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.

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.

Come on Irene: Yet another role model vaults to forefront in midst of cancer, back surgery rehab

My hero list continues to grow.
I don't know too much about Irene. I think she's a touch older than me. She arrived at G.F. Strong, the Vancouver physical rehab centre, from Vancouver General Hospital, a few days after this, my third  instalment there.
We do share the same spine surgeon, Dr. Robert Lee. Dr. Lee regularly asks about other patients of his that I've come across at GF, and during my check-up this week I remembered to tell him about seeing Irene doing laps in the gymnasium with her walker when I was doing the same.
His eyes got big. Real big. So did his smile.
Why? Seems that the doctors at VGH gave Irene a 10 per cent chance of ever walking again after a car accident sent her to hospital. Her injuries were sustained in the cervical vertebrae, the ones nearest the skull.
Irene even did some laps without a walker this week, leaning instead on the arms of a rehab assistant. And she proudly proclaims "I will walk out of here," in regards to her discharge in late May.
Coming across her story and her attitude was exactly what I needed. I had been feeling a little sorry for myself. I had hoped to be home by late Ap ril, and when I was given a May 26 discharge date I frequently put my sulk on.
I focussed too much on the rotten things that I have happened to me, rather than the fact that all the medical people I've talked to have said that I have the chance to walk out of GF as well.
In fact, I have a chance to be healthier and happier and smarter on, lets say, May 30, 2011, than I was May 30, 2010, and that's after a bout with cancer (Solitary Plasmacytoma, in my T-2 vertebrae), two back rebuild surgeries, a muscle-flap surgery, and four surgeries to combat three infections.  It is, in part, an indictment of my lifestyle a year ago, but no matter.
This is my fourth straight weekend at home and I feel like I did more yesterday -- highlighted by going out for lunch with my parents, grandmother, an aunt and uncle and Carol-Ann, plus sitting out in the yard for a time -- than I did in my previous three leaves combined. My occupational therapist, Erin, is trying to healthy up my diet -- I even made split-pea soup earlier this week.
I feel like I'm back going in the right direction, and I have at least one more prominent reason why.
Thank you, Irene.

Catching up with the cat: Visit to inlaws provides added inspiration in midst of GF Strong rehab

This is going to sting a little for some of you I imagine.
I'm a cat lover now.
It was never the plan. It just happened. Carol-Ann told me early on (I think it was right after "Hi, my name is Carol-Ann") that her cat Figaro was a keeper no matter what, and I slowly began to bond with her old gal. Consider this: Figaro and I are both slow moving, we both don't like people scratching our bellies and we both hang on Carol-Ann's every word.
A dog lover from an early age, I quickly became one of the guys I used to mock.
So, when you consider that we moved Figaro to Carol-Ann's folks' when this whole Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour-back surgery rigmarole started in November and I hadn't seen her since then, Saturday's visit to Ron and Verna's was a big, emotional deal.
Figaro is dealing with her own medical issues now, with a weepy eye. Carol-Ann and her folks are taking her to a specialist on Friday. Figaro is 13 years old now, so using anaesthetic on her isn't ideal, but it may have to happen to figure out what's going on.
Other than the eye, though, she looked good. She purred like usual, her fur looked normal. I have to admit that seeing her gives me a little extra jump to get better.
I do feel like I'm improving. We had just started practising steps here at GF Strong this week, and I successfully managed four outside and two inside at Ron and Verna's.
I had to stand for several minutes while learning to play bridge on Friday, too. And Dr. Robert Lee and Dr. James Boyle, our spine and plastic surgeons, respectively, at VGH signed off on me using a manual wheel chair, instead of a power one, which will help with my overall endurance.
The week ended much better than it started, when I was far too wobbly while cooking my pork chops on Tuesday. (Pork chops good...mobility around the kitchen not so much, but I did learn a lot from my OT, Erin, about vegetables.)
Hopefully, I can parlay all that into a good week next week and get closer to going home with Carol-Ann and, of course, the cat.

I've got the power; new stitches prompt switch to motorized wheelchair for short period

The bad news is that the new stitches in my back has led to our surgeon, Dr. Robert Lee, limiting my arm movements for the next two weeks.
The really bad news, at least for the people at G.F. Strong and the general public around King Ed and Laurel in Vancouver, is that they've given me a power wheelchair.
Oh. Mercy. Think of the havoc I can cause with a motor and wheels?
I'm feeling strong and confident, so I think I'll be back doing a lot of walking through the next couple of weeks, but the power chair does have a certain video game appeal to it, since it's controlled by a joystick.
As for the wound, it's a little antsy at times, but it's not too surprising, considering the skin there has been through 20 radiation sessions to battle back my Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour and the seven surgeries. It does seem to be getting more under control after Dr. Lee's on-the-fly stitch session on Saturday.

He'll be coming down the mountain to do my stitches; spine surgeon amazes yet again

How will we ever thank Dr. Robert Lee?
Seriously. We could use the ideas.
There have been a bus load of people who have been integral to Carol-Ann and I so far surviving this ordeal, one that began with a tumour being found in my T-2 vertebrae in October and has included seven surgeries, two of which featuring rods and screws being placed in my back to stabilize it. Lee, a spine surgeon at VGH, has been particularly paramount.
The good doctor, who got into a battle at VGH to get my biopsy done in a timely manner after it was initially postponed and was keeping tabs on me while visiting his family in England in early December with such fervour that he telephoned Carol-Ann at the hospital to make a couple of suggestions about my care, added to his list of good deeds on Saturday when he had us meet him at VGH to sew up a wound on my back after I had torn out some stitches rehabbing at GF Strong.
The catch? He was on his day off, skiing at Whistler, and hustled down the mountain and back to the hospital to meet us.
(Worried about the new stitches, Dr. Lee has put restrictions on my mobility over the next two weeks, including keeping me from propelling my own wheelchair. I'm not pleased about it, but I'll make it through. For what it's worth, I haven't felt this strong physically or mentally since November.)
The very fact that we even had the surgeon's cell number has stunned nurses both at VGH and GF.
You read the papers (particularly the Province...shameless sucking up to my employer) and you watch the nightly news on TV and there are routinely stories about how messed the B.C. medical system is. Sorry. It's like nothing we've experienced. People have gone out their way, done more than their share, to make these last few months a little less nightmarish. Dr. Lee, of course, has been at the top of that list.
If you have any clue how we can show our appreciation, drop me a line.