If I'm going outside, but not leqcinf grounds, I say I'm going to the courtyard. It isn't really a courtyard, a small garden seperates the chapel exit (which is closer to the elevators, too) from the main entrence and exist, used by general admission, emergency, and all other patients. The garden offers some privacy, some quiet, although its frequently broken by people using the exit as an exit.
During the high summer, the heat in the courtyard was strong. Surrounded on two sides, with the other two hardly open, the heat could build. To a lapsed chemo patient like myself, that heat was desirable, but occasionally overwhelming. But there was plenty of shade on those dog days of summer (often literally) and those days were magnificent.
As the sunsets have marched steadily West, outside the angle I can see from bed (the change happened so fast I barely noted it, but I know I stopped talking about their magic and the importance of daily observance. ADHD recall is a real thing, after all, and apparently you can forget your own star). And the sun has decided to hang low in the sky, like a bauble I can nearly reach.
The sun hanging like this, and the long shadows it causes to fall, is my favourite time of year. The weather it brings, and the harvest festivals, and the flavours (I'm already waste deep in pumpkin spice, and I didn't even like coffee until last month) are all the greatest. But the way the sun hugs the horizon most of the day, taking a lazy trip low into the sky.
In the courtyard, in the afternoon, there's no escape from the sun. The courtyard is under direct sun until it falls far enough that emergency itself provides shade, when the sky itself is exploding in colour, and maybe someday I'll take a sunset hidden like that, but these days I have a hallway I can share, and sometimes do.
These long shadows are nothing like the kilometer long shadows Tiny Marsh used to provide me. But they're still beautiful, and still remind me of the unknowable, unrecognizable part of everything. Of the little bit of unknown and spooky we love about the season. I think the harsh winter of. Elliot Lake would render my little courtyard too cold for all but the smokers, and spring the joy of sunshine and the plants recovering. But I shouldn't be seeing those. And that's fine, the geese and shadows returned to me one last time, and we accept our little blessings.
Tiny Marsh was my quiet piece of tranquility (except during hunting season) for near seven years. The Pond was round, crossed by two intersecting dikes, with a path they covered most of the circumference. Part of the circumference path had a boardwalk and lookouts. It was one of those perfect places in the world, maybe it could be improved, theoretically, but some of the real magic or the place would be lost in the transaction.
Tiny Marsh, more than any other place in southern Ontario is home to me, on an emotional level. It's where I'd go for a walk to clear my head (frequently after a unnecessarily convoluted drive to get there, because sometimes your head just needs that much of a clearcut). I recorded dozens of videos there, and until the Hospice videos started coming out was by far the most emotionally honest recording there vs home or my parents' place.
It's special. It contains real magic, the sort I've chased my whole life. It's not just the geese (although it is absolutely the geese, and their water fowl friends).
Around the east side, it has a small bunch of feral apples. Not the tastiest apples you've ever had for sure, but after all the walking you've done up to this point, they're exactly what you want.
Round the west side there are lookouts, and a groundhog mountain (hill? wiser men have debated this). Sometimes you even see the little critters. But in the fall, what you do see are cascades of leopard frogs, bounding away from you with every step you take. If you're quick, maybe you can catch one, but why? Let them flow like water across the path, away from you in all directions. It's more beautiful this way.
We haven't even talked the turtles, foxes, rabbits, turkeys (and other land fowl). Or the green heron, strangest bird I've ever seen with my own eyes. We discussed swans, but not swans in the spring, singing to each other, or in the fall, calling out and learning to take off for their preposterous flights. We haven't talked the dark passages through the trees carved out by the paths, the strange bridges, drainage ditches, the carp and bass (maybe, I'm only good at identifying caught fish), the cat tails, reeds and sedges.
Tiny Marsh is a place of wild magics. I cannot share a story about it because they're all beautiful, but they bleed together. Like many things, sharing the details would spoil the whole. So I'll leave the exploration of these spaces up to you. Just be kind to the spaces, and talk with the geese. They love that.
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.
One of the places that claims to be Canada's Smallest Jailhouse, Coboconk
I've visited a lot of locks, and have so many more to go. This one has a restaurant with pretty good fish and chips
At the marsh
A tiny tiny tiny little historic site in Tay Township, near Midland. This sign is most of the site, sadly
<figcaptionHuntsville sculpture forest
Huntsville sculpture forest
Huntsville sculpture forest
Hogg's Falls, Beaver Valley, near Thornbury
Eugenia Falls, Beaver Valley, near Thornbury
High Falls, Bracebridge
Port Sidney Falls, Port Sidney
A lock! Huntsville
Huntsville has a lot of beautiful mural reproductions of Tom Thomson and the Group of Seven's artwork. This is the one that I liked most as a photo with me in it (the painting is Northern River by Tom Thompson)
The Jack Pine. Nearly a religious experience
At the McMichael Canadian Art Collection
At the McMichael Canadian Art Collection
You guys gotta believe me this is a really good rock pile, totally worth the 3 hour drive
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.
I took a walk just before sunset on September 6th, looking for small woodland animals. Video includes a walk through a marsh on a boardwalk, some leopard frogs and a trumpeter swan towards the end.
Join me as I walk the length of the main dyke at Tiny Marsh. We see sandhill cranes, great blue herons, swans, some ducks and geese and a whole lot of frogs.
The first half, we talk about the wildlife, the marsh, and stories I have about these creatures. On the way back, we talk about Meg 2: The Trench and other magnificently stupid movies.
This is shot with a head mounted camera, so the camera moves a lot and is shakier than is idea.
This is the anniversary of when I started this album. I'm not sure what I thought I was doing then, but eventually I found my comfort zone relating my experiences with the medical system - the administrative side and the treatment side. This was a comfortable place through chemotherapy, and honestly an exciting one for me to be in through surgery. But I've struggled a bit since then.
I thought it was just that surgical recovery was boring (and it is), but chemotherapy was the same two week cycle sixteen times, and I never felt this way about it. I still talk nonstop about my cancer, as any of you who know me in person, or are in the same Facevook groups, can attest. But I haven't been able to figure out this place.
I think the reason is that, in light of my failed surgery and prognosis, the only place it made sense for me to go was do the same kind of day by day thing, but instead of it being about getting the full cancer trearment experience at 35, it's about grappling with mortality at 36 and, statistically, dying at 37.
Mental health wise, I'm just coming down from a minor hypomanic episode and feel stable, bipolar wise. My lithium levels are good. If asked how I'm doing, I'd truthfully answer "good, given the circumstances," but I can't tell you if that means I'm doing good.
I'm not an actor, though, when you see a look of delight on my face, that's real. I do have an actual notebook with an actual list of neat stuff to do and I am actually crossing things off on all my little adventures. I'm getting out and experiencing the world. Probably doing way more than I ever would have if I remained otherwise healthy, too, which is a thought too terrifying to contemplate.
To end, because it's been haunting my dreams and hopefully sharing will help, if someone, someday, talks about my death bed conversion, know that they are a disgusting fiend who takes advantage of the vulnerable to glorify themselves. If disease progression or treatment leaves me vulnerable earlier than that, same logic applies. These people were never able to convince me so far, I doubt they'll come up with something compelling in the next few years. I doubt I'm interesting or notable enough to receive this treatment, but I know it happens, so I know I'm not 100% unreasonable in my fears.
Outside Bala, Ontario, searching for its Bog Beast (visible in far background)
When I bought it, I thought it was a cat, I now realize it's a hamster. My first pets were a pair of hamsters, who's claws terrified me so much I barely held them. And now I have a cat who walks up and bites me for unknown feline reasons, we change so much
At Balm Beach, arcade, store and restaurant visible as bright lights
Recording videos at the marsh
Goose friend!
Suspect beaver (at Kirkfield lift lock)
Mystery door, Collingwood
Rainbow trout, Thornbury
Old historical rail bridge, Thornbury
A cool evening, down by the bay
Most antique shop booths are dragon's hoards of shiny things, thrown together. This one was a beautiful room (ft [Lilly]({tag}Lilly))
Is he looking at me?
State of the Moustache
Memento mori
At the restaurant in Balm Beach (I had what they called an Austin Cheese Steak, which i assume is a regular cheese steak with Texas grilling traditions. I have no idea, it was delicious though)
I'm stoned in some of these pictures, but not this one, no matter how it looks.
10/10, only note is that I wanted more giant octopus
I can tell the chemo really effected me because it's above 30C here, there's no shade for 2km, I've already been outside for half an hour, and I'm just comfortable.
From the comments
James Petrosky: 37 is an estimate. I don't want anyone who knows me well enough to start doing math on my birthday and panicking. 38 is probably a better estimate, but 37 fits the flow a lot better, and it's all statistics based on regular colon cancer anyways
James Petrosky: I want to dramatically say "from here on in its all about death" but honestly it's been that way for a while. You have no idea how happy the "thinking about death" joke in Barbie made me, because a) it was funny, and matched my mental state perfectly and b) gave me a lot of cover to joke about it all summer. So thank you, Uncontrollable Thoughts of Death Barbie, you're a life saver.
James Petrosky: Somewhat related to liars for Jesus are liars for other spiritual causes. Mediums, channelers, seyances, ghost hunters, it's all evidence free nonsense, and they do tremendous harm to people undergoing grief by giving them a false hope that can never, ever be realized. If there is somehow an afterlife that can communicate back to the living, I promise you I'll never, ever give these dangerous frauds the time of day. I can be a stubborn person, and this is the thing I'm most stubborn about, so you can be sure I'll hold to it.
Because we live in something approaching a techno dystopia, it's possible to train a large language model on someone's social media history to create a computer program that can write and speak like you can. Maybe there's not enough information available for me. Almost certianly I'm not important enough for this treatment. But if this is done, and it's done well enough to be convincing, the output program is also not me. It's just an actor, playing a role. The same as a spiritualist, they just learn their script from different sources.
Short discussion about how you can feel great and healthy while still knowing your dying, and that that situation is actually normal, about symptoms and side effects, and planning around them, and about how there's always laundry to do.
This isn't even an anniversary I remembered, but on this day in 2022 my partner and I sat with the surgeon I'd been seeing for my abdominal pain and had all our worst fears confirmed by the results of test after test. And you know what? It's fine. I forgot. My partner and I went to the Toronto Zoo, not to mark time but because it's a fun way to spend a summer day.
Apparently the beaver at the zoo has passed away, and that hit me much harder emotionally than August 17 ever could. The beaver wasn't the fattest or roundest of the fatrounds, but they slept right against the glass window that opened into their lodge, so you could always get a good view. The beaver was probably my favourite exhibit.
I have no appointments in the next month. I've grown used to seeing someone every week or two. It's honestly become part of my identity. I'm not upset about it, obviously, but it's still weird. I've been busy, and my strength has been returning, which is also nice.
I've been off chemotherapy for nearly four months, and my treatment plan calls for three month courses of chemo followed by three month breaks to recover. My break was longer because I had done eight months of chemo and then had HIPEC surgery to recover from.
It's now time to plan the next six cycle course of treatment.
I visited some Canada geese at Tiny Marsh in Tiny township this morning on my way home from the Cancer Centre. There were many and they were quite relaxed and beautiful.
I submitted the surgical consent forms this morning. It was a single page. It feels wrong, somehow. This is one of the most important decisions I've ever had to make, and it just feels like the process should have been grander.
Friday, when I got the news, I was put into an excited state. For the first time since August, I felt hope and elation. It was fantastic, but like so often happens, it was too much.
Last night, I came down. The weight of it all hit me at once. Not just moving forward with this stage of treatment, but the having cancer itself. It's happened a few times, usually when I was getting ready for chemo again. There's part of me that refuses to accept the diagnosis, and when that part has to accept reality, in this case reading the full list of procedures I consented to, the resulting mental chaos is indescribable. And then there's the constant feeling of terror.
Thanksgiving is probably my favourite statutory holiday. I enjoyed the one I had, it couldn't have been better. But it's still difficult to mark such milestones.
Last week I noticed that my hair was thinning noticeably. Today I noticed that my facial hair is following the same pattern. But I was able to be the most physically active I've been in nearly a year today. I was limited by dinner time, not nap time, for the first time since at least the spring. The side effects are difficult, and even though it can never be a cure, the treatment works, and it's worth all the hair loss.
Haunted mirror
Back at the marsh
Sweater bear sweater is the best sweater
I like scarves normally, but they've become a lifesaver to me now. They're the easiest layer to remove or replace, and are much easier to carry than a sweater or coat. They've become an item I always have around rather than one I wear December-February
Autumn colours
This was supposed to better feature that exploded cattail over my shoulder
The sky menace with spikes of cloud
From the comments
James Petrosky: The cattail, in its fluffy magnificence
Its Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, and we're having our turkey dinner tonight. We rarely have it on Monday, the day Thanksgiving actually falls, because you have more non work days to eat delicious leftovers. This time, it's not work, but the start of Cycle 3 on Thursday, that motivates celebrating early.
To my Canadian friends, I hope you have the Thanksgiving you dream of.
To my non Canadian friends, have a wonderful weekend.
Dawn, down at the beach
It's cold down at the (other, larger) beach
My goof poodle ❤️
My poodle pals
From the comments
James Petrosky: Another of the poodles on their own
James Petrosky: The menacing October sky of Lake Huron
James Petrosky: Thanksgiving dinner round these parts (this little cottage, specifically, and not necessarily anywhere else) is a roasted turkey served with fresh (never canned, canned was served at a family gathering once years ago and that faux pas is still talked about), mashed potatos, dressing (no stuffing is served), gravy, boiled turnip and steamed green beans. Peas often replace the beans, but we found some fresh ones this week.
Unfortunately neither of my brothers, nor my partner, could make it. But we do the best with who we have (namely, my parents and the poodles)
James Petrosky: In case you were wondering what we watch on tv during and after dinner, is the United States National Park Service Alaskan bear cam and a collection of webcams in Siberia.
Today is the first properly cool day yet, we've had a some chilly mornings, but days have made it to the double digits. Not so today. Today I learned I'm going to need to get used to wearing a lot more sweaters than I've ever had to before.
I'm choosing to take this as an opportunity rather than a setback, because sweaters are quite nice and I adore cardigans.
<figcaptionHuntsville sculpture forest
