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.

Falling down, talking up: yet another chapter in this crazy cancer/back surgery rehab

The one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis was Sunday.
I gave myself some banged up knees and some wacky stress.
The knees first.
I had my first fall since leaving GF Strong in May on Thursday. And, yes, it's a good thing. I had been wondering how exactly it would feel and how I would react and whether I would be able to get up on my own.
Luckily, I was with our ace at-home physio, Paula Peres. We were out for a walk -- I'm up to about a kilometre and a half "free style" -- when she had me do a pivot and walk backwards. Well, I pivoted my big old booty off the sidewalk into the grass and slipped and kissed the dirt and muck. I was embarrassed, but didn't panic. Paula was worried about whether I hurt myself, but she didn't flip out either.
And, of course, when we told Carol-Ann, she didn't get too excited at all. It's hard to find something Carol-Ann isn't good at right now. ("I fell," I said. "That's exciting," Carol-Ann said. "How did it feel?")
As for the stress, I'm doing a 10-minute speech on my "situation," tonight for Interesting Vancouver, a newfangled seminar. I'm doing it for free, which makes me feel better, because there's exactly no  expectation that I'm going to be good. There are nine or 10 others speakers. Some of them have slides -- the only pictures I have are of my wound. How do you think that might play? Yeah, I didn't think so either.
I've got some bullet points written out, but I'm largely going to try to wing it, thinking that will be less stressfully. We'll see. But I am considerably freaked out.

PS Gary -- call me.

Gigantic return: Latest step in rehab includes return to covering WHL games at Coliseum

Back to work, back to work, back to work.
Tonight, I make my return to "real sports reporting," covering the Vancouver Giants' season opener against the Victoria Royals at the Pacific Coliseum. (Note my cool view above. Also note my mediocre photography skills. Barely passed Photo 101 during my Kwantlen College journalism days.)
I'm a little nervous. I haven't done an actually hockey game on deadline since early last season. I did do some of the Mann Cup lacrosse games recently, so I'm not exactly going in completely cold here.
What? Let the actual facts get in the way of a story? Why would I start now?
To recap, I'm nearly over my nasty chest cold. I saw our rock star GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, today and she admitted to me that she thought at one point I had pneumonia. She went as far as having me do a chest x-ray.
Yeah. Not fun. Whatever. After cancer and eight back surgeries, I should be able to turn down anything with a lot of vowels that's difficult to spell. (Yes, I had to look up pneumonia.) And, besides, Crush the Pneumonia with Humour doesn't sing.
Still, my mobility is improving. I'm largely off the Walks (my walker) and I'm even avoiding Evander (my cane) for large chunks of time, especially around the house. I did about eight blocks "free style" with Carol-Ann last Sunday and then another three or four with Paula Peres, our rock star at home physio, on Tuesday. (Paula's pleased with my progress, considering how bad the chest cold has hit me.)
I do my driving test on Wednesday. I'm feeling more and more confident every time I go out.
And Carol-Ann's brother, Chuck, has moved in with his wife Lauren and their 20-month-old Samantha. We've moved downstairs -- in part because I like the TV and Carol-Ann was worried about Sam going up and down the stairs. They've found an apartment down the street and will be moving there end of the month. (Earlier on I had it as Carol-Ann's brother Paul. I get them confused. Sorry.)
Lots going on. Always.
I'll feel a lot better once I get my license back. That will give me back my freedom and keep me from begging, borrowing and stealing off Carol-Ann and my pool co-hort Susie Culp and others for rides.
And it will let me do more "real sports reporting."

A little R from R: physio prescribes rest from rehab, saying body needs break in this bid to rally from cancer/back surgeries

I feel almost athletic.
My physiotherapist, Paula Peres, says that the various aches and pains I've been feeling the past few days are my body yelling at me, saying that it needs a couple of days off. To that end, we did next to nothing in our regular Thursday session yesterday and I've tried to take it easy today. I did go to the pool this morning with my wife-appointed security guard and driver, Susie Culp, but I tried use it more as stretch-it-out session than anything else. And, up until this, I've been playing MLB11 on the PS3 today. (Cancer has done wonders for my video game skills, let me tell you.)
I can't lie it. I like the idea that she's telling me to dial it down. I'm like a catcher who doesn't play a day game after a night game. I'm like an outfielder who gets some time off before the playoffs. I'm like James Paxton, the Ladner left-hander and Seattle Mariners prospect who got shut down by the team (http://tinyurl.com/3c8vkoh) due to innings pitched limits. Who cares if it's the day after I did a big feature on him? (http://tinyurl.com/3cvx8zb) 

OK, I care. That sucked. That story got play across the country.

But no matter.

It's proof that I'm doing more and more. Paula and I walked to Moody Park last Tuesday free style (read: without help from the walker or Evander, my trusty cane) and toured around for a good 45 minutes, going up and down hills and across various terrains. I was free styling longer overall at slopitch a week ago Tuesday, when the Headliners captured their fifth VMRESSS title in eight years with a victory over the the Master Batter and Scorebook Throwers -- (for those who understand...Yes, I wrote that) -- but I was doing a lot more standing than walking. This thing on Tuesday was solid walking.

I had my first driving lesson Wednesday, and my teacher, Ricky Bobby, said immediately afterwards that he thought I could pass my test right now. For those devoted to CTTWH (Snarla, that's you), you'll recall I failed my driver's test at G.F. Strong, leading to these lessons.

I told R.B. (not his real name, in case you were wondering) that I felt much better after one session with him but still wanted at least two or three more jaunts with him riding shotgun before we started DRIVING FOR REAL. (Insert Da Da Da music here). He agreed that I was probably overly nervous at the test. That, and not overly intelligent, considering that I tried to do the test without practising after six months in a hospital bed.

Wednesday night, I took in the Vancouver Giants' intrasquad scrimmage, and stood for much of my time there.

That's a lot more going on than my body is used to. By Thursday morning, my hips and knees were aching and my shoulders and neck were sore. (That comes from the fact that shoulder checking is a skill that you generally use while driving a car only, although it does come in handy when you're in the kitchen with my Carol-Ann...more on that another time.) And I even took two fast-acting Hydro pain killers Wednesday night.

I like the fact that Paula trusts me enough that when I said on Thursday, "I'm sorry...I don't know how much I have to give for our session today) she opts to shut it down and take it easy. That's a good compliment to our working rapport.

Things are only going to get more complicated, since I'm covering the Mann Cup lacrosse finals starting next Wednesday in Langley. 

My little marathon: this afternoon marks my first steps without any sort of device

It was only a few steps, but it was my own little marathon for the time being.
I walked 10 feet today without a walker, in the basement of our home and under the supervision of our physio Paula Peres. It's a terribly short distance, I know -- but it's my first steps solely on my own since October. That was just before I was diagnosed with a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour in my T-2 vertebrae and long ahead of the eight back surgeries Carol-Ann and I have had to endure.
It's a terribly short distance, I know -- but there's been some suggestion, albeit usually worst-case scenario providing, that I'd never get off a walker.
It's a terribly short distance, I know -- but this is the happiest I've been since one of my dozen or so GF Strong physios, Hilary Cole, sucked me in to standing on my own without holding onto anything the first time in February. Hilary, in midst of my second of three stints at GF, got me engulfed in some serious conversation and all of the sudden I was up and on my feet.
It's the happiest I've been since I could move my left leg for my VGH physio Anne after surgery No. 7 back in February. That operation, which replaced my original four rods and screws in my back with six rods and screws, was a result of my left leg coming to a complete halt in my first go-round at GF. In the days leading up to the operation, my left leg wouldn't fire at all, no matter what I asked it to do. The morning after surgery, Anne came in, asked me to lift my leg off the bed, and I did it, and then I was able to keep it up when she pushed against it.
Maybe the coolest thing of all is that I'm this excited. This rehab thing is a grind, and it's so easy to get disappointed. It can be easier to look at what I've lost rather than what I've regained, and everyone I've talked to says that it's as hard mentally and emotionally as it is physically.
I'm sore and stiff every morning. We've tried to rectify that by going to Canada Games pool and splish splashing for 30 minutes to an hour. That tends to work. I see Paula twice a week, and she might work me harder than anybody I've ever had. (Apologies to various people.) I'm walking around the neighbourhood with my walker, and I'm doing day-to-day stuff like cooking and a laundry, and that takes a toll on me.
I'm also back at work, albeit for four hours a week right now. I had my stories in the paper last Friday. That was a decent milestone for me, but I think Thursday, when I'm slated to attend my first press conference since returning by covering Vancouver Giants' gathering, might be a bigger deal for me emotionally.
Thursday's also my next visit with Paula, so it could be quite a day, especially if this afternoon is any consideration.

Doctor says I can have the write stuff; allows me to go back to work, albeit on a limited basis

Got some good news, and some good news. And, for that matter, some more good news.
Haven't read that here before too often, eh?
Kicking off, our GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, agreed this morning (HOT OFF THE PRESS...HOT OFF THE PRESS...I've always wanted to say that...next up, I'll hop in a random cab and tell the driver to "Follow that car!!!") that I can go back to work a few hours a week starting next Monday.
We're talking four hours a week to start, but that's enough for me to do at least one story, and it'll help keep me sane and focused. And Dr. Rogerson says that it will be a good test of my mental and emotional stamina.
Province sports editor Jonathan McDonald has said all along that he wanted to ease me back into working, when ever that was going to happen, so it makes it easier knowing that he's on board with the medical folk. (Shameless plug for my boss. And, seriously, is there any better shameless plug?)
Also on the plus front, I stood on one foot, without holding onto anything,  several times Tuesday. It may seem tiny, but walking, on some level, is a series of one-footed stands, and I hadn't been anywhere close to standing on one foot in some time. I had, in fact, given up even trying for the final few weeks at GF Strong. I didn't have the strength in my hips or my core then.
And, to wrap up our happiness hat trick, my new at-home physio, Paula Peres is a butt kicker and seems to really get me.
I had my first session with her a week ago, and I so wanted to impress her, so wanted to show her that I was going to be good to work with. She put me through some signature assessment tests, and I struggled.
I was hard on myself about it, and she finally looked at me, and said, "Get over yourself." As she pointed out, if I didn't have things to improve on, she wouldn't have been there, taking my money.
"You know that you're paying me for this?" she said, big, goofy smile on her face.
That's one of the hard things with rehab -- it's just as much mental as it is physical. I don't want to be where I'm at, meandering around with a walker, but I need to remember how far I've gotten and how much time I've spent in a hospital bed. I need to remember my Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour and eight back surgeries.
It's tricky. But it's slowly getting better.