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.

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.

Youth was serving: fresh-faced plastic surgeons lend hand in cancer comeback

Maybe they grow plastic surgeons real young around here. Or maybe they practice face lifts on each other.
Or maybe I am firmly an old fart.
Whatever the reason, my eighth surgery, a "flap," to help close the wound in my back, has made me aware of how many apparent young phenoms work in plastics at VGH. We've met a handful of surgeons leading up to and following my operation last Tuesday and, to be honest, I was continually left making Doogie Howser references. Of course, I made them only to myself and Carol-Ann, since this group probably never saw the TV show, which was in production from 1989-93.
In interest of full disclosure (my old favourite line makes a return), the treatment we've received from the plastics (as they are called)has been top shelf. They were very good about letting us know their A plan and their fallback strategy in case things didn't work initially.
Luckily for Carol-Ann and I, their idea came together on the first go. In fact, Carol-Ann says that plastics surgeon Dr. Boyle told her, "Things couldn't have gone better."
To Steve-it-down, the doctors took parts of my trapezius muscles and folded them to fill a void in the middle of my back, which was created by three infection washout surgeries. The infection was a result of needing a back reconstruction surgery just days after completing my 20th radiation treatment, which was due to a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumor camping out in my T-2 vertebrae. (My good friend Carla McAloney says that I don't have to mention the Solitary Plasmacytoma every blog. I say, "What does she have against a Solitary Plasmacytoma?" Or maybe
she doesn't appreciate new readers, ones who haven't heard about my Solitary Plasmacytoma? Or maybe doesn't like big words, like Solitary Plasmacytoma? Oh, Carla.)
Our spine surgeon, Dr. Robert Lee, tried to get the wound to close, but the combination of radiated skin and nothing behind it to stitch to made it impossible.
For what it is worth, this likely the most pain I've been in since the early stages of the Solitary Plasmacytoma (Take that, Snarla). The plastics say it's completely normal.
I should go back to GF Strong for a third try at rehab later this week hopefully.

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.

Another surgery on cancer comeback trail and that's no bull

Let's try to make this quick.
Went to GF Strong. Improved initially, but then left leg stopped working. Sent back to VGH for MRI, but it found nothing. Back to GF. Didn't improve. Back to VGH, had surgery. Took out broken rod and drained fluid. Also took out "good" rod, which was bent. In their place, Dr. Robert Lee went with four rods, doubling up on his construction at the lower part of the spine.
Got that? Good.
It is a massive step back, but somehow Carol-Ann is staying positive and I am trying to follow her lead. We will be at VGH until early next week, Dr. Lee hopes, and then try GF again. It is hard to believe that this all started with a Solitary Plasmacytoma in the T-2 vertebrae and has since led to seven surgeries, including two major back ones.
We are still having fun. We got to talking about rodeos with Dr. Lee, a Brit, and somebody joked about me riding bulls, much to Dr. Lee's chagrin, considering his most recent handiwork.
To be frank, I am a big wuss. Carol-Ann brought up me being afraid of donkeys, after watching one donkey put the boots to another donkey at 108 Mile a couple of summers ago.
Lee's response? "But you're not a donkey, Steve."
Little does he know, of course.