Thursday, December 22, 2022
Wednesday, December 7, 2022
Bring Christmas on
![🎄](https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ta6/2/16/1f384.png)
Monday, October 31, 2022
I'm home from the hospital (again)
Someone missed me, clearly. Not just tonight, but during this whole process, which has often separated, for hours, a senior Labrador who can't manage stairs very well anymore, and his dog-parent, who's spent increasing amounts of time upstairs, lying down, when the chemo-related fatigue kicked in. This evening after getting home from the hospital, what I really, really wanted was a shower. But what I really needed was to spend two hours with him downstairs, stroking Beckett's fur, touching his face, talking to him using my special "Beckett voice" while we waited for the Hero M.D. to come home. Eventually he ambled over to his bed, whacked his tail on the floor a couple of times, then fell asleep. It was good communion.
Friday, September 23, 2022
The last words of Elijah McClain
This afternoon in Aurora, CO, the amended autopsy report on the death of Elijah McClain was released. The 23-year old Black man was injected with ketamine by paramedics following his restraint by police. McClain was stopped after purchasing a bottle of iced tea at a corner store.
September morning, over coffee
I woke up this morning inexplicably missing my parents. I don't dwell in the past, as a rule, but this journey upon which I've been forced to embark has many detours and side-roads that usually come at night, in dreams. For some reason, I've lately found myself immersed in memories of my mother, and how she loved Christmas, and how, when I was very young, before I started to become an actual "person" who could objectively be liked, or disliked, or argued with, or found "difficult" or "complicated," we had this perfect communion, she and I. All of the early lessons I learned about morality, or kindness, or always putting others first (a tricky lesson—very good for a child, a less useful baseline for an adult) came from her. She had cancer in 2001, but she died from a heart attack, effectively beating cancer at its own game. She was an intrepid woman, and she would have had some wisdom to share right about now. My occasionally very difficult relationship with my late father notwithstanding, there have been so many times in the past four months when I have imagined how great it would have been to be able to pick up the phone and call him, and discuss what I'm feeling, and what I'm going through. None of this is that sentimental business about wishing you'd told people how much you loved them, or "saying the things you needed to say." We did all that, for better or for worse. Articulating feelings, thoughts, impressions, or opinions was never lacking in the Rowe family. But among the great gifts of being sixty is the vast gulf of time between the pain of the past, and the reality of the present, a reality in which you know who you are, and you can (finally) see, and embrace, the fragility and humanity of people who, at one time, held so much power. And this morning, what I wouldn't give for the feel of my father's old Viyella shirt against my face, or to catch a whiff of my mother's Je Reviens perfume, a final touch of magic dabbed on before she left the house with my father to look impossibly glamorous for other people. Or for the scent of her Christmas cookies in the oven, the ones with the almond frosting, that always heralded a time of light in the darkness, of beauty, of colours, and of a brief moment in time when everything was, literally, perfect. Nothing is ever perfect, and yet, sometimes, it just was.
Friday, September 16, 2022
Chemo Round #7
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Chemo session #7 (aka "the one officially past the halfway mark when it's done") got underway a half-hour ago, about three hours later than expected, but the nurses were slammed and I know that if anyone wishes thing were running on time, it's them.
Monday, September 5, 2022
Chemo Round #6
"Pink is the navy blue of India," as Diana Vreeland famously pronounced in 1956 to the legendary fashion photographer Norman Parkinson upon his return from Mahabalipuram, shooting for VOGUE. My cheerful chemo cap has attracted the best sort of attention from the staff and my fellow patients here at PMH this afternoon. This is chemo session #6. It may be the last one, or there may be one more, depending upon forthcoming test results. My conscientious team considerately scheduled a seventh session for just after the CT scan in a few weeks. If we're where we want to be then, we'll cancel it; if not, I have another cozy pod waiting for me. Everyone is in a remarkably good mood today, probably in anticipation of the Labour Day weekend. For me, it brackets the entire summer—a summer of self-care, introspection, gratitude, the love and care of friends, and, of course, the loss of approximately half my hair. I may not have gone anywhere on holiday this summer, but at least I've "been to me," to quote the famously insipid 1970s ballad made famous by Mary MacGregor (and Priscilla, of course.) For now, I'm snuggled up in room 4 of the Purple Ward in full sunlight, feeling groovy and listening to New Country as the machines pump life-saving chemicals into my body for the next hour and a half. If I squint, it feels like I'm in a good hotel under a warm blanket as the afternoon sun pours over me like gold, or at a spa. I did have a chuckle earlier when my day nurse, Ahmed, noted that I'd put on weight. "We have excellent dieticians here," he said delicately. "If you need some help."
Friday, August 19, 2022
Chemo Round #5
Chemo session #5. Listening to Sinéad O'Connor with my headphones. Feeling strong in this beautiful place full of such good, good people. Surrounded by love at home, and in life. In the home stretch. Onward and upward. Also, #fuckcancer
Saturday, August 6, 2022
Chemo Round #4
Sunday, July 24, 2022
Chemo Round #3
Chemo round #3—maybe halfway done? We were a little late getting started today, but Princess Margaret isn't the worst place to hang out while you're waiting for your procedure to begin.
Friday, July 8, 2022
Chemo Round #2
Chemo round #2. There was a curtain on my cubicle today, and I asked that it be drawn, for privacy and also to avoid the distraction of seeing everyone coming and going in front of my sight line. I wanted to focus on the experience. The pellucid sunlight poured in through the large window, turning what might have merely been white medical sterility into a cocoon of brightness that was surprisingly soothing, like an aircraft high above the clouds. Midway through my procedure, I heard the sound of a gong echoing down the corridor, accompanied by a cacophony of cheers and clapping. A purely joyful sound. Someone had finished their l final round of chemotherapy and were sent home for the last time. Unsurprisingly, it moved me deeply, and I teared up a bit—not only in anticipation of that happening for me, but also in the spirt of shared joy of triumph over illness that seems to run through the veins of this blessed hospital like quicksilver. I'm glad I had my dark glasses, because my eyes were a bit sore afterwards, and the sunlight was so bright. I don't know who hit the gong that hard, but I hope it felt wonderful, and I hope they felt all of our love. Today's angel was a nurse named Margareta who had that quality I admire most in a nurse—the ability to take care of a patient while allowing them the dignity of autonomy. There's a lot of that going around at Princess Margaret, thank God. So now I'm home resting, with my carbuncle of a portable chemo thermos—Flo #2, so named in honour of my friend Jen McCarthy, who named hers "Flo." No negative effects yet, and feeling strong, though the side-effects may kick in later this evening. But if they do, I've got the drugs to knock them into next week. #fuckcancer
Tuesday, July 5, 2022
Aiden
Two-year old Aiden McCarthy was found wandering down the street alone in the aftermath of the Highland Park massacre on the 4th of July. Only later did authorities realize that he was alone because both of his parents had been slaughtered by a man on a rooftop with a legally-purchased assault rifle. Even amidst the shrill, nauseating obscenity of the gun rights advocacy in the wake of yet another mass shooting, I have to wonder how the image of this little boy, who very likely saw his parents murdered in front of him, perhaps even while holding his hands or carrying him in their arms, doesn't set everyone with a pretence to having a heart, or a conscience, on fire. All we ever hear from conservatives is "What about the children?" Well, what 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 the children? It's time someone forced these fucking people to answer their own favourite damned question.
Saturday, July 2, 2022
Cherry trees
I woke up this morning to a young man in our cherry tree, picking the cherries. I have no idea how young he was (at my age, almost everyone is "young") but he was certainly agile enough to have shimmied up the tree and made a safe perch for himself in the crook of one of the branches.
Saturday, June 25, 2022
One perfect morning
Thursday, June 23, 2022
Chemo Round #1
My energetic home-care nurse, Zaid, has just unhooked me from the odious portable chemo pack, so I am officially finished with round #1. In honour of my friend Jen, who disliked hers equally, and nicknamed it "Flo," I have nicknamed mine "Flo 2," and I'm going to enjoy my two weeks off before she's reattached after round #2.
This round of chemo itself was painless, and there was no nausea during or after, though I'm told this is not likely to be the case as it ramps up over the course of the next five sessions. That said, I have some powerful nausea meds on board, and have no compunctions about using them. The "Chemo Daycare" facility at Princess Margaret was really pleasant—large cubicles or small rooms on a sunny floor with big windows. My nurse, JoJo, was attentive and caring, which never hurts.
On the way out, feeling a bit stoned, I fell into conversation with an older woman who gave me advice on how to handle what was to come. This generosity of my fellow patients has been a gift. On the way home, a friend introduced me to her neighbour who had done her own stint at PMH, and advised me to invest in fig newtons, or all things, which she swore by in order to keep the nausea down.
This theme of kindness and generosity, and gentleness, especially from women my age or older, who are either in my predicament or have survived it, has been the most life-affirming part of this otherwise unpleasant process. I am drawn to their language, and am struck by how well I speak and understand it, and how it resonates.
Too, the wall of love from friends, "live" or virtual, has been ridiculously buoying. The messages here on FB and IG, the flowers, the cards, the caring—I feel all of it in a real and tangible way, and the gratitude I feel makes me a bit weepy at times.
Last night, my glorious next-door neighbour brought over a bowl of fresh salsa that his wife had just made 15 minutes before. Dear God it was delicious, and while I'm sure other food has gone down better over the course of the past six decades, I'm at a loss, just now, to remember what that food might have been. Maybe love is the magical ingredient she used.
Not for the first time I'm recalling, and drawing on, the wisdom of Fred Rogers. When he was a boy, he said, he would see scary things on the news. His mother told him, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
Lucky me—I've not needed to look. The helpers found me all on their own. And I'm so beyond blessed by them
Wednesday, May 25, 2022
Wind-sprints
Sunday, May 22, 2022
Venerating the Sacred Labrador
Since my mobility has been excellent since my operations last week, I decided to try to take Beckett for a walk and see how far we got. Amusingly, his 12-year old arthritic Labrador's gait is the perfect step match for my own post-op ambulations, so we were in sync.
Friday, May 20, 2022
Cancer
A week ago, I received the news that I had colon cancer. I spent five nights at Toronto General and had three surgical procedures, one under general anaesthetic. I’m home now, and resting, and very happy to be back in my own bed. Next week, I will be referred to the oncology department at Princess Margaret Hospital, arguably the best cancer hospital in Canada, for further treatment, possibly chemotherapy and/or radiation. After that, it will be back to Toronto General for more surgery.
Tuesday, May 10, 2022
On the 89th anniversary of the start of the Nazi book burnings in Berlin
"Where they burn books, they will, in the end, burn human beings too."