First my doctor thought I had pneumonia. Just recently, she figured I had the mumps.
I had cancer. Shouldn't I be exempt from certain things now? Shouldn't I get a little, lamented card that allows me to bypass random stuff?
It's goofy.
No matter.
Sorry I haven't written in awhile. I have been doing well, working 40 hours a week, getting into a good fitness routine (the UBC thing didn't work out...a gym two blocks away from home is a better fit) and even throwing a little bit with my good friend Carla McAloney as we prep for the upcoming Headliner slopitch season. Scott Rintoul, our centre fielder, and Bif Naked, our catcher/infielder/outfielder/trash talker, would be so proud. (SHAMELESS NAME DROP TIMES TWO.)
Then my jaw swelled up two Wednesdays ago. Puffed up huge. Couldn't see my left ear looking at me straight on. Good thing my modelling career is long over.
I have to admit I was more than a little freaked, considering that we were told at the time of the Solitary Plasmacytoma diagnosis in my T-2 vertebrae in October, 2010, that there was anywhere between a 30 per cent and 70 per cent chance of recurrence. Stuff starts swelling up, cancer seems like a plausible answer.
We checked with the dentist first, though, hoping it was a tooth. It wasn't. He sent us directly to Richmond Emergency, which, of course, sent me into freaking out overdrive. Poor Carol-Ann. I wonder if she hasn't gone looking for the receipt on our marriage certification, hoping for a return policy.
At the hospital, a cheery fourth-year med student handled us at first, and then came back with a doctor.
They were wearing face shields and masks.
Good news? This doesn't present like cancer. Bad news? We think it presents like the mumps.
I'm over 40. The mumps? What next? Will my voice change again? (I'd like something with a Southern Drawl if someone somewhere is taking orders.)
Long story short (I know...too late), the mumps tests came back negative and our rock star GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, reckons that I had some sort of virus acting some sort of gland. (Once she said, too, that it didn't present like cancer I stopped paying complete attention. Carol-Ann is on it. It's all good.)
The worst part, it's laid me up for the last 10 days or so. Back when she thought I might have had pneumonia (I didn't, by the way), I was still able to get my rehab work done. I was working out regularly. This thing has kicked my butt for about 10 days. I wasn't able to get my stories for the Province (shameless plug for my employer) completed, but little else. I'm just finally starting to feel like myself again. I got my first workout in over this stretch, albeit a lazy one at the pool, this morning.
Dr. Rogerson says that my immune system is only slightly compromised because of the radiation treatment and all the garbage they dumped into me during the eight back surgeries, but I really felt like I used to brush this stuff off before.
We'll see.
To quote my good friend Bif Naked (SHAMELESS NAME DROP PART DEUX), it's "always interesting."
BTW Here's my little speech from Interesting Vancouver.
http://interestingvancouver.com/2012/02/video-steve-ewen/
Showing posts with label Bif Naked. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bif Naked. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2012
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Talking world juniors, Brendan Gallagher and that crazy Solitary Plasmacytoma cancer
I feel bad that I haven't checked in here in awhile. The good news is that it's because I'm busy. I'm working 30 hours a week. I'm getting closer and closer to my share of the household chores. We even hosted a little shindig. (More about that later.)
Why now? It's world junior hockey tournament time and I don't think you can be a sports fan in this country legally without taking in that event with gusto. Vancouver Giants winger Brendan Gallagher has made the team, and he's a fan favourite looking for a place to happen. He's this scrappy, 5-foot-9ish guy who just might have been born minus the fear gene, considering the way he goes to the net and battles in the corner.
Let me offer up a little more about him. From what I know, he's a 19-year-old of tremendous character.
I've covered the Giants for the Province newspaper (shameless plug for my employer) since the 2004-05 season, so when I got sick last year among the first phone calls I put in were to team owner Ron Toigo, general manager Scott Bonner and coach Don Hay.
Just a few days before I got sick, Gallagher's grandfather, Matt, had lost his battle with cancer. Gallagher even started a fundraising campaign immediately afterwards. (Read about it here.)
Toigo and his son Peter were the first visitors to the hospital room for that initial stay, but Gallagher and fellow forwards James Henry and Craig Cunningham, with strength and conditioning coach Ian Gallagher (Brendan's dad) riding shotgun, were close behind.
I remember thinking how the three of them didn't have to be there, and Gallagher especially. Gallagher knew way too much about hospitals and cancer talk at that point. But they stayed and joked and told lies that a bunch of guys do and made me feel way better.
It was one of those inspiring moments I had during this whole bizarre episode.
I tracked down Gallagher when I got out that first time and went to a Giants game. I thanked him and told him that he wouldn't understand how much it met.
His answer? He shrugged and said, "Steve, it meant a lot to us that you were willing to see us."
Seriously. He's that kind of kid.
Meanwhile, I am feeling better. I haven't used Evander (The Cane) in over a month. My back is feeling a little out of sorts from time to time, like something is pulling, but I think it's a case of me getting more nerves working. There was a point in the hospital where I could feel so little in my back that one of the doctors put in a stitch or two without freezing. Or so I've been told.
The party, meanwhile, was a success by my way of thinking. Dr. Robert Lee, our rock star surgeon, showed up and was the toast of the whole affair. He begged Carol-Ann and I to stop calling him, "Dr. Lee," but how do you not refer to the person who saved your life in something other than the highest regard?
We did manage to bust out a few "Roberts," before the night was done but then Scott Rintoul (shameless name drop) saw the good doctor for the first time and started bellowing, "Dr. Lee, Dr. Lee, Dr. Lee!!!"
It was like I set it up, but I didn't, which makes it even better.
Why now? It's world junior hockey tournament time and I don't think you can be a sports fan in this country legally without taking in that event with gusto. Vancouver Giants winger Brendan Gallagher has made the team, and he's a fan favourite looking for a place to happen. He's this scrappy, 5-foot-9ish guy who just might have been born minus the fear gene, considering the way he goes to the net and battles in the corner.
Let me offer up a little more about him. From what I know, he's a 19-year-old of tremendous character.
I've covered the Giants for the Province newspaper (shameless plug for my employer) since the 2004-05 season, so when I got sick last year among the first phone calls I put in were to team owner Ron Toigo, general manager Scott Bonner and coach Don Hay.
Just a few days before I got sick, Gallagher's grandfather, Matt, had lost his battle with cancer. Gallagher even started a fundraising campaign immediately afterwards. (Read about it here.)
Toigo and his son Peter were the first visitors to the hospital room for that initial stay, but Gallagher and fellow forwards James Henry and Craig Cunningham, with strength and conditioning coach Ian Gallagher (Brendan's dad) riding shotgun, were close behind.
I remember thinking how the three of them didn't have to be there, and Gallagher especially. Gallagher knew way too much about hospitals and cancer talk at that point. But they stayed and joked and told lies that a bunch of guys do and made me feel way better.
It was one of those inspiring moments I had during this whole bizarre episode.
I tracked down Gallagher when I got out that first time and went to a Giants game. I thanked him and told him that he wouldn't understand how much it met.
His answer? He shrugged and said, "Steve, it meant a lot to us that you were willing to see us."
Seriously. He's that kind of kid.
Meanwhile, I am feeling better. I haven't used Evander (The Cane) in over a month. My back is feeling a little out of sorts from time to time, like something is pulling, but I think it's a case of me getting more nerves working. There was a point in the hospital where I could feel so little in my back that one of the doctors put in a stitch or two without freezing. Or so I've been told.
The party, meanwhile, was a success by my way of thinking. Dr. Robert Lee, our rock star surgeon, showed up and was the toast of the whole affair. He begged Carol-Ann and I to stop calling him, "Dr. Lee," but how do you not refer to the person who saved your life in something other than the highest regard?
We did manage to bust out a few "Roberts," before the night was done but then Scott Rintoul (shameless name drop) saw the good doctor for the first time and started bellowing, "Dr. Lee, Dr. Lee, Dr. Lee!!!"
It was like I set it up, but I didn't, which makes it even better.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Anniversary of first major surgery and of Christmas missed has memories flowing
Through this whole wacky cancer/back surgery/rehab thing, Carol-Ann and I have been blessed to be surrounded by people who could tell us what was coming next.
It started, of course, with Bif Naked (shameless name drop) in the first hours upon diagnosis saying, "Get ready to console people about your cancer." Sure enough, there was a bunch of "Hey...don't worry...I will be OK," right off the top. And it's rolled right through to our rock star GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, telling us recently to get ready for emotions to flow back because we're hitting milestone days.
Consider that next week will mark the one-year anniversary of the first rods and screws surgery. (Ah, the first rods and screws. Life seemed so simple then.) It was right about here that I was really, really sick. I know that's hitting Carol-Ann hard, and I get a little teary when I think that we will actually get to spend Christmas at home this year. I still can't fathom that we missed Christmas, New Year's and both our birthdays last year. I feel so awful for Carol-Ann. I know it's not my fault, but it still bugs me.
She's been very cool about going a little extra hard for Christmas this year. She's the mature one, the smart with cash one, but she's not getting stressed about a few extra decorations and a little entertaining.
As well, our at-home physio, Paula Peres, has told me to be prepared for people not understanding that I'm still rehabbing. I'm starting to look "normal." I hardly use Evander (the cane) at all, and I actually think I move OK when I'm on stable terrain. Paula says that I need to appreciate that there are going to be days when I'm gutted, without an ounce of energy, and she hopes that people around me will appreciate it, too.
For what it's worth, Tuesday's my last day with Paula. She says I no longer need acute rehab training. I start with my new trainers, Jesse Tupper and Sheila Townsend, today. I'm a little nervous - I'm a notorious people pleaser and I'd like to show that I'm worth working with. Of course, the cheque I'll write for them every week should be proof enough. I did cover Tupper and Townsend when they were playing sports in high school and at UBC, and we do have some friends in common (D-Watts, C-Watson...more shameless name dropping), so they understand what I've been through.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Home is where the schedule has to be: slowly getting workable daily schedule together for cancer/back surgery rehab out of our house
We're nine days into Extreme Steve Makeover: Home Edition and I feel like I'm starting to get into a routine.
The plan that we had come together with at GF Strong was for me to stretch and strengthen in the morning, and then go to the pool and maybe take a walk in the afternoon. Today was the first day we managed to pull it off.
In my defence, we had been told by all sorts of people to take it easy the first few days after discharge, Canada Games Pool down the street was booked with a swim meet last weekend and we did have other one-off events cut into things this week. For instance, I needed to go for a driver's rehab session at GF on Thursday, and I was dead-set on hitting the mall on Wednesday to buy Carol-Ann a ring, a memento for us making it through 20 sessions of radiation for a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour, eight back surgeries and six months in VGH/GF.
With coaching from friends Bif Naked and Susie Culp, I picked out a little Topaz number. (Anybody who thinks that I'm sucking up to my wife by buying her a ring and then talking about it here...you're right.) And as much as it was about making Carol-Ann happy, it was a learning experience: assorted good folks at GF suggested I purchase a wheelchair for longer trips, "like to a mall," and sure enough, I was gutted by the end of the day. (The wheelchair we bought remains a storage cabinet for the time being, as I'm sticking with Walks, my walker.)
Originally, we were going to search through all the stores at Oakridge. Instead, we made it to a pair, and, thanks goodness, there was something very Carol-Ann at that final one.
I didn't have much left by the end of Thursday, either, but that was more mentally draining. The driver's rehab was largely computer generated, looking to test my reaction time with my hands and my feet. We also went over rules of the road and did a few basic strength tests.
The final bill? A tidy $275. (Could have gotten a nice pair of earrings to go with the ring for that.) Next up, I have to report to the Motor Vehicle Branch my spine injury, which in turn makes my current license invalid. I need my GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, to fill out a form explaining my limitations and send it to MVB and then I take a road test set up by GF.
The final bill for that GF test? I think it's $325. (Could have gotten a nice pendant to go with the ring for that.) I pass, I get a license. I fail -- and we've been told that 50 per cent of people with my type of injury do -- and it's lessons ($161 per) and another road test (another $325, I think).
I did pick up a "Learn To Driver Smart -- Your Guide to Driving Safely," from GF, so I'll be studying that in the days leading up to my test.
We'll have to make it part of my routine.
The plan that we had come together with at GF Strong was for me to stretch and strengthen in the morning, and then go to the pool and maybe take a walk in the afternoon. Today was the first day we managed to pull it off.
In my defence, we had been told by all sorts of people to take it easy the first few days after discharge, Canada Games Pool down the street was booked with a swim meet last weekend and we did have other one-off events cut into things this week. For instance, I needed to go for a driver's rehab session at GF on Thursday, and I was dead-set on hitting the mall on Wednesday to buy Carol-Ann a ring, a memento for us making it through 20 sessions of radiation for a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour, eight back surgeries and six months in VGH/GF.
With coaching from friends Bif Naked and Susie Culp, I picked out a little Topaz number. (Anybody who thinks that I'm sucking up to my wife by buying her a ring and then talking about it here...you're right.) And as much as it was about making Carol-Ann happy, it was a learning experience: assorted good folks at GF suggested I purchase a wheelchair for longer trips, "like to a mall," and sure enough, I was gutted by the end of the day. (The wheelchair we bought remains a storage cabinet for the time being, as I'm sticking with Walks, my walker.)
Originally, we were going to search through all the stores at Oakridge. Instead, we made it to a pair, and, thanks goodness, there was something very Carol-Ann at that final one.
I didn't have much left by the end of Thursday, either, but that was more mentally draining. The driver's rehab was largely computer generated, looking to test my reaction time with my hands and my feet. We also went over rules of the road and did a few basic strength tests.
The final bill? A tidy $275. (Could have gotten a nice pair of earrings to go with the ring for that.) Next up, I have to report to the Motor Vehicle Branch my spine injury, which in turn makes my current license invalid. I need my GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, to fill out a form explaining my limitations and send it to MVB and then I take a road test set up by GF.
The final bill for that GF test? I think it's $325. (Could have gotten a nice pendant to go with the ring for that.) I pass, I get a license. I fail -- and we've been told that 50 per cent of people with my type of injury do -- and it's lessons ($161 per) and another road test (another $325, I think).
I did pick up a "Learn To Driver Smart -- Your Guide to Driving Safely," from GF, so I'll be studying that in the days leading up to my test.
We'll have to make it part of my routine.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Top 10 memories from this wacky rehab from cancer, back surgery and assorted other things
In honour of my improving mobility, the hard-working staff here at G.F. Strong physical rehab and the fact that I've got a morning without any classes, may we present my favourite five memories so far of our little fracas with cancer, back surgeries and infection.
I've purposely tried to cut down on mentions of Carol-Ann, because every entry every time could be focused solely on her, considering how brave she's been and how much she's propped me up and kept me going in the right direction. She doesn't like the attention, for one, and I also want to try to keep some of the things that have happened strictly between my wife and I.
1. THOSE 11 DAYS IN VGH IN OCTOBER
We had a hoot in the week-plus leading up to the diagnosis of a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour in my T-2 vertebrae.. We had 75 different people visit over that time, and everybody was in good spirits, full of life. Nurses quickly referred to it as the party room, Carol-Ann apologized more than once for the racket we were making.
Carol-Ann and I have to take credit for some of the fun -- Bif Naked (shameless name drop) had prepped us well, saying, "Get ready to console people about your cancer," and we made sure that we had the one-liners rolling off the top of the morning.
There were so many fun things that happened...my grandmother admitting her crush on Jay Janower (shameless name drop) when he came by, Carol-Ann feverishly handing out candies and cookies to random people in the hallways on our final night to cut down how much of the sugary booty we had amassed that she had to take him with us, and Iain MacIntyre (shameless name drop) commenting "There hasn't been a pee that long since the Austin Powers movie," when I went to relieve myself in the bathroom in the room. (My ego and pride quickly disintegrated.)
My favourite moment of all may have been when a young intern from B.C. Cancer came to check on my strength with one of those "Arm tug-of-war" tests. I was still feeling pretty well back then, and was weary of not pushing around any of the nurses when they did those tests. This guy popped me pretty hard the first time, and said, "Yep, been going to the gym."
He had 10 years on me. I had 75, 85 pounds on him. I looked at my dad and he nodded, and the next time I sent the poor kid sliding across the floor, shuffling his feet to keep from tipping over.
Yep, I really am an old 12-year-old sometimes.
2. SURGERY PREP
I hate operations. I loath them. I'm a control freak, and I can't stand having someone else having that kind of say over my body. As well, I'm a worst-case-scenario guy, so I greatly fear being one of those people who die during a "simple" surgery from an oddball complication.
I thought I hated flying. Compared to surgery, flying is like having a big, juicy BBQ'd steak. My hands still ache from the IV lines.
Every surgery, though, meant these intimate little moments for Carol-Ann and I. We'd sit in pre-op downstairs, and I'd cry like crazy, and she'd tell me over and over again how much she loves me and how everything was going to be alright. I'd grunt out: "I will fight for you," and she would nod and smile, and, before too long, they'd be taking me off to the operating room.
There were also one-on-one times with Dr. Robert Lee, our surgeon for six and half of the eight operations that we had. He was always very in tune to my mood and my fears. He knew how much I hate surgery. He knows how it freaks me out.
Before Surgery No. 7, which was the second rods-and-screws back rebuild, he came in to our hospital room to tell me that we had been pushed back a couple of hours. Carol-Ann was off getting a coffee.
After explaining the scheduling snafu, Dr. Lee looked at me, grinned, and said, "Steven...you know I'll take care of you, don't you?"
I nodded. He grinned again. And, sure enough, I'm better than I was when I was thrust into his care.
I don't know I'll ever thank him. No clue. I'm also not sure if anyone -- including Carol-Ann -- understands the bond I feel with Dr. Lee.
3. POOL TIME
In November, when I was living at home and doing radiation treatment, I wanted to do something physical to try to get in some semblance of shape. Finally, I got the OK from the powers that be to try walking in the pool.
I hate the water. (I'm a big wimp. I admit it.) But I knew it would help. Sure enough, we recruited eight people to come down to Canada Games that first time and either get in the water with me or cheer me on from the sidelines.
The support that night was pretty remarkable.
4. THAT CRAZY DR. LEE
Surgery No. 7 took place on a Friday. Afterwards, Dr. Lee told both Carol-Ann and I that he wouldn't see us on Saturday, but he would be in on Sunday. Dr. Lee is amazing...we routinely saw him twice a day, seven days a week.
At about 5 p.m. on Saturday, Carol-Ann got up, put on her coat and was getting ready to go get some takeout for dinner. We were going over what I wanted to eat when Dr. Lee's head popped out behind the corner. He ducked back for cover. Carol-Ann had no clue what was going on. Dr. Lee popped out again, big, cheezy smile. I knew it was on.
Steve: "I have a feeling that Dr. Lee is coming today..."
Carol-Ann: "I know you love your Dr. Lee, but you know what he told us...he's not coming until tomorrow. Don't get all excited."
Steve: "Carol-Ann?"
Carol-Ann: "You know what he said."
Steve: "Fine...you can just go get dinner then."
She turned, headed around the corner, and was absolutely stunned when she came across the grinning Dr. Lee.
He came into the room, did some strength testing, checked the wound, and said that he had decided to take Sunday off instead of Saturday. We would see him again on Monday, according to him.
Sunday, at about 11 a.m., Carol-Ann got up, got her coat on and was heading out for coffees when Dr. Lee's big, grinning mug popped out from around the corner again. He didn't have to do it twice for me to know what my job was.
Steve: "Carol-Ann...I hate to tell you, but I'm getting that Dr. Lee feeling again."
She was having none of it. She told me to stop it, but was concerned enough to turn around to see if she could see any feet under the curtain that just inside the room's doorway. There were none.
Dr. Lee, being Dr. Lee, had been crafty enough to jump into the bathroom. Our nurse that day, Julie, was coming around the corner at that time and he quietly waved her off. It was her second day on the job -- she had no idea who this strange man in our bathroom was, but she was willing to wait a few minutes to figure it out.
I tried to "warn" Carol-Ann, but she wasn't willing to accept my "help." She turned, went to leave, and was stunned AGAIN.
5. OH, WEBER
My Province colleague, Marc Weber (SHAMED name drop), has a way with people apparently. Sitting in pre-op before Surgery No. 2 (the first rods and screws), I was with Carol-Ann and, this time, Bif Naked.
I was facing the door. And I was more than a little surprised when Weber strutted through. Marc`s a tall, strapping lad. Good looking enough to be a doctor, or so I was told. (Thanks Bif.) That is one of the explanation of how he made it into that highly restricted area.
To this day, I haven`t gotten a straight answer on how he made it there.
6. THE FIRST STEPS AFTER SURGERY NO.7
My first trip to GF ended abruptly. My left leg up and quit on me. I couldn`t get it to move. I basically dragged it around behind me.
I went back to VGH and Dr. Lee and he said that he was 75 per cent sure that there was a problem with the initial rods and screws. They had found that one of the rods had broken via an x-ray earlier. During the surgery, they learned that the other main one was bent.
They try to get you up on your feet the day after surgery, in a bid, basically, to get your body restarted.
That first stand, when the leg didn`t fail, was major for me, because I wasn`t sure until then if the leg would work.
7. END AROUND
I have weak, wonky hips. (That wonky is for former Vancouver Giants trainer Cory Cameron, who hates that I use the word wonky to explain medical conditions.) I have a big, burly buttocks.
In a bid to show me what I should be doing with my hips when walking, physios have routine had to grab my booty. Anne, my regular physio at VGH, is such a sweetie that she worried about how I was taking it.
I told her that not only was I OK with her grabbing my butt, Carol-Ann was good with it, too.
8. BLOCK PARTY
My second stint at VGH, which began in late November after my T-2 collapsed, was much different than my first. I was much sicker. Easily my least favourite memory was Carol-Ann relaying to me that one of the doctors told her after Surgery No. 3 -- The First Infection Washout -- that the next 24 to 48 hours were going to be crucial in my survival. The sheer fear on her face telling that story is something that broke my heart.
After having a huge, blowout party for our first stay, we toned things down for this time. Carol-Ann wanted a list of 10 or so people who could visit, and everybody else was off limits.
I quickly scribbled down some names of people who I thought would come. I forgot Iain MacIntyre (shameless name drop). It was middle of the hockey season...I never reckoned he`d have time.
He showed, but before I could say anything to Carol-Ann, she cut him off at the room`s doorway, physically blocked him out and started back-stepping him into the hallway. I eventually got her calmed down and got him back into room. It wasn`t funny at the time...it is now. Except for maybe Iain.
9. BRETT AND MICHELLE'S WEDDING RECEPTION
Brett plays short on our slopitch team, Michelle pitches. They eloped over the summer and had their reception in October. We got a hall pass from VGH to go.
They had a quiz to decide table order for eating and one of the questions was: "Make up a word using the letters from BRETT and MICHELLE and describe why it best suits their relationship."
The answer from our table of ball teammates: "It doesn't matter what the word is -- Ewen has cancer. We should eat first."
10. BLOGGED DOWN
One of the doctors here at GF is a stylish Russian gentleman, Dr. K. He surprised me when he knew the music of Bif Naked and made a point of introducing himself to her. I wrote about it, right down to how well put together the guy is.
The next day he came up to me and thanked me for noticing his shoes. I didn`t see him as a Bif Naked listener, and I really didn`t see him as a Steve Ewen reader.
I've purposely tried to cut down on mentions of Carol-Ann, because every entry every time could be focused solely on her, considering how brave she's been and how much she's propped me up and kept me going in the right direction. She doesn't like the attention, for one, and I also want to try to keep some of the things that have happened strictly between my wife and I.
1. THOSE 11 DAYS IN VGH IN OCTOBER
We had a hoot in the week-plus leading up to the diagnosis of a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour in my T-2 vertebrae.. We had 75 different people visit over that time, and everybody was in good spirits, full of life. Nurses quickly referred to it as the party room, Carol-Ann apologized more than once for the racket we were making.
Carol-Ann and I have to take credit for some of the fun -- Bif Naked (shameless name drop) had prepped us well, saying, "Get ready to console people about your cancer," and we made sure that we had the one-liners rolling off the top of the morning.
There were so many fun things that happened...my grandmother admitting her crush on Jay Janower (shameless name drop) when he came by, Carol-Ann feverishly handing out candies and cookies to random people in the hallways on our final night to cut down how much of the sugary booty we had amassed that she had to take him with us, and Iain MacIntyre (shameless name drop) commenting "There hasn't been a pee that long since the Austin Powers movie," when I went to relieve myself in the bathroom in the room. (My ego and pride quickly disintegrated.)
My favourite moment of all may have been when a young intern from B.C. Cancer came to check on my strength with one of those "Arm tug-of-war" tests. I was still feeling pretty well back then, and was weary of not pushing around any of the nurses when they did those tests. This guy popped me pretty hard the first time, and said, "Yep, been going to the gym."
He had 10 years on me. I had 75, 85 pounds on him. I looked at my dad and he nodded, and the next time I sent the poor kid sliding across the floor, shuffling his feet to keep from tipping over.
Yep, I really am an old 12-year-old sometimes.
2. SURGERY PREP
I hate operations. I loath them. I'm a control freak, and I can't stand having someone else having that kind of say over my body. As well, I'm a worst-case-scenario guy, so I greatly fear being one of those people who die during a "simple" surgery from an oddball complication.
I thought I hated flying. Compared to surgery, flying is like having a big, juicy BBQ'd steak. My hands still ache from the IV lines.
Every surgery, though, meant these intimate little moments for Carol-Ann and I. We'd sit in pre-op downstairs, and I'd cry like crazy, and she'd tell me over and over again how much she loves me and how everything was going to be alright. I'd grunt out: "I will fight for you," and she would nod and smile, and, before too long, they'd be taking me off to the operating room.
There were also one-on-one times with Dr. Robert Lee, our surgeon for six and half of the eight operations that we had. He was always very in tune to my mood and my fears. He knew how much I hate surgery. He knows how it freaks me out.
Before Surgery No. 7, which was the second rods-and-screws back rebuild, he came in to our hospital room to tell me that we had been pushed back a couple of hours. Carol-Ann was off getting a coffee.
After explaining the scheduling snafu, Dr. Lee looked at me, grinned, and said, "Steven...you know I'll take care of you, don't you?"
I nodded. He grinned again. And, sure enough, I'm better than I was when I was thrust into his care.
I don't know I'll ever thank him. No clue. I'm also not sure if anyone -- including Carol-Ann -- understands the bond I feel with Dr. Lee.
3. POOL TIME
In November, when I was living at home and doing radiation treatment, I wanted to do something physical to try to get in some semblance of shape. Finally, I got the OK from the powers that be to try walking in the pool.
I hate the water. (I'm a big wimp. I admit it.) But I knew it would help. Sure enough, we recruited eight people to come down to Canada Games that first time and either get in the water with me or cheer me on from the sidelines.
The support that night was pretty remarkable.
4. THAT CRAZY DR. LEE
Surgery No. 7 took place on a Friday. Afterwards, Dr. Lee told both Carol-Ann and I that he wouldn't see us on Saturday, but he would be in on Sunday. Dr. Lee is amazing...we routinely saw him twice a day, seven days a week.
At about 5 p.m. on Saturday, Carol-Ann got up, put on her coat and was getting ready to go get some takeout for dinner. We were going over what I wanted to eat when Dr. Lee's head popped out behind the corner. He ducked back for cover. Carol-Ann had no clue what was going on. Dr. Lee popped out again, big, cheezy smile. I knew it was on.
Steve: "I have a feeling that Dr. Lee is coming today..."
Carol-Ann: "I know you love your Dr. Lee, but you know what he told us...he's not coming until tomorrow. Don't get all excited."
Steve: "Carol-Ann?"
Carol-Ann: "You know what he said."
Steve: "Fine...you can just go get dinner then."
She turned, headed around the corner, and was absolutely stunned when she came across the grinning Dr. Lee.
He came into the room, did some strength testing, checked the wound, and said that he had decided to take Sunday off instead of Saturday. We would see him again on Monday, according to him.
Sunday, at about 11 a.m., Carol-Ann got up, got her coat on and was heading out for coffees when Dr. Lee's big, grinning mug popped out from around the corner again. He didn't have to do it twice for me to know what my job was.
Steve: "Carol-Ann...I hate to tell you, but I'm getting that Dr. Lee feeling again."
She was having none of it. She told me to stop it, but was concerned enough to turn around to see if she could see any feet under the curtain that just inside the room's doorway. There were none.
Dr. Lee, being Dr. Lee, had been crafty enough to jump into the bathroom. Our nurse that day, Julie, was coming around the corner at that time and he quietly waved her off. It was her second day on the job -- she had no idea who this strange man in our bathroom was, but she was willing to wait a few minutes to figure it out.
I tried to "warn" Carol-Ann, but she wasn't willing to accept my "help." She turned, went to leave, and was stunned AGAIN.
5. OH, WEBER
My Province colleague, Marc Weber (SHAMED name drop), has a way with people apparently. Sitting in pre-op before Surgery No. 2 (the first rods and screws), I was with Carol-Ann and, this time, Bif Naked.
I was facing the door. And I was more than a little surprised when Weber strutted through. Marc`s a tall, strapping lad. Good looking enough to be a doctor, or so I was told. (Thanks Bif.) That is one of the explanation of how he made it into that highly restricted area.
To this day, I haven`t gotten a straight answer on how he made it there.
6. THE FIRST STEPS AFTER SURGERY NO.7
My first trip to GF ended abruptly. My left leg up and quit on me. I couldn`t get it to move. I basically dragged it around behind me.
I went back to VGH and Dr. Lee and he said that he was 75 per cent sure that there was a problem with the initial rods and screws. They had found that one of the rods had broken via an x-ray earlier. During the surgery, they learned that the other main one was bent.
They try to get you up on your feet the day after surgery, in a bid, basically, to get your body restarted.
That first stand, when the leg didn`t fail, was major for me, because I wasn`t sure until then if the leg would work.
7. END AROUND
I have weak, wonky hips. (That wonky is for former Vancouver Giants trainer Cory Cameron, who hates that I use the word wonky to explain medical conditions.) I have a big, burly buttocks.
In a bid to show me what I should be doing with my hips when walking, physios have routine had to grab my booty. Anne, my regular physio at VGH, is such a sweetie that she worried about how I was taking it.
I told her that not only was I OK with her grabbing my butt, Carol-Ann was good with it, too.
8. BLOCK PARTY
My second stint at VGH, which began in late November after my T-2 collapsed, was much different than my first. I was much sicker. Easily my least favourite memory was Carol-Ann relaying to me that one of the doctors told her after Surgery No. 3 -- The First Infection Washout -- that the next 24 to 48 hours were going to be crucial in my survival. The sheer fear on her face telling that story is something that broke my heart.
After having a huge, blowout party for our first stay, we toned things down for this time. Carol-Ann wanted a list of 10 or so people who could visit, and everybody else was off limits.
I quickly scribbled down some names of people who I thought would come. I forgot Iain MacIntyre (shameless name drop). It was middle of the hockey season...I never reckoned he`d have time.
He showed, but before I could say anything to Carol-Ann, she cut him off at the room`s doorway, physically blocked him out and started back-stepping him into the hallway. I eventually got her calmed down and got him back into room. It wasn`t funny at the time...it is now. Except for maybe Iain.
9. BRETT AND MICHELLE'S WEDDING RECEPTION
Brett plays short on our slopitch team, Michelle pitches. They eloped over the summer and had their reception in October. We got a hall pass from VGH to go.
They had a quiz to decide table order for eating and one of the questions was: "Make up a word using the letters from BRETT and MICHELLE and describe why it best suits their relationship."
The answer from our table of ball teammates: "It doesn't matter what the word is -- Ewen has cancer. We should eat first."
10. BLOGGED DOWN
One of the doctors here at GF is a stylish Russian gentleman, Dr. K. He surprised me when he knew the music of Bif Naked and made a point of introducing himself to her. I wrote about it, right down to how well put together the guy is.
The next day he came up to me and thanked me for noticing his shoes. I didn`t see him as a Bif Naked listener, and I really didn`t see him as a Steve Ewen reader.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
From Bif Naked with love: My buddy meets my doctor and it's all about the shenanigans
Yesterday might have been the wackiest day in hospital or rehab. And, considering that I haven't been home since late November, that's a pretty good statement.
My buddy Bif Naked (shameless name drop) came by G.F. Strong to visit. She does that a few times a week; she's been integral in my recovery. My doctor team stopped by to check in, I introduced them to Bif (using her given name Beth) and didn't think too much of it.
My doctor team is headed up by Dr. K. It's just Dr. K, because no one seems to be able to pronounce his last name. He's Russian, but came to Canada 20 odd years ago. And he's stylish, even debonair (the first time I think I have used that word in copy, although it doesn't often come up in sports reporting). He's got these snazzy ties, and they always have a pocket handkerchief to match. The belt and the shoes are always the same colour.
To Steve-it-down, you could easily see him hanging out with classy Igor Larionov, the former Vancouver Canuck centre. Dr. K would seem to be much more Beethoven than Bif Naked.
Sure enough, who searches out Beth and I in the lobby at GF but Dr. K. He explained that he didn't recognize her at first, but thinks she's a great singer and knows her music. Beth, without skipping a beat, replied, "Well, from Stevie, I'm starting to learn your 'music' and I like what you're doing."
It was that kind of day.
I ran into one of my first physiotherapists, Jackie, for the first time this visit. Jackie's a treat, once you figure her out.
The first time I met her, I thought it was going to be a standard chat. I eased back onto the bench, my arms behind me. She was stunned, "That's your posture? Really? This is rehab. This isn't some summer camp." All we did for the next 30 minutes was posture and she hammered me the second I feel out of form. We met for 40 minutes later in the day, and we did posture again. And when she told that she had a free 30 minutes again later that day, I told her that I would meet her, and I wanted to work posture. (My posture is still horrible, due to inactivity and surgeries, but it's much, much better than it was thanks to Jackie.)
And you know what? As soon as she figured out that I was willing to do the work, she was willing to do the work for me. I needed a new walker -- Jackie had it for me in two minutes. I wanted to learn transferring from a wheelchair to a car so I could go on a weekend drive -- Jackie was meeting me in the parking lot five minutes after I asked.
So, sure enough, I bumped into her yesterday. It wasn't "Hey, how been...I heard you had another surgery..." or something like that.
"So....[you're using] a power chair...what's with that?"
I laughed so hard. It was so Jackie. (Later on, she politicked hard to get me into a special balance class, which is also so Jackie.)
Also yesterday, Carol-Ann and I met with our radiation-oncologist, Dr. Morris, for the first time since November. He said that we wouldn't be finishing off our final five scheduled radiation sessions. He wanted to have some blood tests done, and would get back to me.
Today, I'm a little freaked out about my occupational therapy class, since I having to make pork chops and corn. The mobility is one thing, but I'm much more a BBQ guy than a kitchen guy as well.
Maybe I can bring Bif by as a distraction.
My buddy Bif Naked (shameless name drop) came by G.F. Strong to visit. She does that a few times a week; she's been integral in my recovery. My doctor team stopped by to check in, I introduced them to Bif (using her given name Beth) and didn't think too much of it.
My doctor team is headed up by Dr. K. It's just Dr. K, because no one seems to be able to pronounce his last name. He's Russian, but came to Canada 20 odd years ago. And he's stylish, even debonair (the first time I think I have used that word in copy, although it doesn't often come up in sports reporting). He's got these snazzy ties, and they always have a pocket handkerchief to match. The belt and the shoes are always the same colour.
To Steve-it-down, you could easily see him hanging out with classy Igor Larionov, the former Vancouver Canuck centre. Dr. K would seem to be much more Beethoven than Bif Naked.
Sure enough, who searches out Beth and I in the lobby at GF but Dr. K. He explained that he didn't recognize her at first, but thinks she's a great singer and knows her music. Beth, without skipping a beat, replied, "Well, from Stevie, I'm starting to learn your 'music' and I like what you're doing."
It was that kind of day.
I ran into one of my first physiotherapists, Jackie, for the first time this visit. Jackie's a treat, once you figure her out.
The first time I met her, I thought it was going to be a standard chat. I eased back onto the bench, my arms behind me. She was stunned, "That's your posture? Really? This is rehab. This isn't some summer camp." All we did for the next 30 minutes was posture and she hammered me the second I feel out of form. We met for 40 minutes later in the day, and we did posture again. And when she told that she had a free 30 minutes again later that day, I told her that I would meet her, and I wanted to work posture. (My posture is still horrible, due to inactivity and surgeries, but it's much, much better than it was thanks to Jackie.)
And you know what? As soon as she figured out that I was willing to do the work, she was willing to do the work for me. I needed a new walker -- Jackie had it for me in two minutes. I wanted to learn transferring from a wheelchair to a car so I could go on a weekend drive -- Jackie was meeting me in the parking lot five minutes after I asked.
So, sure enough, I bumped into her yesterday. It wasn't "Hey, how been...I heard you had another surgery..." or something like that.
"So....[you're using] a power chair...what's with that?"
I laughed so hard. It was so Jackie. (Later on, she politicked hard to get me into a special balance class, which is also so Jackie.)
Also yesterday, Carol-Ann and I met with our radiation-oncologist, Dr. Morris, for the first time since November. He said that we wouldn't be finishing off our final five scheduled radiation sessions. He wanted to have some blood tests done, and would get back to me.
Today, I'm a little freaked out about my occupational therapy class, since I having to make pork chops and corn. The mobility is one thing, but I'm much more a BBQ guy than a kitchen guy as well.
Maybe I can bring Bif by as a distraction.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Chair wear and tear: Trying to find ways to cope with having to wheel into a Giants' game
I'm going to the Vancouver Giants' game Friday night. Part of me is looking at it as another Christmas morning. Part of me of scared to bits.
I've covered the Giants for the Province (shameless plug for my employer) since the 2004-05 season and I'm freakishly at home at the Pacific Coliseum. I know all the arena staff, all the little shortcuts, all the tricks. And I love feel of the building -- the Giants have a hockey-savvy, blue-collar fan base that appreciates hustle and isn't shy about it. (The joint should be rocking on Milan Lucic Night.)
The problem for me in all of this is that I'm not ready to walk and I'll have to go in a wheelchair and a motorized one to boot. (I'm on restricted movement since ripping out some stitches on Saturday.) I wonder what people will think. To me, the motorized chair doesn't fit, since I'm feeling the best I've felt since November, when we were just dealing with cancer. (Remember when we just had cancer? Just a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour in the T-2 vertebrae? That was cool. Now we've got these seven surgeries on the back to recover from.)
I know that's my problem, I know that's in my head. I know that's my stigma. I hate that that is the way I feel, but, to quote a famous Canadian, it is what it is.
I went to a Giants' game on a walker earlier this season and it was the same way. The Giants' staff are good, good folk, and, for what it's worth, they went out of their way to make me feel better about it. I told play-by-play man Dan Elliott (shameless name drop), who's a longtime buddy of mine and slopitch teammate (more shamelessness) that I didn't feel too stable and was a tad wobbly, and he looked me in the eye and said, "Nothing bad will happen to you in our pressbox. Nothing, I tell you."Sure enough, he assigned an intern to look in on me every five minutes or so, and then checked in himself during intermissions. (Jumbo, flat out, is one of the best people I know.)
Intermission host Brook Ward (shameless name drop), too, was very kind. I complained about the walker, and he said, "I'm sure I'd feel the same way, but you're the only guy here who really sees the walker. We're just happy that you made it out."
As Sports Talk listeners can attest, that's one of the more eloquent speeches that the Brookster has ever uttered. And one of the shortest. (Like it was going to mushy all the way through. Get over it, Brook.)
It's funny how being this sick for this long plays with your head. I have massive guilt about how this has affected Carol-Ann. My Cancer Coach Bif Naked (yet another shameless name drop) says that it's quite normal -- patient guilt, she calls it.
Carol-Ann told me recently that her field hockey playoffs were coming up and her team might be short players, and then asked who I might want to come hang out with me when she was away playing. I had completely forgotten that her league had re-started when the weather started to get better. I felt like a jerk that she had stopped playing and I didn't realize it, because I know how much she loves to run around and get some frustrations out.
Now, Carol-Ann's sharp. Super sharp. And if she wanted to play in those games and take a break from being with me, she would have found a way to do it. It's her decision. I get the logic, but the emotion isn't quite catching on just yet.
To that end, I'm going to see G.F. Strong staff psychologist Dr. Brad Hallam Friday and talk about the things that are troubling me. I have no problem admitting that I'm going to see a psychologist; I gave up trying to be cool long ago. To pretend that this hasn't been as hard on my mind as it has on my body is foolish.
I just hope the guy likes hockey and wants to talk a little about the Giants' game.
I've covered the Giants for the Province (shameless plug for my employer) since the 2004-05 season and I'm freakishly at home at the Pacific Coliseum. I know all the arena staff, all the little shortcuts, all the tricks. And I love feel of the building -- the Giants have a hockey-savvy, blue-collar fan base that appreciates hustle and isn't shy about it. (The joint should be rocking on Milan Lucic Night.)
The problem for me in all of this is that I'm not ready to walk and I'll have to go in a wheelchair and a motorized one to boot. (I'm on restricted movement since ripping out some stitches on Saturday.) I wonder what people will think. To me, the motorized chair doesn't fit, since I'm feeling the best I've felt since November, when we were just dealing with cancer. (Remember when we just had cancer? Just a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour in the T-2 vertebrae? That was cool. Now we've got these seven surgeries on the back to recover from.)
I know that's my problem, I know that's in my head. I know that's my stigma. I hate that that is the way I feel, but, to quote a famous Canadian, it is what it is.
I went to a Giants' game on a walker earlier this season and it was the same way. The Giants' staff are good, good folk, and, for what it's worth, they went out of their way to make me feel better about it. I told play-by-play man Dan Elliott (shameless name drop), who's a longtime buddy of mine and slopitch teammate (more shamelessness) that I didn't feel too stable and was a tad wobbly, and he looked me in the eye and said, "Nothing bad will happen to you in our pressbox. Nothing, I tell you."Sure enough, he assigned an intern to look in on me every five minutes or so, and then checked in himself during intermissions. (Jumbo, flat out, is one of the best people I know.)
Intermission host Brook Ward (shameless name drop), too, was very kind. I complained about the walker, and he said, "I'm sure I'd feel the same way, but you're the only guy here who really sees the walker. We're just happy that you made it out."
As Sports Talk listeners can attest, that's one of the more eloquent speeches that the Brookster has ever uttered. And one of the shortest. (Like it was going to mushy all the way through. Get over it, Brook.)
It's funny how being this sick for this long plays with your head. I have massive guilt about how this has affected Carol-Ann. My Cancer Coach Bif Naked (yet another shameless name drop) says that it's quite normal -- patient guilt, she calls it.
Carol-Ann told me recently that her field hockey playoffs were coming up and her team might be short players, and then asked who I might want to come hang out with me when she was away playing. I had completely forgotten that her league had re-started when the weather started to get better. I felt like a jerk that she had stopped playing and I didn't realize it, because I know how much she loves to run around and get some frustrations out.
Now, Carol-Ann's sharp. Super sharp. And if she wanted to play in those games and take a break from being with me, she would have found a way to do it. It's her decision. I get the logic, but the emotion isn't quite catching on just yet.
To that end, I'm going to see G.F. Strong staff psychologist Dr. Brad Hallam Friday and talk about the things that are troubling me. I have no problem admitting that I'm going to see a psychologist; I gave up trying to be cool long ago. To pretend that this hasn't been as hard on my mind as it has on my body is foolish.
I just hope the guy likes hockey and wants to talk a little about the Giants' game.
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