to be around people, but the next part of the journey (Thornbury) makes up for it.

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Coldwater Canadiana Heritage Museum (and home for haunted dolls)

After saying goodbye to the wonderful Big Chute Marine Railway, I noticed that I had a narrow window where I could also fit in a visit to Coldwater's Canadiana History museums.

Like many indoor/outdoor museums of this type, you'll have a mock blacksmith shop, maybe an optician and a dentist, old fire engines, early tractors, and the like. And I didn't record pictures of any of that here. Because I started in the farm house (which also houses the chemist).

Friends, in every possible seat, bed or chair was a doll somehow more haunted than the last reminding you not to sit on the antique furniture lest you lose your Immortal sou.

I had a great time, recommend grabbing whatever the special is from Linda's Corner Cafe, located in the Legion in Coldwater proper.

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Broth Buddy After Dark

Alcohol is a heavy subject, and this one is about my relationship with it. My relationship with it is largely positive, and my little naritive will reflect that, but I know that isn't everyone's experience.

There was a time, between dropping out of grad school and taking on the apprenticeship that would become my career, where I seriously considered bartending. I adored making cocktails, traditional sorts and the usually delicious abominations that reared their heads at juicemorn.

For years at family get togethers, if anyone wanted something more complex than a beer or a glass of wine, they were coming to me. And I loved it. Understanding how different flavours come together and balance was always a thrill.

But then came the symptoms which would eventually point to cancer. At first, the surgeon I was seeing thought it was a problem with the liver itself, and by the time we had the actual root cause determined, I was starting chemotherapy. Alcohol and chemotherapy is not only a great way to destroy your liver, it's also a good way to dramatically reduce the effectiveness of the drugs themselves.

I figured I'd never have a drink again. And while I'd have preferred to have marked the occasion somehow (a nice scotch, or Beach One Cervasa and a smoked meat sandwich down at Balm Beach Smokehouse, or both), I was okay with it. The extra time was easily worth the lost pleasure for me.

Fast forward two long years of chemotherapy and surgery and recovery and alcohol free adventure (so many fish and chip meals demanded something I just couldn't give them). I jokingly asked my doctor if I could have beer. And, more seriously than I expected, she responded that, at my disease state, it was fine.

Drinking in the hospital is a weird experience. Sharing that experience with my brother and my friends is stranger still. Should we have imbibed during Cats or Repo? Probably. Palliative care is about patient comfort,. And trying new things from the LCBO is apparently part of it for me. Especially when I can share the experience.

I really intended this to be a whimsical post about being drunk under the table by a giant benevolent ramen (how good would a ramen like that be after the party's over, just savouring the flavours) (lets ignore the canabalism implications) person. But instead you get something serious.

To make up for it, I'll share a secret. I didn't quit alcohol the whole of my treatment. I did go to the Balm Beach Smokehouse three of four times last summer, ordered my favourite beer in the world (Wasaga Beach Brewing Company Beach 1 Cerveza, it's objectively just fine, but I love it), ordered the Cubano sandwich, ordered the braised brisket poutine, ordered the Balm Beach burger, ordered the house special.

The only regret I have about this is that I never went with anyone, I felt like I was sneaking a forbidden treat. And now that I can have those drinks, I cannot eat. Which would feel like cosmic punishment if I still didn't love talking about food and drink

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Cats like furry constellations lap up the Milky Way

The first time I tried coffee was a cold October morning in 2005. The natural high I had from successfully escaping from my dying town and landing in my very first choice for a university program was finally being worn down by the twin powers of first year chemistry and linear algebra. Everyone else was getting their wakefulness fix from coffee, and it made sense to give it a go.

I poured myself a medium cup of Columbian medium roast and left with it black. Maybe, if I had a guide, I'd have added some sugar or milk and enjoyed it. Maybe I'd have been too stubborn ("I know I like sugar and milk already"). Regardless, I took a sip, burned myself a bit, let it cool and decided it tasted exactly like poplar bark (a flavour I was familiar with from childhood games where we pretended to be beavers).

The next time I tried coffee was on a Taco Bell run after my April trip to the hospital in Midland. It still tasted of tree bark.

But once I entered the hospice suite? Give me every coffee treat. I have limited time and so much to catch up on.

Photos of myself follow a similar path. I used to try and remove as much trace of myself as possible, like I was embarrassed to exist. I could spend a lot of time with a social worker trying to work through those feelings. But I don't have to, because the diagnosis came, and I realized I needed to leave something behind that indicated that I existed, I lived, I thrived and I loved.

Like my new found taste for coffee drinks, I've grown to love the camera. And, in its modern form, the camera includes the whole editing and filtering and playing suite of tools available on your phone.

I'm no wizard at this sort of thing, and time is strange in hospice. Every single moment has the gravitas of possibly being your last, but you still count down until the weekend because that's when people can make time for you. So I pass the time recording videos and taking pictures and editing it all into something I hope has meaning.

I don't think these have meaning. I don't intend them to, at least. They're just four flavours of coffee drink I tried and liked well enough to share with my friends. I like them, even if they're a bit overworked. You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.

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Minnow the Corgi

Today the truly benevolent god of corgwen have blessed me with a generous gift: time with their precious child, Minnow.

Minnow is a corgi mixed with another sort of herding dog (which I forgot, because there was a corgi to play with) and is as soft as he is delightfully stubborn. Which isn't necessarily what I'd look for in a canine companion, but is a lot of fun on a Thursday.

Minnow knows a few tricks, and I was able to capture a few on video. They're in the comments.

Like Bennie before him, Minnow was an absolute dream come true. I love animals, especially the common dog, and few creatures have the power to steer your mood quite so powerfully. Today, my mood needed no correction, today was as sunny in fact as it was in metaphor. Minnow pushed me over the top.

I am truly glad that an item I had given up on for the Remission List was vanquished handily twice. Maybe there's hope for getting to see the geese leave me one last time.

Crossed paws.

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Big Chute Marine Railroad

Sitting on my mother's recliner, recovering from my aborted cytoreduction+HIPEC surgery, I had plenty of time to watch YouTube videos with my parents and join them (well, largely my father) in sharing interests. Selected highlights include the extremely well web cam covered city of Ust-Kut, Russia, a visit to Bourbon Street most evenings, and following ships through the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence Seaway. Plus, of course more 40s and 50s detective stuff than it seems possible for a human to get through. It was a nice time.

Ocasionally, we'd split the live feeds up with people's travel videos, short documentaries, and silent walk throughs. And I got inspired. While, in terms of years, I had little time, but in terms of free hours, I had more than I needed.

That inspiration became fixation one day when we were looking at videos of odd locks. Bathtub hydraulic locks, like the kind at Kirkfield and Peterborough, fancier versions of the same that sweep circular arcs, large shipping locks. But the one that caught my attention most and quickest was not really a lock at all, it was the Big Chute Marine Railroad.

Big Chute is part of the Trent-Severn Waterway, a national historic site(s) located in Ontario, allowing water traffic to travel from Trenton, Ontario, to travel to Port Severn on Georgian Bay, bypassing Lake Erie and the St. Claire River (which made a lot of sense in the post War of 1812 days). It's also only about an hour from where I lived at the time, and was a perfect picnic outing to start my living at home surgical recovery.

Operation is simple, the railway has a car, pulled by cables in a central wheelhouse, to which boats attach. When the car is full, or there's no one waiting, the cables pull the car to the other side. It was fascinating for me to watch, I ended up canceling another stop for the day and listening to podcasts while eating tuna sandwiches at a picnic area nearby.

The reason they didn't construct a conventional lock here (like they did on all but a few other locations on the canal) are that the rock would have been prohibitively expensive to blast, being hard precambrian shield, as opposed to much younger sandstones and limestones. The vertical drop added to this issue. These days, it's good that they didn't go this way, it allows the Big Chute to remain passable to spawning native fish, but an impenetrable barrier to of concern invasive fish. This engineer likes it when oddities of engineering are functional as well as weird, and Big Chute really counts for that.

Big Chute was my first stepping stone to recovery, and the fall of 2023, when I was off on a silly yet exciting, to me, adventure every couple of days. I taught myself how to make videos, to document, and to have fun doing it. Getting through eight months of chemo, and actively deciding not to give up after the failure of the surgery I gambled so much on, started to pay off here. I choose to be my day's best self every morning (even if best self is a slug who eats Doritos in bed and watchs Archer on repeat for three days and does nothing else), and Big Chute is an important inflection point. Yes, I was doomed. But I was still alive. Still here. And making something of it was going to be a delight.

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Maverick the Golden Retriever

An advantage of a small town hospital that isn't always available to larger centres (where administrators can be found on weekends) is that sometimes you can get a surprise dog visit. This weekend I won the Golden Retriever lottery and got to spend some quality time with the lovely and extremely soft Maverick.

His sidekick, Goose the cat, stayed home.

Maverick belongs to one of the staff members here and is known to come in and cheer up the patients when the human has time.

I, for one, am full of gratitude and joy at being included in this visit, these days I'm 100% in camp poodle, but growing up I was in love with the world's dopiest Labrador (and imagine the competition for that title) and barely drew distinction between the various retriever breeds.

Maverick was the smiling sunshine coloured ray I needed, and she was kind enough to leave behind enough golden glitter to keep the cleaning staff busy for days.

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Healy 2019

In 2019, I took my first real vacation with Alicia. We visited my parents camp at Healey, Ontario, near my hometown of Chapleau. As close to any place in the world ever could be, Healey is my home. It's where I spent my summers until I departed for university, and where I hurried back to when those university summers allowed. It was special to me in a way no where else could be.

Alicia and I spent the week exploring the lake (Como Creek, Grazing Inlet, the falls, the ghost town of Nicholson, packed with living Petroskys and Tremblay), fishing, hiking and exploring dead logging roads. Plant and animal identification guides in hand (soft cover books, your kilometres, or a lucky hill, away from reception) we looked at flowers and mushrooms and tried to figure out which red berry was which. At least sugar plums/service berries/Saskatoon berries, blueberries and raspberries are easy and rewarding to identify.

Chapleau is a place with little left for me, although I was looking forward to my final visit this summer. I was going to plan it like one of my central Ontario outlines, focusing on claims to fame, old restaurants, weird signs and the like. There's have been enough for an afternoon and a video. And I'd have liked to have done that.

Alicia got an informal version of they trip, the adventure that came four years before the first cancer adventure. It was nostalgic for me, and as always just a little bittersweet. Chapleau isn't the Chapleau I knew (nor should it be, I left).

The next trip I planned with Alicia was past the pandemic, past a mental health crisis or two, past diagnosis, HIPEC's failure and past this last round of chemo. On July 5th, we were to set out towards Alberta to meet dinosaurs and the ruins of Frank and accidentally be in Calgary during the stampede and none of it ever happened. Because that week the cancer won.

The cancer was ways going to win. And I don't care that it has. My capacity for adventure has decreased, but I'll wake up every morning seeking it. And these days, I'm pretty good at finding it, too.

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Dying My Hair

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

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Deer Trail Touring Route

The Deer Trail Touring Route is a circle of highway running through Elliot Lake, Iron Bridge and Blind River. Its got some neat geology, has some different forest types, has plenty of lakes and takes you along the Mississagi River where it is most calm and joyful. Since my parents made the move to Elliot Lake, it's something that's been on my list.

Today, my partner and our Squish Squad crossed it off The List Formally Known as the Remission List. I don't know if it'll be my final road trip, but all future trips have to take Highway 17, a highway I've been familiar with my whole life, which cuts the sense of adventure.

I tried to find a good puddingstone outcrop, but construction equipment and blind corners foiled us. Puddingstone is a rock with large cobbles embedded in a fine grained matrix, and the Southern Province of the Canadian Shield has some excellent outcrops.

We looked at rivers and river stones, the Little White River meandering across the landscape, leaving marshy oxbow lakes full of water lilies and lily pads. Areas with deep, rich soils supporting mixed wood forests, and wind blown sand deposits dating from glaciation, covered only in jackpine.

As we came out of the forest and began to approach Iron Bridge (no longer home to its bridge), we entered the pasture land that we always looked forward to growing up, because I've always been an animal person and cows are just not a thing you saw in Chapleau. I don't recall seeing any today.

We resupplied (aka bought props) in Iron Bridge (the bridge is mostly iron, but it's not the bridge the town is named for) and headed off to the Mississagi River Rest stop for our little picnic photo op. In the past, I'd have been too self conscious to bring that kind of silliness into the world where others could see it, theoretically, much less a dozen people seeing it in actuality.

This is the sort of strength and resilience I've grown over the past two years. I've grown free of parts of myself I needed to let go of. And it's never to late to relish that kind of joyful freedom

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Science North - Main Hall

Summer 2023, the whole of my mother's side of the family got together for a baby shower for one of my cousins. My brothers and I (along with partners) decided to extend the weekend into our own celebration of life for our maternal grandfather.

When we were much younger, my grandparents would take us to Science North, a science centre in Sudbury, Ontario. We'd usually take in a show, his term for any film, but in this context an Imax nature documentary, we'd occasionally visit the exhibition space, especially if there was a dinosaur exhibit (I never grew out of my dinosaur phase) and finally we'd explore the main hall and all its wonders.

The main hall has largely remained unchanged since I was a child. The stairs in the main hall are dominated by a magnificent fin whale Skeleton. There's geology exhibits (and the whole site is built into a mighty fine geological exhibit, the Canadian Shield). Other highlights include local wildlife, including a stunner of a porcupine, turtles, bat's an a collection of insects. We didn't take in any of the short shows or interactive activities aimed at children, but did spend some time in the butterfly room, where I, still recovering from chemotherapy after months off, enjoyed the extra heat and humidity.

After we were done enjoying our healthy nostalgia, celebrating our grandparents in a way that I will always most associate with them, we took a swing by Jak's Diner in New Sudbury to relive a powerful food memory I have. In the case of science North, I found the memory enjoyable to play in. With Jak's, even though nothing had seemingly changed, the strands of nostalgia escaped me, and while the food was good, it wasn't the same. It was an interesting lesson in nostalgia for me, but thankfully one that didn't set the stage for my future trips.

After departing Sudbury and returning to Midland, I felt a more solid footing in my relationships with my siblings, the exact sort of place I wanted, and needed, to be going into what all my oncologists were calling my final year to year and a half of life.

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Science North - Exhibition Space

Summer 2023, the whole of my mother's side of the family got together for a baby shower for one of my cousins. My brothers and I (along with partners) decided to extend the weekend into our own celebration of life for our maternal grandfather.

When we were much younger, my grandparents would take us to Science North, a science centre in Sudbury, Ontario. We'd usually take in a show, his term for any film, but in this context an Imax nature documentary, we'd occasionally visit the exhibition space, especially if there was a dinosaur exhibit (I never grew out of my dinosaur phase) and finally we'd explore the main hall and all its wonders.

We missed the Imax showings this time, they didn't really fit in with my brother's bus trip back to Ottawa, but we did spend time in the wildly lit event space and the main snowflake.

This was the third big outing I had post surgery, the first being the trips from Toronto to Elliot Lake, where I spent my recovery period, and from Elliot Lake back to Midland when I felt capable of living on my own again. This was the first big outing I was excited about, both the family reunion part at the baby shower and the Science North part.

The highlight of the dinosaur exhibit, for me, was the stegosaurus. Stegosaurus has long been my favourite dinosaur. It's not the largest, fastest or strongest, but I adore their plates and spikes and tiny little heads.

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Elliot Lake (the actual lake) Beach Day at Spruce Beach

Today, my friends from university, Leslie and Josh, were in town to visit. After some chit-chat-catching-up, they took me out for my second outing since entering hospice a month ago.

First, we did a raid of the LCBO (Liquor Control Board of Ontario, the booze store) pretty much like we did in university: buy one of everything that seemed new or interesting (it was a good day for Collective Arts Brewing of Hamilton, who had the most new and interesting stuff to us) and a few old favourites (I couldn't find the wheat beer I wanted, and forgot the name of the one I did buy, but I know I've enjoyed it in the past and look forward to it tomorrow).

I had asparations of visiting the Miner's Memorial on Horne Lake, and the always enjoyable to me Fire Tower Lookout (if you ever came to visit me in Elliot Lake, these would have been on the itenary), but I just don't have the energy I used to, so we skipped to Elliot Lake, the lake, itself for some photos and experiences.

The most important thing for me was wading into the lake, even if it was only a bit. When I got the Port-O-Cafh inserted, I was promised that I could go swimming. The access point was under the skin, not a tube sticking out through the skin, and safe from the elements. But as it stands I have the Port, three subcutaneous access points (pain pump, Nozinan, general use) and an IV.

There will be no swimming for me, but the feeling of the lake on my skin and sand between toes was everything I hoped it would be. Today was a cool, overcast day, which lessened the magic of the moment slightly, but I imagined the heat wave we had a few weeks ago, and felt the heat, and found a moment of perfect stillness.

I'd have stayed in that quiet forever, but their was silliness to get up to with Tomara. She needed an accessible beach scooter ride (truth be told, I'm the one who was in need, or nearly so), wanted to go on the swing (not pictured) and have a few fun photo ops.

It was a day of ups and downs. I had a great deal of fun, got to taste (and plan to taste) new things. I had scotch, a tiger tail milkshake, and delicious pho broth. But I ran up against my strength and endurance, hard. It's good to know where I stand, but I wish it was elsewhere.

Still, though, another great day in hospice with the people that give my life meaning (and a pretty spectacular and unexpected sunset).

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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.

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Fed is Best: The Taco Bell Quest

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

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The Band

Corgi Band day would have been nothing without the wonderful humans who showed up and made it happen. From left to right in the group shot, they are Thor, Catherine, Bruce, me, Alison, and Tom (The Jammers). Plus Bennie the corgi. These people made a very sick person's day (and week and month), for which im tremendously thankful.

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