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 Carla McAloney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carla McAloney. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2012
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
It's slow going with throwing, but with cancer putting a dent in my mediocre slopitch career for a year, at least there's knowing
My rock star surgeon, Dr. Robert Lee, said that I couldn't start throwing a softball until after Christmas.
I gladly obliged. I waited for Boxing Day.
My good pal Carla McAloney came by yesterday and we threw for about 15 minutes in our front yard.
Beforehand, I was worried that my shoulder was going to fall off. I mean, they took the bottom of my trapezius muscles and folded them into the middle of my back in my eighth and final surgery. Who knew what might happened?
My shoulder held up fine. I'm not even sore today. On the flip side, though, I was disappointed at my balance. I didn't feel comfortable at all transferring my weight from my right leg to my left. Yes, it was the first time I had thrown in over a year, the first time since a bout of Solitary Plasmacytoma cancer, 20 radiation sessions and eight surgeries involving the collapse of my T-2 vertebrae.
Worried that I fall, I short-armed the ball a bunch, prompting Carla, of course, to belt out, "Nice work, T-Rex."
I know. It's just a starting point. I just thought I was farther along balance wise.
Overall, though, it was a spectacular Christmas, especially when you consider that I was tied to bed at VGH, with all sorts of tubes and contraptions connected to me, a year ago. We had a bunch of family from both sides over on Christmas Eve, I saw my folks on Christmas morning and Carol-Ann and I had dinner at her brother's on Christmas.
I even made it over to VGH after breakfast on Christmas. I picked up a couple of bags of chips, a couple of bags of cookies and assorted other junk food and dropped them off for the staff. You can't imagine Christmas in the hospital. You really can't.
And then I walked out of there and went home. That was my present to myself.
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.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Crush the Can with humour; trip to Giants' game has pal Kenward bringing up Moose Jaw fiasco
Starting Day 5, Part III at G.F. Strong, the Vancouver physical rehab centre, and have to admit that I'm feeling a little wonky. A good chunk of that could be that I was out last night for two periods at the Vancouver Giants-Kelowna Rockets' game.
After a bout with Solitary Plasmacytoma cancer and eight back surgeries, I'm still not ready for much excitement. We did watch the game from the stands, rather than the Giants' suite like last time with Carol-Ann and I, so that's a step. I was still worn out by the second intermission and wasn't the least little bit on getting caught up in the crowd afterwards, either.
En route to the game (I went with Carla "Solitary Plasmacytoma hater" McAloney, allowing Carol-Ann a hall pass to hang with her buddies) I got a text from Joey Kenward (somewhat shameless name drop) who was in Moose Jaw to celebrate the final days of the rink there, the Crushed Can.
Jo-Jo, being Jo-Jo, had to remind me of my most recent visit to the Can. (That's what the somewhat shameless name drop was for.) It was 2006, the Giants were wrapping up a four-game sweep of the Moose Jaw Warriors, and I had food poisoning and I had it bad.
It could have been worse. Once the symptoms started coming on after a questionable helping of chicken wings, I went straight to the team doc, who gave me some meds that seemed to work a little. (I knew to do this after failing in that regard after getting food poisoning during a Canucks' 2004 playoff game in Calgary. You really haven't been sick until you've been sick in a public washroom with drunk hockey fans. And that's all I really need to say about that.)
I did manage to pull off what I thought was a fairly entertaining pre-game radio interview. The rink had a pronounced dip in the middle, so from the pressbox on the north side you can't see the top eight rows of seats south side. Jo-Jo had always explained to me as "If the bus driver gets in a knife fight in row 15, I can't tell from the press box. I was getting to that part of the story and realized I couldn't use Joey's version, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"If strippers were performing an act in Row 15, I wouldn't know from the press box."
Yeah, stay classy.
With all that, I wasn't out the woods from the sickness, though. By game time, I was probably stumbling around worse than I do now. (My walking, albeit with a walker has improved drastically of late.) After the game, when I went to get quotes, several players started chanting "Chicken Wings, Chicken Wings." They had obviously heard. Team captain Mark Fistric hadn't heard or had heard and didn't care because he picked me up in a bear hug, started carrying me around and said, "You're my dawg...you're my dawg." (I'm a big dude now, but I was a bigger dude then. The fact some 19-year-old kid could do that scared me.)
By the time I finished my stories, I couldn't step up for long periods, so I had to crawl my way down the stairs and out of the stands.
Nice.
Fast forward to today, I'm feeling as well as I've felt in months. I still get frustrated with how wobbly I am, but I'm trying to be patient. (I'm supposed to cook on Tuesday and stand for several minutes without any asssistance, and that's scaring me.)
We're on the Spine Floor this time, after being on the Brain Injury and Neuro-muscular floors on our past two trips, which means we get a whole new team of doctors, physios and occupational therapists. Everybody seems to be as ultra professional, just like the teams we've had here before.
After a bout with Solitary Plasmacytoma cancer and eight back surgeries, I'm still not ready for much excitement. We did watch the game from the stands, rather than the Giants' suite like last time with Carol-Ann and I, so that's a step. I was still worn out by the second intermission and wasn't the least little bit on getting caught up in the crowd afterwards, either.
En route to the game (I went with Carla "Solitary Plasmacytoma hater" McAloney, allowing Carol-Ann a hall pass to hang with her buddies) I got a text from Joey Kenward (somewhat shameless name drop) who was in Moose Jaw to celebrate the final days of the rink there, the Crushed Can.
Jo-Jo, being Jo-Jo, had to remind me of my most recent visit to the Can. (That's what the somewhat shameless name drop was for.) It was 2006, the Giants were wrapping up a four-game sweep of the Moose Jaw Warriors, and I had food poisoning and I had it bad.
It could have been worse. Once the symptoms started coming on after a questionable helping of chicken wings, I went straight to the team doc, who gave me some meds that seemed to work a little. (I knew to do this after failing in that regard after getting food poisoning during a Canucks' 2004 playoff game in Calgary. You really haven't been sick until you've been sick in a public washroom with drunk hockey fans. And that's all I really need to say about that.)
I did manage to pull off what I thought was a fairly entertaining pre-game radio interview. The rink had a pronounced dip in the middle, so from the pressbox on the north side you can't see the top eight rows of seats south side. Jo-Jo had always explained to me as "If the bus driver gets in a knife fight in row 15, I can't tell from the press box. I was getting to that part of the story and realized I couldn't use Joey's version, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"If strippers were performing an act in Row 15, I wouldn't know from the press box."
Yeah, stay classy.
With all that, I wasn't out the woods from the sickness, though. By game time, I was probably stumbling around worse than I do now. (My walking, albeit with a walker has improved drastically of late.) After the game, when I went to get quotes, several players started chanting "Chicken Wings, Chicken Wings." They had obviously heard. Team captain Mark Fistric hadn't heard or had heard and didn't care because he picked me up in a bear hug, started carrying me around and said, "You're my dawg...you're my dawg." (I'm a big dude now, but I was a bigger dude then. The fact some 19-year-old kid could do that scared me.)
By the time I finished my stories, I couldn't step up for long periods, so I had to crawl my way down the stairs and out of the stands.
Nice.
Fast forward to today, I'm feeling as well as I've felt in months. I still get frustrated with how wobbly I am, but I'm trying to be patient. (I'm supposed to cook on Tuesday and stand for several minutes without any asssistance, and that's scaring me.)
We're on the Spine Floor this time, after being on the Brain Injury and Neuro-muscular floors on our past two trips, which means we get a whole new team of doctors, physios and occupational therapists. Everybody seems to be as ultra professional, just like the teams we've had here before.
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