It’s a vibrant time of year for cancer survivors. Relay for Life takes place in our community and many others very soon. This will be our first time, and we’re happy to be able to participate. It’s going to be something special. I have a feeling we’ll be blown away.

Sadly, the fundraiser isn’t our only reminder of the importance of cancer research right now. We have 2 close friends and a dear family member who recently lost someone special. After short battles, fought tenaciously. It can happen so fast. Healthy one month, sick the next. Ready to fight, fighting hard, and then not long after, too weak to keep fighting. It’s the most heartbreaking thing.

All the more reason to participate in Relay for Life, and make certain that the right people in the right places keep looking for a cure. Not that it’s that simple. It isn’t. But research saves lives. It saved Wade’s, I’m convinced of it.

Well, let me be clear. Many factors contributed to Wade’s survival, obviously. His youth and determination, a skilled surgeon, the faith and prayers of our loved ones, good fortune….I could go on.

One of the greatest factors, however, was research.

Specifically, a fairly recent clinical trial investigating the benefits of having perioperative chemotherapy – chemotherapy given both before, and after surgery – in cases of gastric cancer. It’s called ‘The Magic Trial’. You can see a nice summary and a link to the journal article abstract here: http://www.cancer.gov/clinicaltrials/results/summary/2006/magic-gastric0706 Ultimately, the Magic Trial found that perioperative chemo “provides a significant survival benefit”.

It sure has in Wade’s case. We hope and pray that it stays that way.

And so, if you have anything at all to spare, we encourage you to donate to someone you love who is participating in the Relay for Life. If we happen to be someone you love, and you’d like to support this good cause, please visit one of our personal Relay for Life pages below to make your donation. Thank you!!

Wade: http://convio.cancer.ca/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFL_NS_even_?px=4257523&pg=personal&fr_id=11246

Lisa: http://convio.cancer.ca/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFL_NS_even_?px=4256903&pg=personal&fr_id=11246

The time has come to decide something.

Now that Wade is cancer free, do we keep writing? Or, do we tie up lose ends and put an end to the blog? We were torn, and had to give it some thought.

The original need for the blog – updating others on Wade’s condition – is over. Thankfully. With the exception of monitoring and follow up. But for both of us, the blog has become more than a cancer chronicle.  It feels more intimate now. It’s our story, complete with a happy ending. But in so many ways, it hasn’t really ended.

Real life has kept us occupied lately. So the blog, and cancer in general, has been out of our minds a little. But still, there have been repercussions to Wade’s diagnosis. Things that may be worth sharing. Things that we notice in ourselves, and in others, as we make the transition from ‘with cancer’ to ‘without’. Enough to write about, if we’re willing to go there.

But I’ll be honest. We’ve really considered turning it off. Making it private. Just for us.

However, writing this blog has been therapeutic for me, and I feel a pull to keep writing. Continuing to write might also help us look back on what has happened, and look forward to what may come. It might be a way to keep all the lessons we’ve learned close to our hearts, and clear in our minds.

We’re leaning toward yes…

A year ago today, Wade had an appointment with Dr. Amherst Surgeon to find out what was happening with his ulcer. He’d had a gastroscope 7 days prior, and we were about to discuss the latest results of the scope. This was his 3rd one, and the ulcer wasn’t showing any weakness.

This was when we first heard the words ‘cancer cells’. Dr. Amherst Surgeon had sent the results to a pathology lab in Truro, and that’s what the Pathologist had said….“there may be some cancer cells in there”. 

To be honest, we were just a little bit worried. We did normal evening stuff….got some groceries, had supper, TV, book, bed. Our minds were racing a little bit – the not knowing is hard –  but we tried not to panic.

We knew his proposed CT scan (scheduled for the next day) would tell us more. But we honestly didn’t believe it would end up being much of anything. He’d probably have to have surgery of some kind, if the cancer cell suspicions were true, but Dr. Amherst Surgeon did a great job minimizing the concern.

In fact, Wade was probably more concerned about not being ‘fixed up’ before the end of the school year. We had big plans to spend several weeks in Maine, helping our buddy Koop make his dream of running a summer camp come true.

Little did we know how our summer would unfold….

What a difference a year makes, thank God!

You might think this a post about 30 something girls who enjoy a fondness for 20 something boys…and are proud of it. Rrrrar!

Um, no.

Though I’m sure another blog hosting that very topic exits. Somewhere, it must.

Anyway, Cheetah Pride is the name of a Relay for Life team Wade and I belong to. The team consists primarily of EB Chandler Junior High School staff….a fine, fine bunch of yahoos if I do say so myself. The cheetah is the school mascot. I’m not EB staff, but there are some pretty cool cats (get it?) over there. Me, I’m just a student services gal, one of 5 or 6 banished to the kingdom called Portable, which sits on EB Chandler’s back lawn. Our kingdom is a few steps above a portable toilet, but miles below a 1990s motor home.

My point is that I’m lucky to be able to feel a bit like EB Chandler family even though I’m not technically staff. I walk through the building several times per week to get to and from the student services office to my car and the bathroom. And on my way to and fro, I’ve always been greeted with warmth, and in the last year, hope.

They have been rooting for Wade with all their heart. Their dedication to him, and to us, as a cancer fighting unit has been immeasurable. They have opened their hearts and wallets to us several times over throughout this ordeal. No matter where we end up in our lives, Amherst will be a home to us forever. In fact, as of early April Amherst became the place on earth to hold and house us for the longest period of time as a couple – 3 & half years. I guess it’s time to move! Just kidding. That’s another blog post, for another day.

I digress, as I often do.

My original point was to express our thanks to the EBC staff. They hosted a super fun ‘Good ole fashioned Kitchen Party’ a few weeks back as a fundraiser for Relay for Life. Like any event, it took a team of people. Organized, on the ball, hard-working people. They lugged furniture all over the place, baked goodies for the audience, made the place pretty (and it was!), donated their time and money, and even provided entertainment. The student musicians/vocalists were amazing, and the grown ups weren’t bad either! It was a fun time, and I want to thank them for everything. It’s teams like this who participate in Relay for Life, some of them year after year, who can make a difference (and I mean a monumental difference!) in a cancer patient’s life.

Wade and I are proud to call the ‘Cheetahs’ our friends and are happy to be part of the EBC family.

That’s how he walked in, Dr. Oncologist. With a gift in his hand.

He kind of sailed through the door. It reminded me of the first time we met him. He enters a room like a sudden yet oddly calming breeze. Then he cuts to the chase, which is much appreciated.

We’d been waiting patiently. And it had mostly been okay. But as the time grew closer, so did our anxiety. Bigger, more intense, closer to the heart. Yes, all signs were good, but we needed some proof.

So Dr. Oncologist was holding 6 or 7 pages in his hand. A printout, stapled in the upper left hand corner. He plopped down on the rolling doctor-stool and said “Wade, I have a present for you”, handing him the papers. Wade asked “You do?” and glanced over at me quickly, nervously. Still scared to get his hopes up, even though it was quite clear that the news must be good. Presents ARE good.

He said it plainly, “You’re all clear Wade. The cancer’s gone.”

And then came the best part. My favourite part. Wade turned to me instantly, with such relief and emotion in his eyes. I’ll never forget his face in that moment. He didn’t have to say anything. I knew what it was. If you know us, you know what it was.

Honey, I’m not going to die. We’re going to be okay.

All clear was how he said it. Those were his words. All clear. 

Yay!

So Dr. Oncologist declared Wade officially cancer-free today. It was awesome, obviously. We’ll share a few details in a future post, but for now, we’d like to say this….

Our heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you. I cannot say it enough. So many of you have visited, called, written, followed this blog, cared for us, loved us, and prayed for us.

You helped Wade beat this thing.

From the bottom of my heart, it’s true.

Thank you!

Gotta go but will write more later if you’re nosy like that. Just kidding! Wade’s having a drink of rum at our little basement bar and I think I’ll go join him 🙂

xx

Waiting is the worst. As you know, very soon Wade and I will meet with his Oncologist to discuss his official response to treatment. We have been banking on this regimen of ECF chemo, radical surgery, and ECF chemo. This was the best possible course of action to rid Wade of cancer.

This regimen is what gave us hope in the beginning, kept us focused in the middle, and leaves us again, cautiously optimistic in the end.

Wade had a CT scan a few weeks ago. This scan will determine two things:

Whether or not he is officially cancer-free.

Will identify a baseline image of his organs post treatment, so that they can monitor any changes or new developments.

And so, we are nervous, to say the least.

But the month of March has been really good to us, and has helped us with the waiting game. This month, we’ve had:

True feelings of good health – Wade feels fantastic in every way, and has since his minor setback in February. Thank God! If he were feeling unwell, this would be an entirely different post, or not one at all.

Holiday – we had a beautiful vaycay down south during March break. It was our first trip outside of Canada or the US since our return from Hong Kong in 2008. Anyone who knows us knows that travelling makes us incredibly happy. This latest journey was no different. It was the first time in a long time that we were able to let our guards down and truly be at peace. With each other, with ourselves, with the world.

Spring – we were welcomed home by record-breaking temperatures! What a week!

And so…we’re hoping that March stays true to form. That we’ll be able to finish off the month with a bang and new beginnings.

We’ll keep you posted!

It’s been awhile since the last post.

We assume that Cancer, the big bully, has found new targets. Other vulnerable bodies to shove against lockers and taunt in whispers. As horrible as that is.

It’s been nice to have cancer at the back of our minds though (okay, maybe the middle) rather than the forefront. A break from the big C. Like a little honeymoon. No symptoms. No treatments. Few appointments.

Almost normal.

But even when cancer isn’t the culprit, it isn’t far away. It’s almost like Mr. Bully caught sight of us out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t resist coming in for a little chat.

Hey, you. Yeah, you. How you been?

Oh….that good, huh? Well, isn’t that soooo nice.

Um…let’s just  change that real quick. You see, I’m the bossman around here, and I don’t like people getting too comfortable cozy. Have a little taste of this to spark your memory.

And so…Wade got sick. Not cancer related. At least not that we know of, but pretty sick.

I had the flu last week…one of those fever, chills, and body aches so bad you can’t stand it type flus. Within hours of my coming around, Wade seemed to get it, only worse. Way worse.

In a matter of minutes on Saturday night he turned ghost white, began to sweat all over, and had strange pains in his abdomen. As I was trying to assess what the hell was going on, his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head as if he was about to faint. I could see him make a concerted effort to shake it off, and he did. But he was barely able to hold his head up or speak, so I got him onto the floor just in case. It took awhile, but he seemed to come around after several sips of water and 10-15 minutes of deep breathing.

Maybe I’m a big baby, but it’s scary stuff, when you’re alone and you know something is very wrong (but you don’t know how wrong, or what to do about it).

We were up through much of the night, due to Wade’s flu-like symptoms and the terrible pain/cramping in his abdomen. Once again, some of the worst I’d seen. The real deal. Fetal position stuff.

I hate to see Wade like that. It rips my heart out and messes with my head. But before, I knew that these episodes were possible, in fact probable. There were reasons: the surgery, the new digestive system, the chemo, the radiation.

This time? No reason. Things had been fine. For a long time now.

This leant to greater concerns. Like my worst fear. That unspeakable fear – though we do manage to speak of it, sometimes – that nearly chokes you to death.

Wade was only slightly improved the next day. Still a lot of cramping, discomfort, and a general feeling of being very unwell.

So on Monday, we spent nearly 7 1/2 hours in the Amherst ER. It was packed with people. Some very sick people. Wade’s condition wasn’t exactly life threatening, but still the ER Doc took good care of him. Saw him as soon as he could and got the ball rolling. But tests in any hospital take time, so we waited.

Lucky for us, Wade is what they call their celebrity patient, if you can believe that. With a diagnosis that severe at his age, I guess he’s easy to remember. The Docs and Nurses love him. So much. Don’t believe me? Before we left the exam room, the ER Doc said good-bye with a jolly, “Well, it’s always great to see you guys, it really is. Hope we see you again soon Wade.” I had to laugh as subtly as possible to myself. Who says that?! Hope another trip to the ER is in your future, real soon!

No offence taken though, in all seriousness. We were happy with the outcome. Exhausted and sore from the stiff chairs, slightly annoyed by the token loud-mouth in our waiting area, but very very relieved that the big bully hadn’t come back to ‘get’ us.

The long uncomfortable day resulted in some findings, at least. Wade’s blood work came back okay. His blood pressure was just a tiny bit low. Hemoglobin was low, but not alarmingly so. Liver function good. No signs of gallstones, pancreatitis, or any of the other stuff they were testing for. The X-rays they took showed nothing out of the ordinary. Plus Wade is having a CT scan soon as regular follow up to his treatment, so we’ll know more at the end of March.

The ER Doc thinks Wade’s symptoms were primarily due to the bile ducts that connect to his digestive system from his liver and pancreas might be having some trouble managing all the bile. [Apologies for the grossness!] Wade also has his own theory…that he might have  strained a muscle somewhere while singing (fairly enthusiastically) in our kitchen last Friday night.

So what was it? We can only speculate. Flu? Strained muscle? Plumbing problems?

It’s getting a little bit better day by day though. Although tonight was a rough one after his small supper. Disappointing after 2 days of slow improvement. Another step back. Even more discouraging after taking so many steps forward these past few months.

But we’ll carry on. This too, shall pass, I’m sure.

Thanks for hanging in there with us!

Wade has cabin fever. Too cooped up,  he’s become shack-whacky. Stir crazy.

You know, at least one of these phrases were originally termed for use among prison inmates, referring to a prisoner who became mentally unbalanced because of prolonged incarceration.

I’m not saying that Wade is mentally unbalanced, but it got me thinking….

Wade too, is a bit of a prisoner. A prisoner to this disease and the varying challenges, if you will. All patients are. Cancer has dictated nearly every move he’s made over the past 9 months. Longer, if you count the months pre-diagnosis where he was just plain ill.But, he’s cleared so many hurdles since then. We did not anticipate that this period in his recovery would result in another test. Not to this extent anyway. And not in this form. It’s not his greatest challenge, but it’s a challenge nonetheless.

Obviously, we are continuing to learn about the ‘coping with cancer’ process.

I should clarify. Wade does not miss our recent lives of constantly being on the move, living out of bags and suitcases, packing and unpacking the car over and over and over again. He does not miss the repeated 4 hour drives to and from Halifax. He does not miss chemo, or the side effects that came with it.

And it doesn’t mean that he’s not happy to be home. He enjoys being Picc line and fanny pack free, re-connecting with our friends in the ‘Herst, and feeling somewhat normal again. And we both love being at home with each other.

BUT, the many hours, day upon day, that he spends at home alone in our house are becoming less and less interesting. It wasn’t so bad at first. He has a list of ‘to dos’ and was energetic about tackling them…

1. Reading: the Lord of the Rings trilogy, some more Hemingway & Steinbeck, and I’m sure the history of Saturday Night Live that I bought him for Christmas is on that list somewhere (hint, hint Honey! 😉

2. Music: listening to records – old and new, updating his playlists, playing guitar, and singing of course!

3. Teaching prep: tweaking existing teaching ideas, brainstorming with close colleagues about next year, etc.

4. Sports camp stuff: helping our friend Brian Kooperman prepare for his upcoming summer sports camp season – a venture Wade and I were going to join before his cancer diagnosis and hope to re-join once his health is stable. Bridgton Sports Camp! Check it out at www.bridgtonsportscamp.com

5. Meditating & Writing: daily goals to clear his mind and log his thoughts.

6. Building strength: a recent gain in energy has Wade walking on our treadmill, doing some light shovelling, and getting stronger every day.

7. The office: this is the room where we dump stuff when people are coming over, when my work materials (there are many) begin to overtake our living space, when we can’t decide where to put something, etc. Note: his work in the office is done and it looks great!!

8. The basement: purge things we haven’t touched since moving back from HK, hit the bottle exchange, donate old clothes, and maybe give it a quick dusting and re-arrange. I’ll be helping with this one – it’s a biggie!

9. Cooking: Wade loves to cook, and he’s deep into his 2 new favourite cookbooks. Big benefit for me, obviously!

10. I almost forgot this one – Sports: I mean watching what seems like every game for every sport – football, hockey, tennis, soccer, etc. Baseball would be on the list too, if in season. And if the Olympics were on, well we wouldn’t be writing this post.

….but now the novelty of having endless hours at your will has worn off. He’s accomplished a lot, but the feeling of having time at your fingertips is not what it once was.

And so, it’s understandable that he is very eager to re-join the world of the working! But we’ll have to wait until the end of March to find out when that will be. Wade is banking on April 1st…and I sure hope that’s the case, for his sake!

Poor thing…he’s committed very few crimes in his life – most if not all traffic related of course 😉  – I know I’m biased, but I’m sure you’ll all agree that he deserves to be a free man, once again!

Wade and I have lots to be thankful for. The circumstances have been good to us, as you know.

One thing that I am very appreciative of, is that we’ve had to do very little waiting.

Our longest wait was 13 days: between Wade’s first appointment with Dr. Oncologist and the start-date of his chemo.

This is nothing, really. We know others who have waited much, much longer to begin treatment. 2-3 months, for example. 6-8 weeks is the norm, so I’m told. A torturous time span no matter how long, really.

You know you have cancer. A big-ass tumour is growing inside you. You desperately require treatment in order to survive. To survive! To LIVE!

It’s a life-treatening situation impeded by very harsh realities. The system, staffing, bookings, equipment. A phone call. Waiting for a simple phone call can drive you crazy. Even when the wait is (relatively) short. I know. I sent frantic emails to a few Oncologists at the QEII during our wait, making my first play of the cancer card. Ridiculous in retrospect. Um…everyone calling the Cancer Centre has that card. Cue big time embarrassment.

Next longest wait? Our first stint at the waiting game, 8 days. Between the very vague diagnosis in Amherst and our fateful meeting with Dr. Halifax Surgeon. The wait, though admittedly brief, was awful. Even with enough to occupy our minds. We had work, made a quick trip to Maine for May 2-4 weekend, and worked some more. It passed, but did so slowly.

And we were really trusting that the wait would pay off that time. It was what was helping us through. We thought we’d finally (relative, right?) have some answers, a plan of attack, a pat on the back telling us it would be okay. Wade would be okay.

Didn’t happen. No pat, no plan. Some answers, but all bad ones. Nope. Not okay. That wait did not pay off. Our patience was futile. It was such a punch in the gut. An old wound, I know. And a minor one given how things have unfolded for us. I know that too. But it still hurts. I can still feel it.

But I must acknowledge that to date, our waiting has been limited.

And I know our turn has come.

The true test of patience is upon us.

Anyone who has had the good fortune of making it to this stage. Those who have battled through surgery, radiation, and chemo. They all have this wait. We’re happy to be among them.

In February & March, Wade will have a CT scan and his first official follow-up appointment with Dr. Oncologist. This scan is the most important. This image will tell us whether or not Wade is officially cancer free. I feel that it is so. Wade feels it is so. So many others feel it is so. But we have nothing to prove that yet. We’re eager, but trying to be patient.

The scan will act as his baseline. Any changes in this baseline are not welcome. But we have no control over that. Cancer doesn’t wait for an invitation. Heck, it’s a perpetual party-crasher.

But I know it’s our turn. Our turn to wait.

The good thing about waiting is that time passes. So, once we get that baseline… Once we get something official… the time will mean something. It will mean something amazing.