I have an announcement about my cancer. It's Roberto Luongo's fault.
Seriously. If he's going to get all the blame for how sad sack the Vancouver Canucks have started this season, then I'm tagging him for my Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour. He's probably behind the eight back surgeries and the six months in the hospital, too.
I blame him for proliferation of singing shows on television and for the fact that I wasn't 100 per cent certain that proliferation was the right word there and I had to Google it. I blame him for Google, Twitter and Tweet and IPad and all those techie terms that I feel a little goofy everytime I say. I blame him for Kenny Loggins not having anything to do with the new Footloose.
I blame him for my yearning for Pumpkin Spice Latte. I blame him for long division. No. Scratch that. I blame him for math in general.
And, before we get too ahead of ourselves, I bet he's the guy behind Impark. It's got to be him.
I'd like to blame him for why Crush The Tumour With Humour (CTTWH) has been idle of late, but I can't, and only in part because it would give more ammo to the lunatic fringe who think the above four paragraphs makes complete sense. (The Impark one may have merit, mind you.)
I haven't been writing because I've been busy trying to get better. Still at the pool four or five mornings a week. Still walking lots "free style" -- my rock star home physio Paula Peres has me up to 1.6 kilometres, and that includes varying surfaces and inclines. It's very strange. Paula will take Evander (my cane) away and my body will tense right up. She says it's a matter of my body not understanding how hard I need to work to do things now. She has a point. When I go Evander-less around the house these days, I'm not tense at all.
(TIME OUT: You keep hearing that Luongo is terrible. Really? Keep hearing that the Canucks should trade him. Really? Team is coming off their best season ever and he was a major reason why and he's being lambasted and lampooned for a poor start. Wasn't that the lowest scoring Stanley Cup final ever? No one wants to talk about that.)
Paula's happy enough in fact she's only seeing me once a week, down from twice. That has to be a sign of progress.
I'm also working between 20 and 30 hours a week. I did my first Vancouver Giants practice "free style," on Thursday morning, and survived the ordeal.
I even went to a Canuck game with Carol-Ann and sat in the stands, rather than the press box. Lots of stairs to be scaled, lots of people to navigated around.
I'm sure I was the same way before THE CANCER, but I can't believe how little people pay attention to folks with canes and walkers and even wheel chair. Getting cut-off and or tail gated.... it drives my poor Carol-Ann crazy.
We did have a good time at the game, for what it's worth. I would have liked it more if Roberto played, though, to be honest.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Talk show: speech on cancer at Interesting Vancouver goes better than expected
I survived my speech.
I got through my 10 minutes at Interesting Vancouver, the self-professed multi-disciplinary conference with no singular theme, and even received some applause.
I wouldn't have been close, in my mind, without my Carol-Ann and our good buddy Bif Naked. (Shameless name drop.) I was freaked all day about it, and Carol-Ann busted her butt to try to keep me calm. At one point, she said, "If you get in trouble, just signal to me and I'll come up there with you." Now, Carol-Ann hates being singled out. She hates to be front and centre. She didn't sign up for this conference. She would have rescued me, though. That's part of why she's freakin' adorable.
We got to the event, which was at the Museum of Vancouver, and I was leading off the second half of speakers after intermission. Sure enough, the first half of speakers rocked it. Lots of prep time spent. Guys with slides. Guys with dance moves. One of them, I swear, had the Pips. (Gladys Knight's back-up singers...oh, I'm old.)
I had a bunch of bullet points on one scrap of paper. I had run over the first few sentences in my mind a few times, but I hadn't gotten anywhere close to a full run through. I had no idea what 10 minutes felt like.
I told Carol-Ann and Bif, "I'm so outclassed."
Bif gave me "Steve," and then a long pause, which is something she picked up from Carol-Ann and is basically short-hand for "concentrate on what I'm about to say to you, you big, friggin' goofball or I'm going to sock you one."
Then she continued.
"You're talking about cancer," she continued. "That's real. You say 'cancer,' and the room will go silent.' They'll be focussed on your every word."
So it came my turn. I'm limped up there, trusty Evander (The Cane) by my side, and I started with, "Hey, I didn't fall down...first step complete."
Out from the crowd came a couple of polite laughs.
Then I gave them, in my best radio voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, childen of all ages...I'm Steve Ewen, and I'm very excited to be here."
Pronounced pause for effect.
"I'm excited to be here," I continued, "because I've always wanted to stand in front of a group of people and say, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages. Next, off my bucket list, is hopping into a cab, pointing at a passing vehicle and saying, 'Quick, follow that car.'"
Pockets of laughter.
"I'm also excited to be here because I was diagnosed with cancer a year ago and this is my first chance to try to give back to all the people who were so supportive of my wife and I."
There were a few seconds of silence while people processed what I said, and then a more passionate round of applause.
Bif was right. As soon as the word, "cancer," came up, people dialled right in.
They were great. They laughed at all the right spots. They chortled at, "Hey, is that a tumour in my T-2 or are you just happy to see me?" They let me get emotional about Carol-Ann. At one point, I blurted out, "You guys are great...I'm taking you all home with me."
I was sore and tired, so we bolted right after and missed the last bunch of speakers.
So, basically, there's a chance I might do another speech sometime. The odds of telling too many of you beforehand, though, still aren't good.
I got through my 10 minutes at Interesting Vancouver, the self-professed multi-disciplinary conference with no singular theme, and even received some applause.
I wouldn't have been close, in my mind, without my Carol-Ann and our good buddy Bif Naked. (Shameless name drop.) I was freaked all day about it, and Carol-Ann busted her butt to try to keep me calm. At one point, she said, "If you get in trouble, just signal to me and I'll come up there with you." Now, Carol-Ann hates being singled out. She hates to be front and centre. She didn't sign up for this conference. She would have rescued me, though. That's part of why she's freakin' adorable.
We got to the event, which was at the Museum of Vancouver, and I was leading off the second half of speakers after intermission. Sure enough, the first half of speakers rocked it. Lots of prep time spent. Guys with slides. Guys with dance moves. One of them, I swear, had the Pips. (Gladys Knight's back-up singers...oh, I'm old.)
I had a bunch of bullet points on one scrap of paper. I had run over the first few sentences in my mind a few times, but I hadn't gotten anywhere close to a full run through. I had no idea what 10 minutes felt like.
I told Carol-Ann and Bif, "I'm so outclassed."
Bif gave me "Steve," and then a long pause, which is something she picked up from Carol-Ann and is basically short-hand for "concentrate on what I'm about to say to you, you big, friggin' goofball or I'm going to sock you one."
Then she continued.
"You're talking about cancer," she continued. "That's real. You say 'cancer,' and the room will go silent.' They'll be focussed on your every word."
So it came my turn. I'm limped up there, trusty Evander (The Cane) by my side, and I started with, "Hey, I didn't fall down...first step complete."
Out from the crowd came a couple of polite laughs.
Then I gave them, in my best radio voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, childen of all ages...I'm Steve Ewen, and I'm very excited to be here."
Pronounced pause for effect.
"I'm excited to be here," I continued, "because I've always wanted to stand in front of a group of people and say, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages. Next, off my bucket list, is hopping into a cab, pointing at a passing vehicle and saying, 'Quick, follow that car.'"
Pockets of laughter.
"I'm also excited to be here because I was diagnosed with cancer a year ago and this is my first chance to try to give back to all the people who were so supportive of my wife and I."
There were a few seconds of silence while people processed what I said, and then a more passionate round of applause.
Bif was right. As soon as the word, "cancer," came up, people dialled right in.
They were great. They laughed at all the right spots. They chortled at, "Hey, is that a tumour in my T-2 or are you just happy to see me?" They let me get emotional about Carol-Ann. At one point, I blurted out, "You guys are great...I'm taking you all home with me."
I was sore and tired, so we bolted right after and missed the last bunch of speakers.
So, basically, there's a chance I might do another speech sometime. The odds of telling too many of you beforehand, though, still aren't good.
Friday, October 14, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, September 30, 2011
I'm bringing driving back: Cancer/back surgery rehab drives forward with return of licence
I got my driver's licence back. I'm almost an adult.
There's a certain lack of maturity thing that seems to be holding me back from full-fledged grown-up status, but we'll have to see.
As for driving, once you have a certain number of surgeries you apparently have to inform the Motor Vehicle Branch that your physical condition has changed and they put a hold on your licence until you take a road test.
I'm not sure what the minimum number of surgeries. I had eight, to combat a collapsed t-2 vertebrae and three infections brought on by a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour and its treatment.
Much to my chagrin, I failed my first road test try, leading to me taking lessons with Young Driver's.
I'm not young. And, if you saw me on that first road test, you would maintain that I wasn't a driver, so that was OK.
After five sessions, featuring plenty of messy parallel parking, I had my road test on Wednesday. I got this nice young woman as the tester. As we pulled out of the parking stall, I showed off my one-handed steering technique, which brought nice young woman to say, "You went to Young Driver's...they did teach you to steer with two hands, right?"
Yep. Good start.
We ended up spending 45 minutes on the road, and probably 90 per cent of it in school zones. Nice young woman cited me for two infractions -- a missed shoulder check and failing to slow to 30 kilometres in a school zone quickly enough. We didn't even try the parallel parking.
Young Driver's Guy told me that most tests he sees these days have 30-40 infractions.
Yes, I'm bragging. Or squealing on nice young woman. I'm not quite sure.
Either way, I feel like I've got a little bit more of my life back. It's hard to have to rely on others to get around.
Now, if someone could just fix this immaturity thing.
There's a certain lack of maturity thing that seems to be holding me back from full-fledged grown-up status, but we'll have to see.
As for driving, once you have a certain number of surgeries you apparently have to inform the Motor Vehicle Branch that your physical condition has changed and they put a hold on your licence until you take a road test.
I'm not sure what the minimum number of surgeries. I had eight, to combat a collapsed t-2 vertebrae and three infections brought on by a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour and its treatment.
Much to my chagrin, I failed my first road test try, leading to me taking lessons with Young Driver's.
I'm not young. And, if you saw me on that first road test, you would maintain that I wasn't a driver, so that was OK.
After five sessions, featuring plenty of messy parallel parking, I had my road test on Wednesday. I got this nice young woman as the tester. As we pulled out of the parking stall, I showed off my one-handed steering technique, which brought nice young woman to say, "You went to Young Driver's...they did teach you to steer with two hands, right?"
Yep. Good start.
We ended up spending 45 minutes on the road, and probably 90 per cent of it in school zones. Nice young woman cited me for two infractions -- a missed shoulder check and failing to slow to 30 kilometres in a school zone quickly enough. We didn't even try the parallel parking.
Young Driver's Guy told me that most tests he sees these days have 30-40 infractions.
Yes, I'm bragging. Or squealing on nice young woman. I'm not quite sure.
Either way, I feel like I've got a little bit more of my life back. It's hard to have to rely on others to get around.
Now, if someone could just fix this immaturity thing.
Friday, September 23, 2011
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."
Monday, September 12, 2011
I love the nightlife: Latest step in cancer/back surgery rehab includes covering lacrosse games
The Extreme Steve Makeover: Home Edition hit another milestone over the past few days, as I've returned to covering live events for The Province newspaper. Tonight will be my third straight evening at the Mann Cup, the Canadian Senior A box lacrosse championship series between the Ontario powerhouse Brampton Excelsiors and the host Langley Thunder.
I think I've written OK. My stories have been far from stunning, but they've made sense in my mind and I've hit deadline. My mobility at the games, though, hasn't been where I wanted. I've been a little wonky. (This word brought to you by former Vancouver Giants trainer Cory Cameron. Wonky was my all purpose injury word. Cory wondered if I thought it was a technical term. It drove him crazy.)
Carol-Ann has a different take. I finished writing the first games at 10 p.m. each night. As Carol-Ann says, it wasn't that long ago that 10 p.m. was three hours into my sleep for the night. As well, I'm still dealing with this lung infection thing. I'm still downing antibiotics twice a day.
I did nap most of today. But I need to listen to my body. Both Carol-Ann and Paula Peres, our at-home physio, say that I need to listen to my body.
I skipped my Paula session last Thursday. She was pleased with that. I see her again tomorrow. It'll be interesting to see how much I have in my tank after three straight nights of lacrosse.
I think I've written OK. My stories have been far from stunning, but they've made sense in my mind and I've hit deadline. My mobility at the games, though, hasn't been where I wanted. I've been a little wonky. (This word brought to you by former Vancouver Giants trainer Cory Cameron. Wonky was my all purpose injury word. Cory wondered if I thought it was a technical term. It drove him crazy.)
Carol-Ann has a different take. I finished writing the first games at 10 p.m. each night. As Carol-Ann says, it wasn't that long ago that 10 p.m. was three hours into my sleep for the night. As well, I'm still dealing with this lung infection thing. I'm still downing antibiotics twice a day.
I did nap most of today. But I need to listen to my body. Both Carol-Ann and Paula Peres, our at-home physio, say that I need to listen to my body.
I skipped my Paula session last Thursday. She was pleased with that. I see her again tomorrow. It'll be interesting to see how much I have in my tank after three straight nights of lacrosse.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Cough, cough, cough: Chest infection puts physio and work on backburner
Not happy.
I've picked up some sort of chest infection, which has been cutting into my rehab and kiboshed my first live coverage of an event, the opening game of the Mann Cup Senior A lacrosse championship tonight between the Langley Thunder and Brampton Excelsiors.
There's something honourable and noble about lacrosse, the way they play that hard for pride. Something old school. I was geeked up.
At least I'll get to watch it over the Internet.
It could be worse. Everytime I cough it sounds like I'm going to erupt out my insides, and it caused our GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, enough concern that she sent me for a chest x-ray today. It came back normal, whatever that means.
I was nieve. I thought after everything we've been through the past eight or nine months, we got a pass for the next while on the simple, everyday things. At least I hoped for that.
So much for that.
I've picked up some sort of chest infection, which has been cutting into my rehab and kiboshed my first live coverage of an event, the opening game of the Mann Cup Senior A lacrosse championship tonight between the Langley Thunder and Brampton Excelsiors.
There's something honourable and noble about lacrosse, the way they play that hard for pride. Something old school. I was geeked up.
At least I'll get to watch it over the Internet.
It could be worse. Everytime I cough it sounds like I'm going to erupt out my insides, and it caused our GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, enough concern that she sent me for a chest x-ray today. It came back normal, whatever that means.
I was nieve. I thought after everything we've been through the past eight or nine months, we got a pass for the next while on the simple, everyday things. At least I hoped for that.
So much for that.
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