Let’s Try This Again

A cropped screenshot of the sudden notice that PostHope is no more.

Let’s start by talking about why you’re reading this on a new site.

A few days ago, a couple of folks let me know that they weren’t able to access my PostHope journal or calendar any longer. I reached out to their support email. Instead of getting a response, the entire site was then unceremoniously shut down.

It’s frustrating to lose the few journals I’d posted so far, and to have to spread another site around for people to follow. I also lost the treatment calendar and ride signups as well, but fortunately I had copied all of those down elsewhere. I’m going to see if some of those functions can be implemented here. I may also try and restore the previous journal posts, but I’m not sure I have drafts of them all.

Regardless, we carry on! Thanks for following along despite these issues!

Blue skies and clear roads on Highway 3.

This Week

This week was my first full week of treatments. That meant riding to Winnipeg every day for radiation, as well as continuing the chemo pills twice a day. I’ve decided that Fun Socks are one way that I’m going to get through this, so I supplemented the few pairs I have by quickly ordering some Animal Crossing and Legend of Zelda-themed socks.

The variety of volunteer drivers (including my lovely wife) have helped greatly to deal with the monotony of the drive. The side effects of the treatment have been pretty manageable so far, though Thursday was a low point. I’m feeling much better as I write this, but I’m told next week is when to expect the side effects to ramp up further.

A view from a bench outside the CancerCare Manitoba building, where I get my radiation treatments.

Recently, I’ve also had to confront a lifelong irrational fear: that people are counting how often I go to the bathroom, and are quietly judging me for it. (Listen, I’ve never claimed to be a secure, self-confident person). Well, the thing about having colorectal cancer is — without getting too graphic — your tummy’s usual urges and signals are different, and more frequent. And I’ve found I cannot just ignore these signals. So, it’s off to the bathroom I go, more often than usual.

My daughter mentioned it recently (“Dad goes to the bathroom like a million times a day now”) and the old anxiety reared up, but, you know? This is just how it is now. I can’t not go, so I’m working on accepting and owning this thing about me. I mention this to highlight the…less obvious hurdles that come with a diagnosis and treatment such as mine. And, that everybody’s going to deal with cancer in a bit of a different way!

A bumper sticker on some Winnipeg traffic that made me smile.

Looking Ahead

I got the long weekend off from treatments (yay) but tomorrow it’s back in the saddle to Winnipeg. 7/25 radiations, 56/200 chemotherapy pills. As the kids who make YouTube trick shot videos say, “let’s goooo”

A Journey Within a Journey

Blister packs containing my entire course of chemo for this round (Enterprise for scale)

Today, my first round of treatments officially began. I took the first dose of chemotherapy medication after breakfast (4 pills down, 196 to go) and we got ready to head back to the CancerCare building near the Health Sciences Centre in Winnipeg. This will be where I go every weekday for the next month-and-a-bit.*

Once there, I did a quick check-in, a brief wait, and before I knew it I was on their table while they used my tattoos to align me with the lasers. The staff are efficient but pleasant and they complimented my socks, which had Game Boys and Tetris blocks on them and were indeed pretty great. Next, they left the room but monitored me through cameras and microphones in case I need anything, but in general I’m not to move for the next few minutes.

The table is in the lower-left of the frame. They can move me remotely, too.

The machine buzzed and slowly rotated around me, and as promised, I didn’t feel a thing. Some music by Jack Johnson floated in from a CD player elsewhere in the room — a little out of place in a place of high tech and serious diagnoses, but still nice. And then: we were done!

I went back outside into the bright day, and then we were off to grab lunch and pick up my brother for a ride back to Winkler. We talked about cats and computers. After supper I took my second dose of chemo meds.

I feel almost no different, as expected. I know the effects of these treatments are cumulative and things will probably get worse before they get better. I’ve had some dark and anxious times in the past few weeks, but today was actually a good day and I felt cheerful and optimistic throughout. I had several messages of support this morning, and I know people are praying for us and thinking of us often. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: thank you all.

Just twenty-four more radiation treatments and a hundred and ninety-two pills to go!

*The opening ceremonies for the 2024 Summer Olympics happen to take place on the same day as my treatments end; I am going to pretend they are celebrating in my honour.

Bridging the Gap

This week, we went on a road trip. Earlier this year we had been planning a trip to an indoor water park / resort in Minneapolis, called Great Wolf Lodge. When I got my diagnosis it seemed like we wouldn’t be able to go anymore, but suddenly we had a couple of weeks with no tests or consultations on the calendar. With the support and encouragement of doctors, nurses, and our kiddo’s teacher, we embarked on a compressed version of the trip we’d planned. 

It was exhausting and sometimes overwhelming, but totally worth it. Lori and I wanted some happy experiences for our family before things change due to my treatment schedule and its potential side effects. 

I’ll set my griping about theme resorts and capitalism to one side so I can talk about my picture. That’s me on a ropes course at the Lodge, in the middle of (slowly) making my way across a wobbly rope bridge. My daughter challenged me to try it after she’d gotten across herself. My balance is not great so my heart was racing. I had to focus on controlling my breathing. But I wanted to know that I could do the scary thing, and in the end, I did! 

(Epilogue: The upper level of the ropes course had trickier elements that neither of us were ready to try, so we called it quits after that. Do the scary thing, but know your limits, too 😅)

In less than a week I start daily radiation and chemotherapy treatments. It is also a scary thing and I cannot know how it will go for me, as everyone responds differently. But hey, I got across the rope bridge; a fancy flashlight and a couple of pills should be no problem! 

Well, I can hope so, anyway!

Next Steps

(Editor’s note: I’m still sort of figuring out my ‘voice’ when it comes to writing about my journey, so please forgive any wild swings in tone between posts)

This week I did the radiation simulation to prepare for my treatments later this month. After arriving at CancerCare Manitoba in Winnipeg, I was told to use the bathroom and then drink a fairly specific amount of water with a bit of contrast fluid inside. The amount of water — 325ml — will be a part of my daily treatments, as they want my bladder to be roughly the same size each time they irradiate me. After waiting an hour in their (comfortable, spacious) waiting area for the contrast to settle in, I was brought in for one more CT scan.

These images will help them shape the radiation beam when treating me, and it was also a trial run at aligning my body on the table. You can see laser lines in the second image that were for this purpose, but also, I got my first-ever tattoos; a tiny dot, the size of a freckle, on each hip. These are permanent, and will make it easier to get me lined up perfectly each day. 

Everyone we’ve met has been patient and gracious so far. I’m trying to reflect those qualities back!

In other news, folks can sign up to drive me to treatment appointments in Winnipeg! I’ve added a bunch of dates to the Calendar area of this site, and though June is covered, there are still several open days in July. If the promise of sparkling conversation isn’t enough, South Central Cancer Resource reimburses clients for mileage and parking, so I can pass that benefit along and offset some of your costs. Thanks One Million to them, and to the volunteers who have reached out to us so far! I’m honored!

The Story So Far…

On May 3rd, I underwent a colonoscopy that found a growth in my lower intestine, very near the exit. The doctor was extremely confident it was cancer, and the test results on the sample taken would later prove her correct: rectal cancer, stage 3.

While I had been experiencing relatively mild symptoms since the beginning of the year, this discovery certainly came as a shock. Our plans for travel, for home renovation, even for summer activities were upended as we faced a new reality of tests and treatments. We still grieve that other version of 2024.

As it stands, I am scheduled to begin radiation and chemotherapy simultaneously on June 20th, followed by another round of chemo and ultimately bowel surgery in which they will remove what remains of the growth. I’ve been told this cancer is serious but treatable, and we are aiming to eradicate it completely. 

A lot of new information has come at us pretty quickly, and it has been challenging to keep up and keep others in the loop. I knew right away that I didn’t want to take this journey alone, so this site is intended to have regular updates so folks can follow along with us as we go through this. 

These last few weeks have been a flurry of tests and consultations. Lori and I have treasured the moments of joy, calm, and connection in our home as we awaited a more definite treatment plan. We are continually humbled and encouraged by the words, deeds, thoughts, & prayers of folks supporting us. Thank you all so much!