️King's Highway 17, Highway 108 Turnoff to Echo Beach
My last solo adventure was a trip down King's Highway 17, starting at the turnoff to Elliot Lake and ending at at Echo Bay. The destination was adding a second oversized coin to my collection, the Giant Loonie at Echo Beach (the other in my collection is the Big Nickle in Sudbury, which is much bigger and more impressive). I visited a few landmarks, got pretty lost on some backroads without any cellular coverage at all, and found some artisanal sourkraut in a valley I didn't know existed.
The only thing I can recommend without reservation from this trip is a visit to the Black Bear Cafe on St. Joseph's Island, they had the finest buttertarts I've ever purchased and a lemon bar that I somehow managed to savour over a few improbable days.
The Loonie is just off the highway, though, so if silly roadside nonsense is your thing (like it is mine), then it's an easy thing to cross off your List Formally Known as the Remission List. The sourkraut was really good, and I'm upset I don't get to finish eating it, but I have no idea how to return to that location, so it's lost to us all.
A Cancerversary marks the anniversary of an important event in your cancer journey. August 2nd, 2022 marks the first time a doctor uttered the word and changed the direction of my life irrevecobly.
The Cancerversary is not a celebration of diagnosis, it's about survival. Cancer is a truly monstrous thing, and marking another year with it is good and right.
For my first Cancerversary, August 2nd, 2023, my best friend Lilly Hill helped me throw a tea party for some of my favourite plush friends. There were adult drinks (which i couldn't have, its hard on a liver already harmed by the cancer), tea, cake and, finally a fire in the evening.
It was a wonderil day of whimsy and make believe, the perfect escape from a reality that can be unkind. Plus, cake!
I've seen Cats (2019), conservatively, over 250 times. The Covid-19 layoff period was one of hyperfixation for me. Somehow, through all those viewings, my only partner was Thomasin, and I think she was more into our group watches for the quiet cuddles rather than the cinematic masterpiece.
One night in hospice we decided it was time to watch it. I was too afrade that people close to me wouldn't enjoy it that I didn't let them have the choice.
My youngest brother, Joseph, and my partner, Alicia, took the plunge with me, probably for the final time.
For me, some of the magic was gone. The warm glow of hyperfixation has long passed. I still adore the music the way I always have, still love the dedication to bisexual lighting, and still love the weird little story they crammed into a musical that did not need it. I remembered the hours I spent pouring over vintage maps of London, trying to figure out the geography of the world. After the movie was over, I listened to The Flop House Cats episode, just to draw out that feeling I'm hoping is a nontoxic nostalgia.
My partner and my brother both had a good time, too. It was fun to rehash the old talking points, all of which kind of come down to not a singe choice being made correctly during production. I don't think it'll end up on either of their top ten lists, but we were happy to share that particular bit of madness together.
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.
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Surviving cancer has been a long, hard process of identifying the demons that haunt the dark places in my life and befriending them.
First, I tried the disease itself. But that's too big. I still haven't gotten to the point of forgiveness to my own body for the betrayal it's put on me. But I have accepted it, and recognize it as an amoral force of nature.
My real first victory was over denial. Accepting the diagnosis was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I don't remember if it was the first or second chemo session that convinced me completely, but it was early. And for this I'm thankful, it let me jump right into the photo project which has enriched my life and delivered a tremendous amount of meaning to me. And maybe it'll help someone, too.
There have been dozens of little and big anxieties. I used to hate needles, now I have four perminant IVs in my limbs. Eighteen chemo cycles over two years is enough exposure for most. My treatment was repetitive, it's easy to make boring or anxiety like that.
A secret I only just started telling is that three days before the HIPEC surgery, when I had the consent forms filled out but hadn't sent them in, I very nearly didn't. I had won a minor duel with denial on routine stuff, but not when a dozen organs were on the line. But the fortitude I'd developed in eight months of treatment carried me through, and for my trouble I was gifted certainty. But not granted our desired outcome.
Befriending death is the difficult one. I've been working on it since accepting my diagnosis in September 2022 and since accepting my surgical fate in June 2023. I've come a long way. I know the form death will take (it's private, don't ask), and I know my last act will be to embrace it as a close friend. And I know that this will happen on their time, and I'm not ready yet.
There's more, so much more, buried in my Facebook wall (I've read it all for a project), but today I want to celebrate a small, but important for me, victory. The Antler's Hospice is a beautiful little album, perhaps nothing worth writing about these years later, but I like it's tragic beauty. I banned it from my playlist in 2022 because the central metaphor of a hospice was too much for me while coping with terminal illness.
Friends, I listened to that album straight through. In the cold dark of the hospice I've called home for over a month. My partner is in the next room, but she's asleep. And the nurses largely leave us alone after dark. It's just me, my headphones, the inky darkness of a Northern Ontario night, and the hum of my medical machines.
How I imagine it supposed to be listened to it.
I've become fast friends with Hospice again. I only hope this small victory can apply elsewhere. But if not, I have Kettering back. And thats beauty I want from the world.
From the comments
James Petrosky: The song I have forgiven for hitting too close to home. It's a beautiful and powerful song.
Brennan Moline: James Petrosky thank you as always for sharing powerful art that speaks to you
Gena Radcliffe: “I still haven’t forgiven my body for the betrayal it’s put on me. But I have accepted it, and recognize it as an amoral force of nature.”
This is beautiful, powerful, and deeply relatable.
James Petrosky: Gena Radcliffe it took me so long to get here, and it requires constant work as the cancer creates new nightmares, but it's given me so much peace and mental stillness.
Cathy Petrosky: You have taught this old lady so much. For this I am so grateful. 🥰
Dennis Dorion: Your mom is so right. This past, short 2 years will have changed so many lives. I hope in some way we can pay it forward. Each day is so precious. It is so easy to look at the big things and miss all the beautiful smalls. You have been able to capture all these smalls. I am beginning to see these smalls because of you. Thank you so much for being you. ❤️💜
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Today, my partner Alicia and brother Joseph watched Cats. This was both of their first times, and probably something around my 250th.
I hadn't watched it since before my diagnosis. I needed comforts like this more than ever, but with Cats I'm always terrified that the magic will have somehow evaporated. That I'll be left like the majority who panned it, stuck in a grayer world, lacking those beautiful neon alleys.
Cats' powerful sway over me is broken. My capacity for that obsession died the day I had to say out loud the words "it's cancer" to my parents, "stage four". But Cats is still a joy, a delight, a bright and colourful balm, and exactly what today needed.
BC (before Cats (2019))
AC (after Cats (2019))
From the comments
Brennan Moline: You are a much stronger man than me for being able to resist forcing your friends and family to watch your obsession. I know I forced Annette on more than a few folks
James Petrosky: Brennan Moline some things are just so close to you that you need to be forced to share with your loved ones. The fear of rejection has been too white hot, but I'm glad I overcame it today.
Brennan Moline: James Petrosky I understand that -- after some bad reactions to the aforementioned forced annette, I am much more hesitant now.
Jamie Piedmont Murgatroyd Teller: Brennan Moline you did the right thing
Brennan Moline: Jamie Piedmont Murgatroyd Teller By forcing Annette or being hesitant haha
Jamie Piedmont Murgatroyd Teller: Brennan Moline the former, the good news must be spread (it’s my favorite film of the decade so far)
Brennan Moline: Jamie Piedmont Murgatroyd Teller Fuck yes, so glad to meet another devotee of the baby Annette (who is a baby, afterall). It's among my favorite films of all time. It came at a time when I was feeling really weirdly sullen and pessimistic and slapped me out of nowhere as one of my new favorite movies. I even have a tattoo saying "Sympathy for the Abyss"
Cam Percy: Sharing Cats (2019) with someone for the first time is one of my favourite things to do. I'm so glad you got to do it today.
Cam Percy:
SKIM
BLE
SHANKS
THE
RAIL
WAY
CAT
James Petrosky: Cam Percy Skimble won't let anything go wrong, and that is a comforting thought
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Very occasionally, you can catch a perfect tinsel like strand of nostalgia. We embraced, shared, and parted as friends. It's the safe way to spend time with these ghosts.
(We had a group watch of Repo: The Genetic Opera and all felt it held up as a beautiful cult film, the way we did in university)
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
I'm no longer writing Cancer Selfies, that project didn't finish where I wanted or where I expected, but it did finish at the right place. People have used the final post (hospice, sticky on my profile) as a place to leave nice messages for me and my family, which I appriciate more than I can express. This is a good place for them. I've enjoyed reading them all, and keeping them together makes them easier to find in the future.
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Today I'm celebrating my second Cancervercery. I don't think that, as a birthday like holiday, it's likely to catch on with anyone else, but it's important to me.
It marks the anniversary of my diagnosis, celebrates the months and months enduring chemo and recovering from surgery. It's an opportunity for me to look back at all the things I've done while under the shadow of one of humanities greatest nightmares.
For my first Cancervercery, I threw a squishmallow tea party, complete with a decorated Cancervercery cake. Whimsy and silliness were powerful enough then to contain the horror.
For my second, and final, Cancervercery, that horror is unavoidable and inescapable. I've survived and thrived during my time in hospice, during the time when the processes of death itself could not be ignored. I've prepared a tour of my hospice life, complete with the digression and discussion everyone who knows me has come to expect. It's a long video, but a nice length for a visit (1.5 hours). It's extremely intimate and emotional. But I chose to make it, and I chose to publish it, and I'm choosing to share it here.
My first Cancervercery (this is a genuinely fun and joyful video)
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
Consider donating to St Joseph's Hospital in Elliot Lake, they do excellent work for a small community. They're working on improving their oncology area, which is very close to my heart. These improvements will allow more patients to recieve their treatment in the community they live in, rather than traveling two hours each way to the nearest cancer centre.
If you want to keep your money closer to home, then please consider donating to a hospice. The one here has given me and my family so much joy and comfort in a very difficult time in our lives time. I don't think I'd still feel as alive and vibrant, and I would not still be creating, without the care this hospice provides. Hospice is a gift we all deseve at our appointed hour.
It's been a while. I've lost all my hair. Visited the chemo suite a few times. And been significantly more active outside of my apartment than I was last year. It hasn't been easy, and it's been slow going, but we're more than half way to my next CT scan, which is still a major treatment milestone for me. Like last year, it's two groups of six cycles and a CT scan to complete this treatment plan.
I started this treatment plan with some digestive symptoms, a lot of nausea and vomiting, and a mild-medium pain in my right kidney. Digestive problems remain pretty constant, but the cause is chemotherapy, not cancer, now. At this point I can tell pretty easily. I still experience a fair amount of nausea, but it's limited to the treatment part of the cycle, a huge quality of life improvement. My kidney is doing better, and no longer causes discomfort, but will require monitoring for the rest of my life (it's part of my standard bloodwork, though).
We're back in the swing of things, the rhythm of treatment is normal again, and it feels as good as this sort of thing can.
They were giving me hydration, which is just IV saline water, to help flush the chemo out of my body after treatment. We don't know if I need it, but we gave it a go because of the kidney
You can see the line running from my port up to my jugular
Fancy dress, maximum hair extent
At the Big Nickle in Sudbury
Sometimes you've got to cuddle a cat to punish her a bit
My goose friend, Frigg
The beard is getting a little (a lot) patchy
A half volume beard is way itchier than a full one, it needed to go
I got tired of vaccuming more James hair than Thomasin hair, so it had to go
Christmas kitty
From the comments
James Petrosky:
Bonus Thomsin!
James Petrosky: It's harder for me to talk about things this time around. It's all so normal now. It's cycle three, but it's also cycle twentyish. I don't have anything new or interesting to say about chemotherapy. And we're not working towards something exciting, we're doing it all because it's part of the assumptions that go into the prognosis calculation. It's how I get my year. Which is hugely meaningful to me, and those around me, but it's not sexy like major surgery.
Human beings will adjust to anything.
Lots more in suite side effects today. Had to pause treatment a few times. That's happened before, but never this much. I hope it's not a trend.
PICC's gone, though. They pulled all 20 some cm out all at once and I didn't even feel it. Once the access to the port has been removed, after the take home bottle has been removed and I'm through hydration, I can have my first plastic wrap free shower since September 14, 2023.
Hydration is just running saline through the port to help clear remaining chemo drugs from my kidneys. It's fairly a common part of treatment, I was just bouncing back quickly last time so it wasn't necessary.
On Tuesday afternoon, I make my return to the chemo suite at Royal Victoria Hospital. I haven't been there since the spring. Leaving, I had a very reasonable expectation that I might never have to go back.
But I have to go back.
Last chemo winter, I was so very careful. No theatres or other recreation. Grocery stores during off hours only. No rare meat, raw fish or runny eggs. Last winter, with the promise of surgery, it was easy to hold to these rules. It's going to be much, much harder this time. I need to ask what the risk level is.
I've been busy this past month. A few weeks ago I packed up my work toolboxes and all but officially ended my work life. I'd have gone back had the surgery panned out, but I doubt I'd have lasted very long. My time off had given me needed perspective. Going back in wasn't very hard or emotionally draining because of that. I've managed to get rid of most of my books, I only still have stuff I want to (but am unlikely to) reread. It's only a small box worth, I'm comfortable with that. Also gone are all the non horror VHS tapes. Months and months of trying to do this task have finally allowed me to work through the feelings problem. As a collecter bordering on minor hoarder, it's a good feeling to get stuff out the door without anxiety.
I have a tremendous amount of dread for the coming six months. It's absolutely necessary and it's going to be rough. I don't want to feel sick all the time (even though I already do) and I've grown vain and really, really don't want to lose all my hair. I love the way my hair grew back, it's how I long wanted it to be. I'll spend the winter in a fairly strong physical and social isolation. When terminally ill people talk about whether further treatment is worth it or not, disease state and side effects are part of it, but so is every other aspect of our lives. Right now, even with this dread, further treatment is worth it for me. We all have to know and accept that won't remain true forever.
The best worst pillow that is no longer at Homesense because we bought it ❤️
The chubby baby has enjoyed my increased lying down timme ❤️
A deal with death
Halloween
Halloween with Lilly ❤️
The maximum extent of my curly hair and crazy beard. The moustache became too long and thin to curl properly a few weeks ago, so it won't make an appearance
On the weekend, I saw an ad for an Arby's abomination. I was able to resist until today. Arby's does not make abominations that taste good. Or even like food. At least they had fountain Cherry Coke though.
Today I had a port (port-a-cath or implanted port) implanted under the skin over my collarbone. It will eventually replace my PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) for my IV chemotherapy treatment, at which point the PICC will be removed from my arm.
Like a PICC, a port is a catheter that feeds to the large veins near the heart. Unlike a PICC, which always has a length of plastic tubing outside of your skin, the port is completely under the skin. In my case, it has a metal disk attached to a plastic catheter. To use it, the skin above the disk is numbed, cleaned and pierced with a special needle, through which my chemotherapy will be delivered into the catheter, and then into my bloodstream. A PICC works similarly, but instead of stabbing, uses valves and connectors.
The insertion was a surprisingly painless affair. I was given some IV painkillers (through the PICC), some stronger local anesthetic, and then felt nothing as the radiologist guided the catheter down my vein and placed the metal under my skin. Like the PICC insertion, I was awake, and like the PICC insertion, I worked myself up way more than was justified or useful about the procedure.
This will be a major quality of life improvement for me. The PICC requires weekly maintenance by a nurse, the port also requires maintenance, but monthly, and only when not in use. The PICC is through the skin, and that entry point must be kept sterile at all times. The port is under the skin, and is as clean as the vessels it feeds into. This means I can submerge my port, which is forbidden with a PICC. Once the PICC is removed in a week or two, I'll be able to shower without spending 5 minutes wrapping my arm in plastic cling film. Come the summer, I'll be able to go swimming. I won't have to worry about getting so sweaty that the PICC dressing falls off (it happened in July). I'll also set off some metal detectors, which probably won't happen but sounds neat. And as far as cyborg implants to, metal deliberately placed under your skin beats plastic tube coming out of your arm any day.
I hope to never need another catheter inserted into my chest cavity. A port can last years. It should serve me for the rest of my treatment. I have a good idea of what using a port looks like in the chemo suite, I've spent enough time there and seen them in use. I'm less sure what it means for my take home bottle, but I'm honestly pretty excited that there's still new things here, even if I'd rather no one ever have to learn them.
It's 5AM and I'm so tired I want to throw up (I'm good for it, too, it happens most nights)
First waiting room, trade a health card for a hospital gown, go to procedure waiting room 4)
You'd think I could put on the gowns right by now
Post procedure. I think I'm about as stoned as I look, but dangerously I don't feel that way
I believe the lower dressing is the port and the upper was used to help the insertion. I was very tired and drugged, though, so it's possible I have it backward
Back at home. While my face is that red, the rest of me is not, the sterilizing chemical they use is dyed so you can confirm coverage. And I have yet to wash it off.
From the comments
James Petrosky: One of the people in the procedure room (probably a nurse) commented that I have very small ears while putting on the oxygen tube. Which is true, and a thing I've heard a lot before, mostly from romantic partners. What I hadn't heard is that I have a small nose. And because I can see my nose and it's always blocking something I want to see, I've always thought the opposite.
Sherri: What do you spend your time while you receive your chemo? Between [all my treatments], waiting my turn when an ER patient comes in, I might be 5-8 hours at the hospital. TV is what I did ( although some days I just rested). I would have brought stuff, but between the walker and a few other things…
James Petrosky: Sherri depending on your chemo, you can be there anywhere between 1-8 hours. I'm only there for 2-3. There are some Facebook groups I only check every couple of days, so I'll just save up stuff to look at. My Switch's battery lasts about 3 hours. I also spend a lot of time people watching.
Sherri: James Petrosky - people watching comes naturally to me. For many reasons. Not that I stare or anything, but even to watch interactions- as a teacher and instructor/ lifeguard as well as many other jobs with the public, it comes with the territory.
I said a few weeks ago that my cancer symptoms had become more noticeable than my surgery symptoms, and today's talk with the oncologist was a natural consequence of that. I see her again on November 6th, and return to the chemo suite on the 8th.
This is not inherently bad news. The CT scan showed no new tumors, my blood counts are good, there is no evidence of dangerous new mutations yet. I've simply been off treatment for over six months, and it's time.
I'll still be receiving the same chemotherapy cocktail, with the same two week cycle, and the same take home bottle. I am not excited, or looking forward to it, but at least I know exactly what to expect this time around.
I asked about future chemotherapies. There are an additional two varieties of chemotherapy regularly used for colon cancer (which is what I'm being treated for, although I have the related appendix cancer), I don't remember much about the third, but the second is largely similar to what I've been on so far, side effect wise. For me, it's comforting to know that the expected time my treatment options will last is longer than my prognosis, so I shouldn't have to worry about pain.
In the next month I need to get my broken tooth pulled, ideally quickly so it has lots of time to heal before my immune system crashes around cycle 3. I need to finally see my palliative care doctor and get those plans firmly in place. I need to get legal stuff in order. I need a port installed and my PICC removed. And I have one more day trip to make.
Leaving for the hospital
Masks are required in the cancer ward, which will be a comfort when I come back for treatment
Outside the hospital
Masks: great for keeping out germs, terrible for moustaches
