A Brief Update

I intended to blog today from the Chemo Room at the Abbotsford Regional Hospital and Cancer Centre. I’m not. I’m writing from the comfort of my couch because I flunked my the-f-wordblood test. I’ve never failed a test before. They should really Continue reading “A Brief Update”


Some Great News

There are now five days in my life that I will never forget; the one when the most incredible, loving and supportive woman I ever met agreed to marry me, the two when my children came into my life, the one when an ER doctor bluntly told me I had cancer, and yesterday.

GoodNewsThe good and the bad in life seem Continue reading “Some Great News”

The one thing on my bucket list

I’m writing today from the chemo clinic at Abbotsford Regional Hospital and Cancer Centre. ClinicThey have me plugged in to the IV drips and the poisons are flowing. This is the sixth round of chemo and I thought it might be the last. My oncologist told me yesterday there will be at least 6 more. Three more months of chemo brain and getting my ass whipped at Scrabble.

She also told me that, depending on the opinion of the liver surgeon in two weeks, we may be dealing with an indefinite period of chemo treatments. Lovely. Continue reading “The one thing on my bucket list”

Operation Invitation Clarification

My post yesterday invited all readers to celebrate my first annual last birthday by saying “your first annual goodbyes on June 5th”.

I didn’t mean to suggest you travel anywhere or that I was having a party.

What I am suggesting is that you write a few words for this blog. Maybe your version of my obituary.  Tell a story, share an anecdote, tell lies, expose truths; have fun with it.

To be absolutely clear, I have no intention of dying. In fact, it’s the last thing I intend to do, literally.

Maybe there will be a 2nd, 3rd, 4th annual last birthday celebration here on colontosemicolon. Hopefully, the series will be cancelled before #2 due to a clean bill of health.

In the meantime, my birthdays come with an open invitation to celebrate, here on colontosemicolon, whatever relationship you and I have, however long, short, close or distant.

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A Birthday Invitation

May 5, 2016

My 57th birthday is one month from now. I was reminded of the fact this morning when I received notice by mail that my driver’s licence expires June 5th. To my surprise, it hit me hard and with enough shock to make me think; really think. My first reaction was, “why bother, I’m not going to need a driver’s license”. A surprising reaction since I have been Birthday.jpgdetermined to stay positive throughout this process. I had no idea these feelings were lurking.

Eight months ago my oncologist and surgeons prognosticated a 5% chance that I would be alive in 2 years. Since then I have read study after study describing measurable, statistically solid facts supporting their prognosis. Now I have been irradiated, carved up and poisoned with cancer killing chemicals but I have no idea whether the long term expectations have changed at all. Sometimes, I think, I believe the successful radiation and bowel surgery must mean the survival odds have grown. Everything I have read belies that belief. There appears to be no research showing any correlation between successful attacks on the primary tumor and long term survival.

At least on the surface I can choose to believe, as many of you have encouraged, that everything so far has been a series of good signs and positive results building toward a miraculous survival. As we have discussed, several times over the past eight months, doctors tend to be cautious about promising anything positive in their prognoses. That may certainly be true. At least the cautions and odds I was presented with prior to radiation and before surgery support that conclusion. If we take into account every horrible result I was threatened with in the interests of informed consent, I have beaten the odds on all accounts.

Doctors probably do avoid being too positive and they certainly take great care to inform a patient about the myriad ways their procedures might kill them.  The 5% survival rate for stage 4 colorectal cancer, however, isn’t a caution or an opinion. It is a simple, statistical, medical fact.

My gut reaction to a simple driver’s license renewal is undeniable. I have to face the fact that those feelings exist and aren’t imaginary figments. I can stay as outwardly positive as I desire but deep down, on the level of my new semicolon, I know the truth is that I am unlikely to see a 58th birthday.

This isn’t despair, resignation or submission. I am merely recognizing a fact supported by empirical evidence. I am by no means giving up the fight. I’ll attack every challenge with a positive and hopeful determination. I’ll shoot myself full of blood thinners every day, show up for chemo, surgery and whatever else they recommend. I’ll do it all with a smile and outward denial of the long odds. I’ll fight.

We’ve all lost people and wish we hadn’t waited to say our last farewell. I remember my feelings of satisfaction, closure and love when I chose to visit my dying brother in hospital instead of waiting to attend his memorial. I got to hold his hand, express my feelings, introduce him to his baby nephew and end our living relationship in a dignified, caring way. I wish I had the same opportunity with my mother, father and others I miss every day.

For all these reasons, I am declaring this June 5 my first annual last birthday. I’m planning to take the opportunity to craft my first annual eulogistic necrology. After all, if I write it myself, my obituary is bound to entertain and inform.

I’m inviting you all to say your first annual goodbyes on June 5th. You have a whole month to think about it but there is no pressure to get it right the first time. You can revise your opinions on my second annual last birthday in 2017.

I want a cake.

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