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.

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.

Want to walk more but too easily run down some days; dancer cancer/back surgery rehab

I'm frustrated.
I must have slept 14-16 hours yesterday. My body just shut down. It was bad. I couldn't even focus. I tried to watch Blue Bloods (love me some Tom Selleck, dating back to Magnum...) and had trouble keeping up with the story line.
My physio, Paul Peres, says that it's completely normal. I'm caught between rehab and real life. I'm just shy of six months out of the hospital. I'm working 30 hours a week. I'm trying to keep up with my share of the chores around here, doing dinners and laundry, so that Carol-Ann can get a break. I'm walking more and more freestyle. I've even taken to leaving Evander (The Cane) at home for jaunts to Vancouver Giants' practice and other work trips.
Paula says there are going to be days when I simply break down. Doesn't make it any easier. It still sucks.
I will be looking to change things up. Paula's down to visiting once a week and she says that she'll be all but done with me come early December. To keep things going, I'm planning on picking up a trainer -- I'm meeting Monday with Sheila Townsend and Jesse Tupper. The married couple are former UBC athletes and I covered them both. They just opened up their own gym and they know my story, so I like the connection.
Not to be a downer, but there's a chance that the cancer could come back. We've been told as high as 70 per cent chance. I need to be ready to fight if it happens again.
Things aren't all bad. I had dinner last Sunday with my first GF Strong roomie, Mike Sidhu. Mike was a good role model for me. Some people at GF do their routine classes, but little else. They lie in their beds all day. Mike was always on the go. Always doing something.
He's doing at his sister's house in Langley. He's doing pretty well, but he's still got his challenge.
That's something I get.

Sorry, Roberto, but this whole cancer/back surgery thing is your fault, too

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.

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.

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.