Cancer Selfies

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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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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James Meets a Corgi

The List Formally Known as the Remission List has a wide variety of weird and fun things to do on it. From visiting all the historic locks of the Trent-Severn Waterway, to hearing each carillon in the province (country?) play a piece, to participating in a lottery and seeing certian animals that are dear to me. And while I like moose and beaver and painted turtles, no animal was closer to my heart than the beautiful corgi.

I genuinely expected this to be an easy one. I'd be out walking, someone else in the park would have a small wiggle of corgwen. I'd ask to pet them, mark something off my list, and have a moderately better day.

Instead, I had a magical day with my new corgi friend Bennie, and the band she brought along (coming in a future entry!) catapulted the moderately better I expected from crossing off this item to one of the best days I've had in the whole of 2024 (and I got to meet Wiarton Willy this year, a life long goal of mine)

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Hospital Halls

Returning from outside for the corgi and concert with my brothers. Joseph is driving, Willy accompanying, I'm in the wheelchair, too tired to risk using my own body. Like many, I wish I'd spent more time in with my siblings, and I'm truly grateful for the time I've been able to spend with them here at the hospice.

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Broth Buddies

I've said on more than one occasion that I've had nothing but teriffic luck with my interactions with the health care system. The surgeon who originally had my case in Midland took my pain complaints seriously, my medical and surgical oncologists did absolutely everything they could, and, finally, my doctor in Elliot Lake took me on as a patient the moment she got my case out of the ER.

My Elliot Lake doctor gave me my Daley, the tasty tasty noodle boy. He's my broth buddy, picked because I've been on a fluid only diet since early July (even though I'm not even really eating that, either).

I know my experience is not typical, I'm familiar with other people's horror stories. But I'm so grateful for the care I've received, and I hope we all can get what we deserve in the future.

*I'm not forgetting nurses, at least on purpose. I feel confident that my stay at Mt. Sinai would have been days longer if not for two specific nurses taking special interest in my case. Here, as a palliative patient, I have nurses who will stop by for a chat, sharing bits of their lives outside the hospital walls (children, dogs, cats, a goat, skeet shooting, a little bit of everything). It keeps me grounded and in the world. Also, the nurses do all the real labour or care, for which I cannot possibly express enough gratitude for

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My First Cancerversary

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!

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Cats Night at the Hospice

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.

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What's good for the goose is good for the forklift

Gang, today I achieved a major life goal I didn't know I had until moments before achieving it: I honked at geese with a fork lift and had them honk back as they slowly waddled out of my way.