December 30, Tropical Garden

The bear has stolen Christmas!  Not to be deterred by the loss of wine (which is now tasteless, sadly, and mixes badly with the medications) the bear has found cassis.  A tear of cassis, mixed with ice, plenty of mineral water, and a slice of lemon, is not only palatable, but in the right glass, it is a truly celebratory drink.  We drank to her health.  We drank to my health.  Friends, we drank to your health too!  Joyfully, it was a cassis Christmas! 

The bear is pleased by the heavy snow that now covers the trees and the meadow.  She is tired.  Her left arm, in particular, is ever troublesome.  But, not to be discouraged by expectations of both cold weather and helplessness in the months to come, our stealthy bear has been searching her den for possibilities.  Inspired by the orchid left for us by my father, she gathered, first her energies, then me, Greg, and Robyn together for a drive to Peterborough.  Like bandits, we entered the city quickly, and left decisively, with no less than 12 more orchid plants!  These flowers are now joined in our sunroom by 6 African violets.  My friends, it was also a tropical Christmas!

“It’s like I have two bodies,” Angela says, “one that is working to get better, the other that is just waiting.”  

The working body aches.  It changes shape.  Her face is swollen.  Her glasses, now resting on her cheeks rather than her nose, fall occasionally.  Her feet burn for some reason.  Her nose bleeds.  We look carefully at the hump on her back, and agree it is bigger.  The creases of her skin are dry, and her skin, somehow, most certainly, is thinner.  Angela says that all of this is the body’s work.  It bends, as it must, with the treatments, and against the disease.

The body that waits ponders, cautiously.  It wonders what will be left when the work is done.  What will it then do?  

She finished her steroids yesterday.  Today, Angela is mostly sleeping. 

Between working to get well, and just waiting, Angela, our bear, steals what she can.  Somehow, when we least expected it, she stole Christmas.  While I tried to celebrate “in the usual way”, she filled the room with flowers.  I am endlessly moved by her magical powers.  Happily, I am stolen too.  We are waiting together.  Together, we are pondering what we will become, and together we expect to stay strong.  We insist.

Friends, let us all steal what we can from the New Year!  We wish you all well.  Let us be in touch.

December 23, Forest View

Rocky, who is capable of more facial expression than I am, has lately been wearing such a look of confusion.  He sees Angela moving so slowly.  Things previously done in a rush, now take utmost care and attention.  “He’s asking ‘why?’” Angela says.  “Why is this happening?  What’s the meaning of all this?”  We look to Rocky to find our own bewilderment.

Angela’s steroid dose is now a quarter of what it initially was.  Perhaps this is why her left arm is more numb in recent days.  She is generally weaker.  Pain now returns more fiercely when her medication “runs out.”   She tries to keep a window between herself and her emotions, and to witness them as though watching weather against the forest outside, but storms are now passing.  There have been more tears.  She has screamed at God.  The steroid medication that had picked her up is now dropping her.

Thankfully, again, we are home.  There is now a sheet of snow on the meadow.  I finished work yesterday for the holidays.   We will be together, Angela and I, with Rocky and our cat, Alice, this weekend, and all of next week.  We will fill our fridge today with proper celebratory foods that will include lots of milk and honey.  Sacred music will scream from our stereo.  The fire will burn.  With the help of my brother, Greg, and his wife, Robyn, who arrive today to be with us for the week as well, I am sure we will have frequent laughs.  Often, as well, we will stare at each other in bewilderment. 

The bear, by outward appearances, seems to be doing very little, a full afternoon spent changing her bed linens, but, day and night, she has a dragon by the tail.  My friends, we are with her in her frustration, her determination, and her fear.  We suffer that she must bare so much of it herself.  When her nose bled suddenly last evening I tended to it with a white towel.  She commented on how like ink the blood was.  Afterward we ate Tarta de Espagnol. and watched a British sit-com.  What can we do?  We re-contemplated our vegetarianism.  Whatever it takes.

Bewildered or afraid, amused or anguished, we will keep you posted.

December 18, Bear's Den

My friends, can we, in our current circumstance, accept that a homecoming could coincide with an anniversary by mere accident?  We prefer trust, rather, that invisible hands are involved, the same mad yet generous hands, no doubt, that brought Angela and I together so many years ago.  Could we let this moment pass then without due ceremony?  My friends, we did our best.

Angela is home.  We met with the surgeon on Thursday after her last of 25 radiation treatments.  We talked with him, only briefly, about surgery.  Sure, not much has improved since we saw him five weeks ago, but, as he emphasized, not much is worse.  He said that he has seen many things in his time.  He has seen these kinds of tumours wait for many weeks after radiation to show signs of response, and then go on to completely remit.  True, only time will tell, but, shutting his eyes and shaking his head, he was quick to dismiss the idea of surgery now.  The hazards, he says, are not worth the potential benefits as long as things are stable and there is still a chance that other treatments will work.  And as for the hole the tumour will hopefully leave in Angela's spine?  Well, we don't know.  The surgeon has seen very big holes fill in with "solid enough" scar tissue to keep the spine stable, while in other cases comparatively smaller holes create "problems".  How often the surgeon, in his experience, has seen this rather than that, we could not gather.  Time will tell.  Angela is prepared to do whatever she has to, so, for now, she will be patient.  Invisible hands are at work.  The surgeon's hands will wait.

We were helped, in our humble celebration this weekend, by our good friends Terry, Catherine, and Lou who arrived to our barn shaped home last night as though to Bethlehem.  They brought with them wonderful gifts that included a Christmas cake, sparkling champagne, and, carved out of stone, a dancing polar bear.  While we honour invisible hands, we are mindful as well of how much our life together, Angela's and mine, has been shaped by visible hands too.  Very much in our thoughts this weekend is my father who returned to Winnipeg yesterday morning after a month of trustworthy and careful attention to our home, our animals, and us.  Among other things my father left with us an orchid plant which, wonderfully, comes with the instruction to feed it three ice cubes once per week.  How happy we will be if we can turn ice into life all winter!

This afternoon Rocky and I shared in Angela's fatigue.  Soon after our friends departed this morning we were all asleep, she on the couch, Rocky and I on the floor in front of the fire.  It seems all I managed to do today, before writing this, is sleep, and, at timely intervals, add logs to the fire.  We held on for the celebration, now we rest.  The bear remains tired.  Her paws remain clumsy.  But she is swallowing food better already, and, so importantly, she is back in her den.

I am very happy not to be driving to Kingston tomorrow morning.  We will return to Kingston sometime in January to meet the oncologist and discuss chemotherapy.  Hopefully we won't see the surgeon again before two months.   In the meantime we remain so grateful to all our friends who have sent the warmest thoughts and messages to us in these times.  From near and from far, through invisible hands, we are moved by your thoughts.  We will be in touch.

December 13, Room 314

“I don’t do much, I just am,” Angela said smiling.  “It’s already very, very tiring.”

The bear’s arms have gotten very thin, her body large. 

Last night I caught her looking at her hands.  “It’s odd,” she said, “they look like someone else’s hands, not mine.”   She dropped the dog’s bowl on the weekend.  She dropped her glasses twice. She puts her iphone on a flat surface to type a message.  If she holds it to type, her left arm grows numb. 

I left Angela this morning in room 314 of Confederation Place Hotel, the same room we had arrived to so triumphantly not even a month ago.  

It’s better not to wonder why her arms are no stronger, perhaps weaker, than before.   This morning, like most mornings since we have been together, we had coffee with foamed milk.  

It’s better not to worry about why she still needs as much pain medication now as she did a month ago.  

This morning we spoke, as we usually do, about what we dreamt last night.  We are proud of her perseverance.  When I am dressed for work, as usual, she tells me I look…perfect.  We are awake in the night when pains are still soothed with milk and honey.  We still, nevertheless, enjoy a good pain au chocolat with our café au lait, and, still, each day, there is work to be done.

We knew when Angela started radiation therapy that improvements could be quite delayed.  Now we count on it.  Better not do as I am bound and read too much into Angela’s persistent symptoms, especially since, without question, there is another triumph at hand.  Thursday is her last radiation treatment. On the same day we meet the surgeon.    The end is a new beginning.   We don’t know if we even scored a goal, but we are claiming a victory.  Angela is coming home.   We will be ready for the next step.

Angela, let’s build a fire.  Please, we will put up some lights, turn on some music, and let’s both wear jewelry.  If you’re the bear, I’ll be the knight.  Please Angela, let’s kill that dragon!   I love your thin arms.  Let’s celebrate 15 years, and, above all, let’s plan 15 more!  

And friends, the school term is over.  Let’s all enjoy the holidays.  And let’s, of course, be in touch.

December 8, Canadian Shield

The landscape changes as I drive north.  Still wet and rainy in Springbrook, after about twenty minutes everything turns white.  Rock becomes more prominent.  There are fewer signs of habitation.  I become mindful of wild animals.  I think of ice and polar bears, the symbols of our current circumstance.  It is my weekly flirtation with solitude and desolation.  I’d like to attend completely to the landscape, and make my mind as still and quiet as it is, but as I drive I am haunted, oddly, by the films of Alexander Sokurov.  Completely unentertaining, sleep inducing, but so hypnotic, the images from his film, Mother and Son, have returned to my mind so beautifully and so painfully in recent weeks.  I cannot remember how that film ends.

My office in Bancroft is at the end of a hall in a new, large, well appointed medical clinic.  As I am the only doctor there on Wednesdays the large waiting room is eerily empty, and the whole place is quiet all day.  There are a couple of chairs at the end of the hall as well.  A patient is magically there when I open the door every hour.  I speak with them carefully and with utmost patience.

I am very lucky to have this weekly pilgrimage.  Time is passing, and we need the right rhythm.  Angela and I are mostly waiting.  Our life is very much a Sokurov film.  She is fatigued.  She has now worn this large plastic collar around her neck constantly for over a month.  She remains, painfully yet reassuringly, stable.  Her thoughts are calmer.

Her horoscope has reminded her that there has been, to date, mostly fire and air in her stars, not much earth.  She has had a lot of moving around in her life.  She welcomes the idea of being grounded in Springbrook soon, a place where, indeed, there is very little soil above the bedrock.  We still wait to hear from the surgeon next week, but maybe we can have the holidays at home.  Until then the bear, as we know, has plenty of stones around her now, including a Northern Saint George

We trust our friends are patient with us.  We will be in touch.

December 4, Hilltop

I dreamt last night that I was driving along the shoreline of a lake.  (It should not surprise us that even in my dreams I am driving.)  It was a beautiful but cold day.  I was pleased to come upon a view, looking off a hill, to a beach below. There were people swimming, launching small boats, and otherwise having fun.  Once pleased, I was no sooner horrified to see, amongst the children in the water, great chunks of ice, and to look further out from shore at snow covered glaciers drifting inward.  I was compelled, in my dream, to take a photo.

Angela tries to do a few things each day.  Yesterday, with brave determination, she enjoyed a manicure at a  spa in Stirling.  Later she prepared her cloths for the upcoming week.  She is a picture of contentment and energy in these tasks when suddenly she says, "Yep, I think I have exhausted my 5 minutes of energy."  We were warned that fatigue would be a prominent side effect of radiation therapy, and it is.  The trick, it would seem, is not to fight it, but to work with it.  In her "becoming bear" Angela has found an animal's rhythm, quite in keeping with Rocky's, whose long day stretched in front of the fire is punctuated only by the occasional and brief exploration of the meadow.

We have returned her steroid dose to its original level, because after reducing it, the pain, numbness and weakness in Angela's arms increased noticeably.  Alas, we will try again soon.

At night she enjoys listening to The Sacred Bridge, a beautiful compilation of christian and Jewish music of the middle ages.  Like angels singing from another world, it reliably brings her to tears.  "You cannot not cry," she says...but this I know.   Proust, The Sacred Bridge, and each other, we have the right company for these tearful moments, and we choose the right moments.  We also watched part of a movie last evening, Pirates of the Caribbean.  Johnny and Penelope were good company too!

And so, within a week, we both dream of swimming.  December 15, the day after Angela's last scheduled radiation treatment, marks 15 years that we have been together.  At the outset of our relationship neither of us expected we would be so lucky.  Perhaps we didn't know the extent to which we shared the same dreams.  We also couldn't have counted on the encouragement and understanding of so many very good friends over the years, friends with whom we intend...to keep in touch.

December 1, Galaxy

Time for Angela is now measured by the ferry passing back and forth outside her window.  She says she enjoys watching the clouds, and the way the light changes through the day in its reflection off  the Royal Military College across the bay.  She reassures me that she does not feel lonely.  She claims to be lucky to have this time for thought. 

The radiation technicians are impressed by how well she can "reposition" herself so accurately each day on the treatment table.  They also remark most favorably on her ability to stay still.  Angela says that these feats are only natural for her as they represent the only and most important work she has to do these days.  Her focus, however, does not deter her from noticing how the radiation machine is like a constellation.  She pleases the admiring technicians by saying that with the lights and movements of this machine, lying on the table is like moving through planets and stars.

It is not lost on us that finding the right position at any given moment is no small thing.   In fact for weeks now, sleep, or leisurely contemplation as the case may be, has only been possible by Angela's careful achievement and maintenance of a single position through the proper placement of pillows, limbs, neck and so on.  The radiation technologists are probably unaware of how much practice has gone into repositioning and staying still in Angela's case.  They are nevertheless right, of course, in admiring her. 

For the most part we felt prepared for whatever thoughts or memories present themselves to Angela at this time, as she moves through the planets or watches the ferry come and go from her view.  We anticipated insights. We did not, however, anticipate foreign thoughts.  As it happens Angela has been troubled by occasional "violent" ideas.  Devoid of impulse and clearly "odd" relative to any idea she has had before, these thoughts are puzzling in how unAngela they are.  I reassure her that if the thoughts are not coming from her, it's more likely the steroids sending them than the tumour.   With this in mind we welcomed a reduction in Angela's steroid dose yesterday and are waiting to see what a lower dose means.  Angela, in the meantime, remains patient as ever.  The types of thoughts of which we speak pass Angela by as planets or ferries anyway, and she shows no actual signs of violence at all. 

I too am a ferry these days, still back and forth between hotel and home.  Although there can be stillness within motion, I am looking forward to real stillness this weekend when we expect to have Angela at home and I expect to stay put.  We will keep you posted.

November 27, The Beach

Angela has been here in Springbrook for the weekend.  I went to Toronto yesterday to empty our apartment which we have managed to rent out for December 1st.  I thought I could get in late and out early, but nothing in this move worked as I expected.  Many hours late on my return, fate and circumstance have made a fool of me again.  Nevertheless, our apartment is now empty, and there is a feeling that a chapter in our life together has been interrupted.

I am happy to find Angela appearing quite well on my return.  Her couch, well appointed with pillows, is positioned squarely in front of the fireplace.  She had me relocate many of the ornaments of this room to more distant places of the house.  These were primarily the figurines and images of domesticated and grass-eating animals.   There were more of them in this room than I had previously been aware of, but, with care, I was able to find respectable places for all of them, elsewhere.  Here, around the hearth, is where the bear is resting.  This is no place for hens or gazelles.  In their place, we now have some Inuit art: graceful, dancing, beautiful, and vicious men, spirits, and bears, each shaped out of stones and bones.  I find Angela protected, quiet, and restful.

This serenity is owing, in part, to two days now without treatments during which mounting side effects do seem to plateau or abate.  Still, in the general course of things, moments of anguish are more intense.  Swallowing, in particular, is becoming a problem.  Through sobs yesterday, when I found her agitated in the very early morning, she insisted she would not swallow any more medication.   It was still dark, and Angela was crazy.  "How can music exist?" she asked.   I was crazy too, but together, we did well.  We found that a mortar and pestle, even at 5 a.m., still crush medications quite adequately.  We also found that warm milk added to an egg that has been stirred with honey, still, just as her grandmother had advised her, both soothes an ailing throat, and tastes okay.

I am glad to say that we are, for the most part, finding "solutions," such that serenity, and even good cheer, still dominate in our home.  I can relay that after our moment of anguish yesterday morning Angela  slept most peacefully.  She woke to describe a dream in which she was learning to swim.  Afraid, she was being reassured by her instructor that she would be okay.  He would let her go, but she would be okay.  Angela was delighted upon waking to say that, with her instructors care, she soon felt very safe.  She was ready to swim, but, nevertheless, he did not let go.  I, of course, was completely delighted to hear this, and to know that in this dream the instructor was me.  Later, with the bear lying on the couch, we listened to music from a Mahler opera.

This evening we are continuing with milk, egg, and honey.  I will bring Angela to Kingston in the morning to resume her treatments.  I'm in Belleville during the day, Kingston tomorrow night, then back to Belleville, Springbrook, Bankroft, and so on.  On these travels I, like Angela, am comforted in the knowledge that we are held in mind by so many friends with whom...we will be in touch.

November 24, Highway

With the ribbon and bear around her neck, a tuft of now partially coloured blue hair sticking up from her head, the plastic, stiff-neck collar pushing up at her ears, and a bib tucked under her collar at her chest to protect her skin from the plastic, Angela has recently taken on the full likeness of a Shaman. When I tell her this, she is delighted. "Well, at times like this you have to stay close to your foundations."

She is certainly contesting with a trickster. The tumour in her back is at the same time compromising, and sparing her spinal cord. It has destroyed one of her vertebra, so it is at the same time threatening, and supporting her spinal column. I get lost in my contemplations of the potential complications of this. The surgeon is unwilling to speculate aloud. He shrugs his shoulders. He says, however reassuringly to himself and to us, that the body can sometimes adjust "in miraculous ways."

So far so good. Her neurological symptoms are stable. Her pain is no worse.

I am trying to adopt, as much as I can, Angela's shamanistic ways. I found myself in Bancroft yesterday, which is an hour drive north of Springbrook. I do a clinic there on Wednesdays. Because it had snowed the night before, everything, on the drive up, was frozen, and still. Such a desolate road. It is so long, and quiet, in fact, that by the time I get there, I am baffled that Bancroft exists. Who lives up here? Why? Of course it is the privilege of my profession that I spend my time meeting people, and so it was only a matter of time yesterday before this strange place became very human, and very real, but, for that matter, even more baffling. Yes, life exceeds my imagination everywhere I look! In this, I choose to take hope.

I remain in contact with Angela all day. We are throwing crazy words back and forth through "text messaging." Even brief indecipherable messages are helpful, her humour and determined spirit come through even there. I am stealing time between patients today to write this post. I've become very grateful for words. So, friends, I will continue to do my best...to keep in touch.

November 21, Lake View

Angela's hotel room this week looks onto the lake.   There is a series of docks beneath us, and across the straight there is an island of windmills.  Looking out the window Angela is very pleased.  She announces, "This ferry is me.  This is me."

She has been looking very closely at objects.  This weekend she found a small bear that has been on our shelves for years.  It is a polar bear carved out of white stone.  There is a small jewel missing from its back.  This bear too is Angela.  She tied thread and beads around its neck and sewed ribbon to it.  She now wears it around herself as a neckless.  In fact its remarkable what expression this tiny, stone bear has.  I now refer to Angela as "the bear."

The bear's symptoms have generally been stable.  She is grateful to have had two days without treatment.   Although odd things are happening in her back today ("It tenses and relaxes mindlessly...maybe its the tumour.") I rest my mind on the fact that Angela is very well in spirit, her pain is controlled, and the weakness in her arms may even be improving.

Looking ahead, we are indeed dreaming of some form of restful hybernation for Angela.  She will be here in the hotel with her bear.  I, on the other hand, object of necessity, am intent on busying myself.  I will be going to Toronto tomorrow for a few hours, among other things to make arrangements for our apartment there, which we intend to empty and sublet, but also to pick up essential supplies from L'Occitane.  On Wednesday I'll be returning to work.  I expect I will be commuting to Belleville, now from Kingston, now from Springbrook, for the time being.  It remains to be seen how I will manage, but presently I am optimistic.  First of all, Angela and I are not alone.  We were cared for this weekend by my father, and also by my brother Greg and his wife, Robyn, who are here for a few days, and who prepared the most scrumptious and elaborate of meals last night.  Angela has promises of visits through the week.  Also, though, I am not without my own "fidelity to things."  I will be carrying my own stone bear secretly around my neck.  We'll keep you posted.

November 19, Springbrook

My friends, let us all be thankful for weekends.  Today we find ourselves home in Springbrook.  Although we briefly questioned the wisdom of being so far from the hospital, and we wondered how Angela's back would endure an hour and a half in a car, ultimately, we really didn't care.  Being here is a true blessing.  We count ourselves as very fortunate.  It is the most recurrent theme for us yesterday and today, that of how lucky we are.  We are positively moved to tears at times to think of what we have.   Well beyond the hotel room, and the pastries from Pan Chancho (the best that Kingston has to offer), there is now the comforts of a beautiful home, warmed by a fire in the fireplace, and looking onto both a meadow and a beautiful forest.

Our home, now, is most importantly a place to rest.  For Angela, fatigue is becoming more prominent, but she is at the same time very restless due to steroids, hunger, and pain.  She is awake every hour at night.  She continues to accept the side-effects of her treatments as necessary evils.  She wears her stif-neck collar happily.  Still we look at the consent form that she signed in the hospital with a curious mix of fear and amusement, such modest goals, "to improve the chances of local control," and such devastating "potential" consequences such as paralysis and secondary cancers.

We will not, of course,  leave the outcomes to these matters to chance alone.  It is in part because of occasional esophageal pain which Angela now refers to as an arrow, now as an axe in her chest, that we removed the images of St. Sebastien from our walls.  We prefer St. George whose spear points in a more favourable direction.  We have a beautiful print of Kandinsky's St George Vanquishing the Dragon above our fireplace.  From this Saint we will draw inspiration this weekend, and to him we will place our prayers.  We pray to make ourselves worthy of our good fortunes so we can live this misfortune well...and better it!  So far so good.  We will keep in touch.

November 17, The New Normal

The hotel room has not yet returned to its mediocrity.  There remains many moments, when we feel, very oddly, like we are on vacation.  There is a continental breakfast served in the lounge downstairs, fresh towels in the morning, and a maid service sign to hang on the doorknob, all signs of a holiday.  This evening we had take-out food again.  

It is somehow amazing to me that I was able to leave here today, and leave Angela, to return home to Springbrook for a few hours.  Only a few days ago we were fearing a catastrophe at any moment.  Yesterday there was a kind of spell that I did not want ever to be broken.  Today Angela's symptoms are "stable" again.  There is no more or less pain, weakness, or numbness in her arms or hands.  She has been more fatigued today, spending most of it in bed.  She now fears esophageal spasms, and, rightly or wrongly, she is more tentative about what she eats.  But no drama.

I found myself at home looking through the mail.  I appraised our food supplies.  We will especially need cat food right away.  I'll need to make an appointment for the snow tires.  I am now afraid of losing time, but I have to think about other things.  Soon, it would seem, I will be working in Belleville, and Angela will be in Kingston, in the Confederation Hotel, back and forth for radiation treatments.  This is the new normal.  It is very hard to know how vigilant we should be.   It is still hard to contemplate the uncertainties, and to think what all this "means." This is why we are somehow grateful to be taken up by the mail, the need for cat food, and the need to stay on track with Angela's pills and appointments.  We are expecting highs and lows in the weeks and months to come, but we'll enjoy the highs, suffer the lows, and do what we have to do.

On the way home to Springbrook with my father today we picked up Rocky from Camp Bark and Meow, and I imagine he is right now stretched out in front of the fireplace where he belongs.  Angela and I are together in the hotel.  The vacation continues for the moment.  It remains very nice to know that we are held in mind by so many friends.  We'll keep in touch.

November 16, Confederation Hotel (Paradise)

Angela walked into the lobby of the confederation hotel today with an absolutely glowing smile.  The man at reception told her he was giving her a "very good room."  When she asked, "how good?" he said that he would give the room "an eight out of ten."  She replied, with a thumbs up and a wink, "I'll give it a ten!"

Having left room number 361 of Kingston General Hospital neurosurgery ward, room number 314 of Confederation Hotel is nothing less than perfect.  I cannot describe what a happy afternoon we had.  So quiet!

Angela's symptoms are stable.  Her pain and weakness are no more or less than yesterday.  She is now developing nausea but she "thinks nothing of it."  She is awake with a voracious appetite at night, and has welcomed even rice crispies in the morning, but she is happy she can enjoy even cereal.

It is definitely not lost on us what has made this simple hotel room so miraculous.  It was less than two weeks ago when we were told by her family doctor that we needed to get to Kingston emergency department urgently.  A neurosurgeon in Toronto had viewed Angela's MRI and said that surgery needed to be done within 24 to 48 hours.  We packed next to nothing.  What a long and terrible drive.  It was a different type of quiet.  We vowed to each other to be strong.  Such a violent and recent shock, it has been hard to accommodate since, even to the many positive "results" that have come up.  At that moment, as much as we hoped, we did not dare expect that we would be out of the hospital so soon.  Truly the arrival to the hotel, and these hours after, are a triumph.

The afternoon ended with Angela's return to the hospital for her fourth radiation treatment.  After the treatment she suffered a brief but very painful spasm in her esophagus.  This, however, did not spoil our "celebration."   We insist!  We enjoyed take out pizza tonight with my father who just arrived.  Afterward we watched some tv.  Then we wept a little bit.  All part of unwinding.  Thinking of our  drive into the city not two weeks ago, I am very grateful our journey is already longer than we feared.  Three steps forward, two steps back is progress!  I'll keep you posted.

November 15, Bird's Nest

Angela's treatments are having some effect.  She is reporting enthusiastically that there is more pain and weakness in her arms.  She is also more tired.  "Well," she says, "at least I know they're shining more than a flashlight on me everyday."

Because we have been told to expect these "worsenings" in the short term, we are claiming them as signs of progress.  They certainly have not deterred Angela in her intentions to get out of hospital.  She is now an unflinching advocate for her own discharge.

The window sill in Angela's hospital room is lined with flowers that have been sent from near and far.  There is a picture tacked to the wall at the foot of her bed drawn in the brightest colours by her young, and most affectionate godson, Marius.  We have become very meticulous about the placement of her things in her small space.  The aforementioned ipod with Proust is nearby with her lipstick, cream, and a cahier.  We've come to refer to her space here as her nest.  The hospital, itself, though, is more and more referred to with other terms.  In tears last evening she demanded that I understand that she is in a concentration camp.  Indeed there are Nazis around us all, at all times, but here, and as time goes by, it is the Nazis that take on a more prominent presence.  How horrific, the way that institutional processes and spaces, turn nurses, who are really angels, into police.  I have many times, in my own work, a subject of the institution, become monstrous to myself.  So our true haven, which is not a concentration camp, is at the same time, quite hard to bare.  There is little protection from the cries at night.

So I am right with her, Angela that is, in her present effort to get out.  Treatment is now started.  Although her symptoms have worsened, unless there is a "dramatic" change, surgery is being postponed.  Yes, we need to watch closely, because some drama is not out of the question in the next few days, but even as an outpatient she will be returning daily for treatment.  It does not hurt to have a doctor at home and by her side, either.  So our plan now is to move Angela's nest to a nearby hotel. As a new member of the "cancer society" her room will be "taken care of."  Arrangements may be ready as early as tomorrow.

In the meantime, todays radiation treatment is still to be done.  Of course we pray her symptoms don't get worse still.  It begins to dawn on me, happily in fact, that we will have yet alot of work to do.  I will need to balance our life to sustain us both for the course of her treatment.  For this I am well trained, well supported, and strongly willed...and I believe in the value of a good nest!  I will thank my father in advance who is on his way to take care of our nest in springbrook.  I thank you all as well for your continuing comments and encouragement, whether public or private, as they are a true pleasure to Angela and to me.  I'll keep in touch.

November 14, Military Chapel

We are resting after Angela's second radiation treatment today.  We can recommend Proust at times like these.  Our good friends from Montreal left Angela with an ipod complete with Proust on audio book format.  Such a thoughtful gift!  She finds it very soothing, and even now wears a pleasant smile as she listens to it.  I will return to my hotel at night much easier knowing she is in the best of company.

I had my own proustian moment while waiting for Angela in the radiation department.  I was washed over by childhood memories that related to military chapels.  I realized that the department shared such resemblances to the chapels my family attended on military stations over the years.  Both somehow occupy the same space, not quite military, not quite church, but somewhere in between.  Indeed, I have visited a real church very recently, a moment of true suffering, as I found myself at once comforted by and horrified by the idea that this could one day be the only place left for communion with my Angela.  It is not lost on me that it is no small thing to pray, and so I am inspired by the many of those among us who have been trying.

Some good news today is that Angela's cancer is not quite multiple myeloma.  At the same time, however, it is not quite not multiple myeloma.   What we understand from the tests is that there is no evidence as yet of cancer anywhere but in the one vertebra, but this now solitary tumor is sending chemical messages out for other bones to join it.  Because we cannot be certain that other bones have not as yet answered this call, the medical oncologists will be following closely with regular tests and there is a likelihood that chemotherapy will be part of treatment, probably after radiation.

We choose to take this news as good.  We choose to believe that our prayers are working.  I am peeved, however, with Lars von Trier who has been too happy to remind us, in his show The Kingdom, that "We must take the good...with the evil."

Let's, for now, stick with proust, my friends, rather than the Dane.  And let's keep in touch.

P.S. I have adjusted the settings on the site to make it easier for anyone to comment.  I'm sorry that some of you have been blocked.  Credit to samenessless who in his sleepnessless does indeed seem to be posting at a very early hour, and many thanks from >a< to you.

November 13, Radisson Hotel

It has been a good weekend.  To have a couple of days without tests is already something.  Add to this the side effects of high dose steroids (increased energy and appetite), very good pain control, a better fitting neck brace, and the opportunity to take angela to the hotel for a few hours both yesterday and today, and it suddenly feels as though we have the upper hand.  One of our good luck charms, loulou, visited with her parents from montreal.  Together we had splendid meals, both last evening, and again this afternoon.  Joining us for lunch were flo and olga who also drove all the way in from montreal. Angela, amazingly, has been in fine form.  She had many laughs this weekend.  Even I found my worries somehow suspended for a few moments here and there.

The breaks from the hospital were essential.  The extended exposure to the madnesses of the hospital is maddening in itself.  We have both cracked up here and there.  I myself lost my cool last night with a nurse and will have to apologize to her at some point for swearing at her.  There are just too many stupidities in hospitals, not to mention absurdities, or even, perhaps most importantly, tragedies.  These things weigh heavy on me at the best of times, so it does not help that I am "used" to them from my work and training.  Under present circumstances I have clearly been growing tired.  This is why it has been so good to have this weekend and some "breaks" from it all.  Still how weird and eerie to enjoy some laughs and have angela "home" and appear so normal when I know at the same time that there is a tumor pinching her spinal cord, and when we have been warned that the radiation therapy will likely cause swelling in the next few days before "alleviation."  Nevertheless, despite the many variables that remain "in the air," or perhaps because there are just too many of them to think through, we trust in our feelings.  Presently I am feeling very optimistic.

Angela fell asleep almost immediately after our visitors departed.  She has always valued an afternoon sleep as highly as red wine.  We are glad to know she will be well rested for the coming days.  I too will try to have an earlier night.  Let's keep in touch.

November 11, Kingston General Hospital

Let's try blogging. Today we are all in favor of technology. Angela had her first radiation treatment yesterday. She was first wheeled into the technologists' suite to be shown all of the monitors and equipment. The radiation therapists expected, not mistakenly, that the wall of monitors would be both impressive and reassuring to the patient (and her young husband). Angela's eyes lit up and focussed on one monitor in particular. "Is that my skeleton?" she asked. "Ah, now wouldn't you say those are good looking shoulders." When all agreed that her X-ray image was particularly striking, she said "yes, it's good to know I look good as a skeleton...did you see how long my neck is?"

We,in fact, were very grateful for the kindness provided during her treatment yesterday.

Today we are certainly more hopeful compared to last week. Although this tumor is compressing her spinal cord, and is in a tough spot for surgery, it seems at least that it is a solitary tumor and there is a good chance that radiation can shrink it. If the results of her bone marrow and tumor biopsy come back as we hope then there is a good chance that radiation can eliminate it. Also in our favor is the exceptional fortitude of our patient which comes mostly from the great love and affection she holds for so many of us. Also on our side are the thoughts, prayers, and wishes that have come from near and far.

Today we are only waiting. It remains to be seen, among other things, how her spine will accommodate to the changes her treatment brings about in her tumor. Surgery may yet be required, but otherwise, we are expecting five weeks of radiation treatment which would be given five days per week.

I, myself, have been very well taken care of and supported this week by our good friend Carlo, who flew in from PEI last week. He arrived like a true Knight. He kept me on my feet this week along with my brother, Greg, who was with us from Saturday to Tuesday. Carlos is presently on his way home leaving me quite well composed. I am grateful for the visits, enquiries, and messages from many others as well. I am very grateful to Blackberry as well! And now I hope this blog will improve communications even more, baring in mind it remains "experimental" for me. Let's see!