my romantic tryst with cancer

What a wonderful end to my stay... I got back a little while ago. I feel like the trip has come to a natural close after an eventful (for myself) last few days. The radio in the taxi back from town was playing "when I need love, I hold out my hands and I touch..." Thank you for being there these past days. We (a small group of 4, the driver and our really great guide) left early early this morning for the Sian Ka'an reserve. A two hour drive later we found that the naturalist who was supposed to lead our kayaking tour through the mangroves hadn't shown, nor had our kayaks... But it didn't matter one bit. This area is a little patch of paradise. So we drove on another two hours, got on a little boat just for the 5 of us and spent most of the day on open water- sea turtles, flamingos, star fish, diving into the white-sanded blue. The dolphins gave us a miss, but so did the crocodiles. It didn't matter. The sea was something else. The grounding, ironically o

I walked down to the water to say goodnight to the ocean. I have to be up early for my kayaking trip... ... and there he was, my eternal companion, Orion- right in front of me, circled by clouds as if to show only his bright figure, always present, steadfast... I'm not alone. A line in the book I'm reading quotes Dante speaking of God... "The love that moves the sun and the stars"...

(No pun intended in the title of this post) Today has been somewhat of a watershed. I know why I came here... I realised it while half crying, making patterns in the sand while the sea licked my toes. I'm a child again. This is where I went to escape. The sea was my friend. It came up to me when I walked to it, it comforted me, it made me feel power and servitude, it played with me when I was most alone, it was always there. It hid mysteries, it was never simple, it loved me unconditionally, it had taste, it had temper, it was an enigma... It's disconcerting, because I've shed all my armour and defences that I've developed to cope over these past decades when I sat beside it today. I'm naked, bare, alive... That's why I'm scared, but it's also a chance to renew, and remember. If a bird the size of my palm can make sense of it all as it feeds on the same shore that I sit on, why can't I? David pointed out to me earlier today- we all came from

I just stood out in the warm sea for I don't know how long. And meditated, emanating the primal sound of the breath, my chest gently vibrating, half expecting a whale to answer me. The sandy sea bed felt firmer than the dry ground. I feel like a child again. This is the unforgiving sea, that nurtured me, and now in this phase of uncertainty, it's ironically the bedrock of my being. Perhaps this is why I came here, perhaps this is what I was meant to know. Perhaps this is why it is time for me to return. Perhaps it was always written this way...

I leave next week for (almost, but not quite) a week near the sea, in the sun. I'll be staying at the idyllic Rancho Sak Ol , in Puerto Morelos (thanks for the recommendation of the town Koo). It's a small fishing village a half hour south of Cancun. What it's not is an all-inclusive pit of suburban whining and entitled excess which I have no interest in going to. I need this time away to regroup and recharge. I plan to read, play with the dog (who is purported to own the place), eat, sleep, and most of all enjoy my time with the ocean that I miss so very much. In many ways this place reminds me (and already smells like) my childhood weekends in Juhu. The weather there (to turn those of you who are in North America green with envy) is a calm 26C as I write this in chilly Toronto.

I've seen my fair share of them, and tonight some more. On the train downtown, I saw a man bully his own child. Sick... This lovely boy, not yet 6, got on with his mum and this man. He was playing with his trains, and like most kids do, entertained himself. The man kept threatening the mother that she should have left the kid with her parents, that if the kid didn't behave the night was off and they were going home, that he was misbehaving, that the kid was the reason their relationship wasn't going to work. The child sat between them through all of this, slowly shrinking, getting still, wanting to be invisible. The mother kept fawning over the weasly excuse of a man. He did interrupt his rant to call a friend when the train surfaced briefly to tell him he was "out with his girl" and that he'd bet 40 on three games. And then he started picking on the child. We all sat still, involved yet not. I'm angry, at the man, but even more at myself. I glared a

"grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to know the difference..." I'd heard this many times before, but I learned the meaning of it last night.

My life changed today. This wasn't a fireworks moment, or an epiphany, just a gentle drawing open of curtains, and a revelation of the heart... Serendipitously, I attended a day-long meditation retreat with my friend Bryan on a beautiful campus in Guelph earlier today. I've been searching for some time now for a structured form of meditation to calm the storm I realise I'm in, but instead it found me. Bryan mentioned him going there in passing last week, and I’m not sure if I invited myself, or he did me, but hesitatingly something in me knew I needed to be there. Thank you Bryan. Thank you Molly ... The first half of my silent day was marked by frustration. My attempts to focus on my body and breathing seemed futile. I was conscious of a searing pain in my neck, that more firmly seeded my lingering fears that the cancer had not left me, and this fed on itself and ferreted out my darkest fears of illness and death. The walking meditation that was inserted into our sitt

Mum left to fly back to India today. Right now I miss her very, very much... The house seems empty. It's going to be different waking up tomorrow and she's not here. I couldn't have done this without her. She flew in just before the operation and stayed till she knew I'd be all right. As 'old' as I am, I'll always be her baby. Over the past weeks she has nursed me back to health, been patient with me like only a mother can, and we've been able to spend some good time together too. I'm lucky, very, very lucky to have a mother that wonderful.

I've been silent because I've been somewhat occupied with matters at hand. I'll elaborate on it at length, but recent meetings with the specialists have brought up a few surprises and questions. Given that I had two slightly different cancers on either lobe, there is no definite solution to what happens next. Were either to have been found alone or just any one that was the size of both put together, it would not merit radioactive iodine treatment. However with two, I fall into a grey zone and the default diagnosis is to err on the side of caution and nuke! What's not that clear however is the longer-term effects of the radiation in creating altogether new cancers with implications far more severe than the one I hope I've gotten rid of. The risks, though small, are present, and the choice is mine to make. Do I treat what I have with every means possible and worry about the future, or do I take a gentler approach now, risk recurrence, and cross my fingers that I&

I've just poured my last container down the sink until I know more. I'm in the midst of doing a lot of research about the efficacy of the radioactive iodine treatment that I have to make a decision on, and it's turning up a lot of interesting information. The last few days have not been great. I'll address them in a subsequent post, but from what I've learned so far, and this is pure speculation (but not an absurd hypothesis either), that my i ncreased use of soy over the past year, in an effort to be healthier, may have been the cause of this sorry saga. The Controversy Over Soy and Thyroid Health

In another week I'll be back at work, testing my ability to resume where I left off, but I know things will have changed and I'm not going back to where I was, literally or metaphorically. As Heraclitus said many centuries ago, “You could not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you” - I may step back into the same river, but the water in the river would have flowed on and will be different, and so will I. I can sense my relationship with my synthetic thyroid hormones will not be an easy one. Yes, I was warned about it, but that doesn't make it easier. Differences from the datum either mean inadequacy or excess. As the artificial substance replaces my natural store, a process that will be near complete in another week, I can feel its impact. I sense it is lower than what I need- my skin is dry and tight, even when lavished with moisturisers; my infamous stubble takes days to surface (it used to just take hours); and most of all is my ene

I showered! Hardly newsworthy, but after 2 long weeks I risked running water on me, and it felt wonderful! I doubt the seams will open again and spill blood, but I still need to be careful. Just that. With a week's stubble shaved off and a full body bath to boot, I look like the old me!

This card from Barb which I got today is perfect! Irreverent, topical, and had me in splits. Geoff was joking just a few days ago about how my mum should get me a dog cone with a bit of a 'zap' feature on it to check me if I wandered too far from my bed or moved my neck more than I should (because I was).  

The stitches came out today. Taking the dressing off hurt more than the stitches, but with one little snip I was stitch-less. I thought there would be blood and gore, but it's just a neat little line. A bit swollen, somewhat sore, and once it's healed I'll buy you a drink if you can tell it apart from my wrinkles. The results of the pathology were hardly a surprise- cancer all right, and then some. Unlike the ultrasounds that had shown suspicious cellular activity on just one lobe, both lobes of my thyroid had cancerous nodules- one a piece (it's all about equity). I'm glad I listened to the surgeon when she said something to the effect of 'get the entire thyroid out or you'll always be worrying about what's happening with the other half'. The "dominant" tumour  (1 cm) on the left lobe of papillary type, and secondary tumour (0.7 cm) on the right lobe of papillary carcinoma, follicular variant. As much as we might have wanted to hear some

A quick update from the trenches. I've had two nights of reasonably good sleep now, and actually managed to sleep on my side. Mum's making sure I can't get up to mischief and keeps me on a close leash at home. I'm swallowing like a fish again, enjoying food and a steady stream of good company that's been the high point of all of this! I've started my medication that will be a fixture of the rest of my life. It's going to take some getting used to. The pain from the surgical cuts is diminishing. My neck turns more than it used to. All eyes on Thursday. Thank you for all the well wishes, emails, calls, visits, food and there's so much chocolate here that I could open a store, so come and help me finish it or I'll be at St Mike's again, but this time with cocoa shock! ;-)

They sent me back home last night, almost 36 hours after I left here all scrubbed for surgery. It went well I heard. Thrice the time it should have, and nobody bothered to tell mum, Geoff, Khadi, Kaaeed and Jack when it was done, why it took so long and what happened. All questions to be asked at next week's sutures removal. I'm grateful to those of you who didn't follow my diktats. Seeing your faces and hearing your voices as I drifted in and out of consciousness kept me feeling positive. Mum kept me updated on all the calls and caring queries. I do remember holding your hands and I remember your scent. It was near midnight when I awoke to the delirium. What followed will probably be the longest night of my life. I'd sleep for what seemed like hours and wake up to see the clock (that had insensitively been fixed on the wall in front of the bed), had only moved a minute. I'd be awake and nauseous and in pain for what seemed like hours and the hand only moved a f

Tomorrow is the big day- my "Total Thyroidectomy". Bruce Willis couldn't do a movie with as much of a zing in the title, and there wont be a sequel. I've been flooded with calls and good thoughts and I go into this feeling very, very loved. Even people who only knew about the op in passing weeks ago remembered the date. I'm humbled and touched by their thoughtfulness. My mum's here, and so is Khadi, and I'm glad they are. Geoff's coming in on the night bus and I'm really glad he didn't pay heed to my protestations. My sister sends her love from the salt flats en route to Brasil. My dad and brother have been incredibly supportive. Ariadne, David, Jack, Michael, Anisa, Des, Karen, Melanie, Linh... Tony giving me a few inches of slack and a lot of spine at our morning workouts. I've pushed a lot of people away too so that I could have space, please don't hold that against me. People who knew me growing up, people who I thought hardly k

It's done. After vacillating endlessly over the past nine months , I competed for, was offered, and accepted the role of Manager of the Growth Planning and Analysis Team of the Ontario Growth Secretariat at the Ministry of Energy and Infrastructure... (what a mouthful!). D loves to say it with one big intake of a breath. As Rilke beautifully says, the future enters us and transforms us long before we know it (see quote below)... change has come to me in that way. As I began to feel satiated with one course of study or work, the other seemed ready to begin and open up to me- architecture, on to urban design, then strategic planning... my life too, my identity, my sexuality, my relationships... moving, building, constantly evolving, ever better, ever stronger, never with regret, always with promise, never having to leave one to take on another. Mentors have often put me in positions to challenge me and I've performed. Lovers, friends and family have held me to higher standard

I'm saving voicemails, cards, emails... I feel loved. I've never doubted that, nor have I ever counted it, lest I take it for granted, but in these trying times, the faith that people have in me, the genuine support and love I've received, have amazed me. It's true, I've kept all of this a secret, as best I can. As I said in an earlier post, it wasn't to hide the truth, but to save myself the task of constantly explaining it. If you asked, I shared, and only just, but not otherwise. I'm exhausted from the medical jargon and minutiae I've been thrust into, and I crave the normalcy I had just a month ago, so that I can focus on living life, and not resenting it. I am nothing without the lives that intersect mine. When I do have to go, as we all must, I will not be remembered for what I take with me, but for what I leave behind. It will be about what I've shared, tough and easy times, laughs, good solid cries... you've all held me to higher stan

I've felt terribly vainglorious over the past week. In addition to wanting to use that word since I learnt it many moons ago, I did actually feel that way. My new-found secret makes me feel I'm special. I've joked (half-seriously) that I should use my lil' lump of cancer to get ahead in the line. Why me? Because I have this, I need to be compensated for it... it's not an uncommon reaction to the weight of a diagnosis of cancer. ...G and my ever-patient friends quickly hid their shock at my crass humour. But quickly-enough, this past weekend, reality bit. As I walked down my street, I passed a kid, not yet past his teens, pushing his mother in a wheelchair. She was in hospital garb, paralysed, a beautiful face that adored him, twisted into a stasis she may never be able to shake. Her arms lay limp beside her. Yet when the sun fell on her face, her smile glowed brighter than the light that it was bathed in. I'm fortunate, no, I'm very fortunate, and I nee

I spent most of Friday in the pre-op clinic at the hospital, being probed by a litany of medical investigations- anaesthesiologists, nurses, the blood-sucker lady (who had the sweetest smile), residents who didn't know my thyroid from my little finger, and some great doctors with a sense of humour and a message of reassurance. My lil' lump hurt that whole day and the next from all the pressing, but at least I know where it is now, and so do they! On this occasion, I'm going to leave it in the hands of the experts. I can't worry, because I know little about what they do, but I hope I am in good hands... ;-)

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, terribly, terribly frightened. Unlike most of my dreams that have a fantastical plot in play, this one was bereft of any story. Just dread, just fear. I put myself back to sleep, I've gotten good at that. My mortality is very present these days. Two weeks from now I may not be on this chair outside the Hart House, basking in the gentle dawn as the city crawls up to its regular, banal pace. Two weeks from now I may not be here... but for now I'm trying to be present, trying to be here, enjoying my health, my relationships, my life, every placid moment of these...

Becoming a statistic has never been easier. When they found the 'growths' on my thyroid, I was told that barely 3-5% of them are ever cancerous. Of course, you hope you're part of that lumpy 95-97% and go home and sleep well. Lo and behold, when my biopsy results came back, I was part of that 3-5%. Now they tell me that 95% of those who test positive will be fully cured and live their normal life spans. I have my fingers crossed that I will not be that poor f***er who was the 3% of the 3% of the 3% who had to die that year to make the numbers work! I've never felt more important...

It started with a cold a few months ago. Perhaps the kind kids bring home from their daycare to their parents to carry back to the office. Perhaps something more virulent that birds carry over distances. But still, a cold... Vainly (and unashamedly at that), it was the double chin I noticed in my recent pictures that set the alarm bells ringing. "I've gotten fat, look at these pictures" I complained, early and often to the very patient G. In true cherubic form, he'd disagree. But when the ache that I woke up with each morning did not dissipate, I decided to go to the doctor. My own GP Dr D prescribed heartburn medication. The second GP Dr S at the clinic in my office building told me I was talking too much, which wasn't an impossible diagnosis. A return visit to my own GP Dr D had him prescribing an anti-fungal mouthwash to deal with the problem. After two more months of knowing that there was definitely something more happening, I chanced a visit to the walk-