An Unwanted Journey: Day 0961 - Supportive Options

It's written on their faces. It's intoned in their voices. It's embedded in their email text. People struggling to provide support in whatever ways they can.

Leroy Sievers has spoken about this in his My Cancer blog on NPR frequently - what do you say to someone with life-threatening cancer?

The answer to the question is actually quite simple - something. It doesn't matter how skillful you are, how many right or wrong things you say. What matters is that you say something. What matters is that you talk about both the situation at hand and the other things that we would talk about apart from the situation at hand. What matters is not taking the easy way out, avoiding saying something, avoiding the person, avoiding the obvious.

It's true - there may be some things you might want to avoid, but they are relatively few in number and should be obvious to someone with a modest sense of propriety. You might not want, for instance, to talk about your ingrown toenail as a point of comparison to someone with metastatic colorectal cancer. But talking about your grandmother's struggle with ovarian cancer, or about how the off-season is going with the Toronto Maple Leafs or the Toronto Raptors is definitely fair game.

Having a good laugh is always welcome. A buddy and I, for example, talked today about rules for flirting with younger women ("don't flirt with anyone whose mother is ten years younger than you are").

Another colleague related a story about his father that was perfect for the moment:

"When told that one of the options for his prostate cancer was castration and that he would never have an erection again, the father responded, 'I haven't had an erection since the Olympic Games.' His son turned to him and asked, 'Which Olympics?'"

Definitely, at the right time, humour works.

Shared vulnerability also works, again as the situation and mood dictate. Speaking of comparable situations you have experienced in your own life history demonstrates a sense of "getting it" and indicates a willingness to participate in the emotional landscape of the patient.

What doesn't work is totally inappropriate comparisons and poorly timed seques into your own emotional territory. Again, these aren't hard and fast rules so much as guidelines. A cancer patient doesn't mind at all talking to you about your own life concerns. After all, we care as much about you as about this damned cancer that's eating away at our shared time together. It's the avoidance that's key here. If you want to talk about scraping the bumper on your car, great. But it shouldn't be because the bumper is obviously more important to you than squarely facing the reality of the elephant in the room.

But with that said, the elephant in the room isn't the only reality that matters. What matters is that you're here, you've said something in an attempt to identify with me, you're present in a meaningful way, and that you haven't avoided the obvious. Sometimes, all that matters is the hug, the squeezing of the hand, the attentiveness, the phone call, the email, the prayer.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0959 - Optimism and Realism

It's stage IV metastatic colorectal cancer with metastases to the liver.

So, it's official. The tumour board meets next Friday to review my case and determine a treatment plan. I will almost certainly have chemotherapy as a primary treatment protocol, using avastin with Folfiri. I may be involved in a clinical trial for a PET scan. And, if I am really lucky, I'll be eligible for a liver resection.

Why lucky? Because surgery is just about the only treatment currently which can speak of a curative plateau. Optimistically, I'm young enough and healthy enough with liver lesions in a location where we can seriously consider resection. But realistically, five-year survival statistics aren't great, less than 50%.

I will choose both optimism and realism - optimism because I truly believe that thinking that way improves my mental health and helps prepare me for the rigours of chemotherapy and surgery - realism because there isn't any point in ignoring statistics and general outcomes completely.

One of the strange things about today was my relative calm. My wife and I asked questions, I got some more blood work done, and then we both went back to work. Sure, we talked about some of the implications of the diagnosis, about the seriousness of the anticipated treatment, and about the uncertainties of the prognosis. But for both of us, there was a sense not of resignation, but of peacefulness which I can't really explain.

Perhaps it's because we've both been here before. We know what to expect from both surgery and chemotherapy. We know that we have a reserve of strength and the support of family, friends and colleagues. We know that our medical team is excellent. And I guess we've learned that there are no guarantees in life, that it's foolish to expect life to be fair, and that there are some things beyond our control. But what is in our control is how we react to what life throws at us.

Maybe we've learned that choosing optimism is a very realistic and sensible approach to even a life-threatening illness.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0958 - Anticipation

What do you do when you're waiting to hear an oncologist tell you that your cancer is back?

In my case, I work, I watch television (mainly comedies and sports), I write, I read, I talk to family and friends, I kiss my wife and hug my sons, and I think...or, more accurately, I anticipate. Will I be eligible for liver surgery? Will they want to do chemotherapy right away? Will they want another colonoscopy? Will they want a biopsy?

Even more importantly, will my career take another body blow? Will I gradually get pushed to the sidelines as treatment interferes with just about everything? Will I survive for a few more years? Will I survive for a few more months?

I know...just a little morbid. Anticipation isn't as useful as some of the other strategies I use. The problem is it's the default strategy when the others aren't available as options.

Tomorrow I get some answers. Then, I'll have more questions. Then more waiting and more anticipation.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0953 - McFadyen new head of GRRCC

My surgical oncologist, Dr Craig McFadyen, has just been named the new head of the Grand River Regional Cancer Centre. In addition, he is the regional vice-president with responsibilities for the cancer centre and the Waterloo-Wellington regional cancer program.

I am so grateful that he took a lead on my initial diagnosis of colorectal cancer, helped craft the treatment protocol, performed several colonoscopies and sigmoidoscopies as well as the low anterior resection which removed the tumor from my body, and has been actively involved in my follow up consultations since.

Although his leadership and administrative responsibilities mean that he will spend less time in surgical practice, I have every confidence that he will continue to keep abreast of the most current medical treatment protocols to the benefit of all who find themselves, like me, in need of treatment from the GRRCC.

I especially appreciate that one of his goals is to include more patients in clinical trials. As I now face the prospect of liver metastases, clinical trials may become a significant treatment option for me personally.

If anything positive can be said about the prospect of having lesions in my liver, having access to the best radiation therapy in the province, the second-best wait times for chemotherapy in the province, and one of the best surgical oncology teams leaves me hopeful.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0952 - Profiling Treatment Options

"When patients know more, everyone benefits." - NexCura

The American Cancer Society has an interesting treatment profiler tool available for a number of cancers. In my case, the profiler I'm interested in is the colorectal cancer type: recurrent.

Liver resection is clearly the standard for the best prognosis for 5-year survival rates - 25-40%. But there are many conditions required to be considered a candidate for liver resection treatment:

• no evidence of metastatic disease other than the liver


• the primary tumor site must be completely controlled


• no major structures in the liver may be involved (hepatic artery, major bile ducts, and the portal vein) or even close to the lesions


• there must be enough healthy liver remaining to function normally


• the patient must be able to tolerate the surgical stress

So, clearly, I have a lot of questions to ask the oncologist next week about my eligibility for liver resection. But apart from that option, there are other treatment possibilities, including:

• hepatic arterial infusion (HAI) chemotherapy: drugs delivered directly into the liver, usually through a catheter and a surgically implanted pump


• radiofrequency ablation: using heat to destroy tumors, usually under general anesthesia during day surgery


• microwave coagulation: ultra high-speed microwaves delivered through a probe in cutting and cauterizing the tumor


• novel radiation techniques and delivery systems: such as Intensity Modulated Radiation Therapy (IMRT), Image-guided radiotherapy (IGRT), Extracranial Stereotactic Radiosurgery, and Selective Internal Radiation Therapy (SIRT)


• clinical trials

In other words, it gets very complicated very quickly.

While I appreciate the information Nexcura provides through the American Cancer Society's web site in its Treatment Options Report, this is only a first step. It's about gathering some useful information to be prepared when the oncologists start talking about options...at least I hope they talk about options!

But this weekend, after this bit of research, I think I'll take a break and watch the Wimbledon finals and some more CFL action.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0950 - Lesions on the Liver

A colleague at work loaned me a book by Neil Peart called Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road. At one point in the narration, Peart talks about how he had once thought, "Life's great; people suck." Then, as he dealt with loss and sorrow, he came to realize that the exact opposite was true, "Life sucks; people are great."

Simple wisdom, to be sure, but it could just as easily have come from me. It's a lesson I'm learning in spades these days as I seem to get more bad medical news. In getting the news, I am constantly surprised how random the vagaries of life are and how truly compassionate and helpful most people are. One thing cancer teaches is just how wonderful family, friends, and colleagues can be.

Today, for instance, my family physician came back from his holidays to see me in his office to review the test results of the CT scan. It appears that I have three lesions on the liver - 2 of them are 3.2 to 3.4 cm in length and on the left hepatic lobe, the other a little smaller at 1.3 to 1.74 cm in length and on the middle hepatic wing. I haven't done enough research yet to know what the chances are that the liver metastases are resectable or not, but I'm sure my medical and surgical oncologists will have something to say about that.

While I must remain optimistic, the main reason why colorectal cancer is the second leading cause of cancer death in the western world is because of liver metastases (in fact, Medline Plus goes so far as to say, "patients with metastatic cancer to the liver usually die of their disease"). Some more positive statistics from the American Cancer Society from 2006 speak of up to 25% of those with liver metastases undergoing curative resection with 5-year survival rates now over 50%. In one study, up to 71.5% survived for 5 years or more with resectable metastases.

But, as I learned when I was first diagnosed, statistics are only useful in talking about aggregates and trends. They don't help much on an individual case-by-case level. My situation could be better or it could be worse that the statistics imply.

So many questions! Can the left hepatic lobe be resected? What about the middle hepatic wing? What chemotherapy or immunotherapy options are available? What about radio-frequency ablation (RFA) and chemoembolization?

The answer to these questions will be mainly about people, people who know, people who care, people who can do something. And even those who don't know and can't do anything medically...well, they're already stepping up and offering me support. Yes, I may have liver metastases, but I've also got a lot of great people on my side.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0947 - The Gathering Clouds

We've had several days of stormy weather in south-western Ontario. Thunderstorms at night and showers during the day. The weather seems to be resonating with what's going on internally.

Today, our family was together to celebrate the wedding of the daughter of good friends, a young woman who we've known since she was an infant. She looked absolutely gorgeous today, and we all had a wonderful time looking towards a bright future for J and M.

But throughout the celebration, there was the hint of gathering clouds in my personal and family horizon. The threat of recurrence of cancer is something that I take very seriously, knowing full well that advanced colorectal cancer is very dangerous, even when the treatment initially resulted in no evidence of disease.

Now, there is evidence of disease. My CEA levels have more than doubled in less than five months and are well into the abnormal range. The cancer centre has scheduled an appointment with an oncologist to review my CT scan with me, and my family physician is scheduling another colonoscopy.

All of a sudden, coping with the side effects of my last set of treatments has become secondary to the prospect of metastases. If the recurrence is in the bowel, then perhaps we have a good shot at eradicating it. If it is in the liver or lungs or abdominal cavity...well, I'd rather not think about that too much. Yes, there are potential treatments for metastases to some distant organs, but none of them is attractive.

Until we know where the road ahead will lead, I can distract myself and make sure I'm doing now what I really want to do in my life, but the storm clouds still demand attention and preparation. If I could arrange for sunny weather, I'd do so, but it may be time to get out the umbrella.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0944 - Poor CEA Results

Should I be nervous about a recurrence of cancer?

Today, my family physician gave me the news that my CEA (carcinoembryonic antigen) test results had more than doubled in the past five month (January to June) from 3.6 to 7.8. The CT scan results weren't back yet, but he has already requested another colonoscopy for me with my surgical oncologist and I have a follow up appointment with my medical oncologist in two weeks.

Maybe the reason for my anxiety last week wasn't entirely off the mark. As I've been looking at search results again today about CEA levels, I can't help but wonder whether I should have been more vigilant (after all, my CEA level in January was 3.6, higher than it ever was even prior to treatment). In fact, to be brutally honest with myself, what was I thinking when I was issued a follow-up CT scan and a request for extra blood work from the cancer centre last week? My family physician hadn't said anything to me about getting the cancer centre involved in my regular follow-up protocol again. So was their involvement just coincidental? I don't think so.

And so here I go again, worrying and researching colorectal cancer tumor markers instead of so many other things that I might otherwise be doing. I read about the American Society of Clinical Oncology's 2006 Guidelines for the use of CEA as a tumor marker for the recurrence of colorectal cancer at the Colorectal Cancer Association of Canada's web site. Or a case study about a woman roughly my age whose recurrence of colorectal cancer was caught by means of the CEA postoperative follow-up. I read about other people whose CEA kept going up and who ended up with adenocarcinoma in the lungs or liver, clearly evidence of micro metastases after "successful" resections like my own.

But there it is. I can't do anything, except start pestering for test results delivered in a more timely fashion. I can do some more research. I can review my medical records. Simple things like that. But probably most importantly, I can simply live my life.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0938 - Feelings Flooding Back

I have many reasons to be happy and content with my road to recovery. First and foremost, I'm still here, walking around, doing my job and loving it, surrounded by a loving wife and two great sons, reasonably healthy, involved as much as is physically possible with my fellow IT professionals, playing the guitar again just a little...

But today, as I walked into the Grand River Regional Cancer Centre for blood tests, registered at the front desk, received my itinerary for the morning, climbed the stairs to Clinic B, waited my turn for the Blood Collection Team to do what they do best, and then wandered through the corridors back down to the Medical Imaging Registration Office and on to the CT/MRI scanning area, it hit me. The feelings all came flooding back.

I tried to explain it to friends and colleagues curious about my medical appointments today. Vulnerability, recollections of pain, uncertainty, helplessness - mostly inchoate, but clearly enough to make me feel totally fragile. To make matters worse, memory was resonating with a completely rotten week physically - rectal bleeding, restless nights with one-hour intervals between trips to the washroom, difficulty walking, a constant discomfort down below. And then a phone call from a friend who simply wanted advice on helping another friend recently diagnosed with terminal cancer.

On the other hand, there's nothing like helping someone else to get you out of a self-induced funk. It was good to offer advice and to share why someone with cancer might have a hard time reaching out for support, why sometimes you just want to be alone, and then a few moments later craving the company of someone who cares deeply for you.

Still, life conspired this week to remind me of so much that I've been trying to - pardon the irony - put behind me.

But even with the conspiracy, family members and colleagues reached out and made it obvious that they care. Those feelings were a welcome counterpoint.

Father Time

I looked across the small, round table where our paper coffee cups lay empty of the mild morning brew we had just consumed. He was looking old. A few minutes later, as he sat in the driver's seat of my new Camry Hybrid and looked at himself in the vanity mirror, he commented, "Getting old really does a number on your face."

A couple hours later, as we sat at lunch with my mother-in-law celebrating her eighty-fifth birthday at Swiss Chalet, after I had commented how she certainly didn't look eighty-five and she had responded how she certainly felt eighty-five, how using a walker to get around the nursing home and taking Tylenol 3 extra strength pills to calm the continual pain in her curving spine made her aging quite obvious to her, the best I could do was, "Yeah, but it sure beats the alternative." And she responded, "Yes, that's so true."

The day before, I smiled when a colleague spoke of someone in their mid-fifties drifting towards the sunset years and retirement, wondering if she recognized that I had recently celebrated my fifty-fifth birthday. And I thought of a friend whose father passed away before passing this milestone, a statistic of the same cancer I have apparently survived. And I thought too of three friends with whom I had sung in a gospel band, all of whom never made it past age fifty-five, two of whom were victims of colorectal cancer.

Whether it's drifting towards the sunset years and each new insult to the body or embracing the simple opportunities of time and energy still available, I guess it's inevitable that milestones and special occasions remind us of the passage of time.

Tomorrow is Father's Day. My sons are grown men now and both working all day. But they will join my wife and me in the evening for a BBQ, weather permitting, or a restaurant meal, weather demanding. I'll get a card and another reminder that time marches on, thankful that the march still includes me and so many that I love. I'll read Randy Pausch's book, The Last Lecture, about a father's tribute and legacy to his three young children with whom he almost certainly will not spend another Father's Day. I'll shed a tear or two, thankful for what I have, who makes my life so worth living, and for the hopes and dreams that sustain other fathers like Randy and me.

Water Coloured Lives

I remember reading a few novels by C.P Snow quite a few years ago. The one that stuck with me longest was his final novel, published in 1979, entitled A Coat of Varnish. It stuck primarily because of the metaphor. Our lives, our culture, our civilization, our sense of control and equanimity can often be characterized as a coat of varnish, something which implies the fragile nature of life and the thin line separating humanity from barbarism.

This week that metaphor came back to haunt us all in Canada as we read and heard about the tragedy unfolding in Calgary of a family torn apart by an apparent domestic homicide. We heard of a young man, gifted, talented, athletic, dedicated, and apparently abruptly bereft of the coat of varnish which kept his life sane. It was a story which ripped through the normal everyday news and latched onto the imagination, triggering curiosity, fear, anxiety, and astonishment. Friends who knew the young man during his school days in Guelph spoke with me and shared their obvious perplexity. And while we all struggled to make some sense of it all - usually by calming ourselves with the recognition that events like this claim the media precisely because they do not happen regularly - the stark conclusion is that the coat of varnish can evaporate with alacrity and alarming results.

This week I also listened to music which, I think, improves my life. I visited with old friends. And I read about the world's wisdom literature in a wonderful survey by Harold Bloom. All the while, my thoughts kept rebounding to the C.P. Snow metaphor, to that "coat of varnish". The music was Vincent by Don McLean, an incredibly moving and simple tribute to the life and legacy of Vincent Van Gogh whose expressionist water colours live on despite the mental anguish and suicide of the artist. The visit captured elements of simpler, less tortured lives where cancer and troubled relations scraped away the canvas protected by that coat of varnish. And the book highlighted that the wisdom we seek in reading the best of the world's literature is often ambiguous and ironic, almost never providing the solace we desire.

I may never write a great novel. I may never paint a masterpiece. I may never compose a song that inspires. I may never even know why what we hold so dear seems so vulnerable and ephemeral. But whatever time is given to me, whatever opportunities present themselves, whatever wonderful and terrible events unfold, I must hold on to the possibility of beauty, truth, and insight. As Harold Bloom put it, "We have an interval, and then our place knows us no more." The coat of varnish is a glorious thing.

The Greek Miracle...and me

It's humbling to realize how little philosophical progress has occurred in 2400 years.

I was reading today a column from Richard Handler on the CBC.ca website entitled "The non-believer's guide to death." In the article he referenced Epicurus, a Greek philosopher that I researched in my 4th year in undergraduate studies at Trent University in the 1970s, studying with a small coterie of 3 other students in a cramped office tutored by the head of the Philosophy Department at the time, Dr. David Gallop.

The course was challenging, but I did well, adding to my knowledge of pre-Christian Greek philosophy. Now, many years later, I find myself strangely attracted to those who, at least in the Western tradition, escaped myth and religion and initiated a course of thinking that led to science and philosophy now known as the "Greek miracle". At the time I was studying Greek philosophers at Trent (up to the Neoplatonists and Augustine), I fully anticipated a career teaching theology in a college or university.

But life plays tricks. The twists and turns have led me away from Christianity and theology into that most modern world of hosted software services and that most evident embodiment of western commerce, modern banking and commercial loans. Quite a ride. And yet, I find myself coming back to those long-dead philosophers of the "Greek miracle" with utter fascination and respect. How did they do it? And what about them is relevant for today? No simple answer to the first question - that will take many more years of study. But for the second question, all one has to do is do a quick Internet search to find those whose life and practice is deeply indebted to the Greek philosophers.

Handler, for instance, continues in his thought piece to reflect on the wisdom of a contemporary philosopher/psychiatrist, Irvin Yalom who was, in turn, deeply affected by thinkers like Epicurus. Yalom, in his most recent book, Staring At The Sun: Overcoming The Terror Of Death, reflects on the idea/metaphor of rippling, the notion that what we leave behind us after we die are concentric circles of influence, like waves or ripples on a pond. Plaques on walls, books, and other material evidence of our lives may stick around for a while, but ultimately what really survives is our effect on our family, friends, and acquaintances, the ripples of our character and influence.

Which is why I've decided, as I face yet another major birthday milestone, that life is too short to waste on the insignificant, the tedious, the mundane, and the negative. Although I cannot fully control the ripples emanating from my own life, I think I can choose something of the frequency and amplitude of those waves. Like Epicurus, a life of tranquility, respect, modest pleasures and honesty are where I think I should concentrate my energies. With care, concern, attention to detail, listening, and courage, maybe my immediate family, my close friends, acquaintances and colleagues will feel positive ripples emanating from my life, something which will survive this "crack of light between two eternities of darkness" (Vladamir Nabakov).

The exception, not the rule

I fade in and out of appreciation of Facebook. For the most part these days, I simply don't have time to check out what's happening with friends and acquaintances on a regular basis. In fact, a week can go by without my checking online to see what new ridiculous Fun Wall videos have been forwarded my way. Without any exaggeration at all, 90% of the Fun Wall videos I get are in very poor taste or simply wastes of time.

But this week, the percentage of garbage was slightly lower. This week, there were two videos that I really appreciated receiving. They were the exception to the rule.

Funny...really, really funny - Food Court Musical:

Inspiring...truly inspiring - Amazing 13 year old-Britain's Got Talent HQ:

Finally, because this is my blog and I can do what I like - here, at least - I'm recommending that if you like short videos and don't want to depend on Facebook Fun Wall forwards from friends and acquaintances, consider viewing 9 short films from the Cannes Festival for 2008 co-sponsored by Canada's NFB and YouTube. Here is one of the short films. You can vote and help determine this year's winner - Papiroflexia.

Vegas for our 35th

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Originally uploaded by rtfax

Vegas 2008 is all about our 35th wedding anniversary.

This morning as I write this entry, I'm sitting on the couch in our room at the MGM-Signature watching the sun come up over the Spring Mountains and the Sierra Nevada. Vegas isn't a morning town, as you can well imagine. But my wife and I enjoy the mornings, this one especially...35 years ago today we were married in Barrie, Ontario, never once imagining that 35 years later we would be planning a gondola ride and dinner at the Venetian later in the day, a visit to the Guggenheim Hermitage Museum, or coffee and cake at the Wynn Las Vegas.

The last two days have been spent mainly in the upper and middle strip of Las Vegas Boulevard, doing so much walking that our feet require tender loving care and sun screen for my balding head. We've eaten at the Rain Forest Cafe, had cheesecake dessert at...you guessed it, The Cheesecake Factory in the Forum Shops at Caesar's, played the slots, watched the fountain show at the Bellagio with Celine Dion's theme from the Titanic, My Heart Will Go On, enjoyed pizza along the boardwalk in New York, New York, purchased T-shirts for our sons at the House of Blues in Mandalay Bay, and bought a straw hat to protect that balding head of mine at Urban Outfitters. Did I mention winning the slots at Planet Hollywood while waiting for shops to open along Miracle Mile?

It's been about 18 months since I was last here attending a conference. In that time, construction along the strip has continued unabated. In fact, as we peer northward we can see the Trump tower already in place, six skyscrapers are rising up beside the Bellagio in what is euphemistically called the City Centre, and condos/time shares are everywhere. In fact, for the occasional tourist, one of the most aggravating parts of walking the strips these days - apart from the hucksters peddling "sexy babes that will come to your room" - are the other hucksters peddling free food, free cash, free shows, etc. just to take a tour or listen to a sales presentation about purchasing a time share. Apart from that, Vegas is pretty much the same place as it was 18 months ago...only bigger, flashier, and younger.

We have two full days left in our mini vacation celebrating 35 years of married life together. Thus far, it's met all my expectations and more. It's been exactly what we wanted and needed. In fact, Vegas with my wife is so much better than Vegas during a convention. Yesterday, while taking the automated walkway from the MGM-Signature towers to the MGM, some young men, obviously enjoying the midday cocktails, and travelling in the opposite direction along the walkway, yelled over to me and said, "You should marry her again!" My sentiments exactly.

Who do you trust?

Do you trust your husband? Your wife? Your children? Your parents? Your siblings? Your friends? Your colleagues? Your acquaintances? The politicians representing you at local, regional and national levels? Religious leaders? The immigrant speaking with a foreign accent and wearing those strange clothes?

Why do you trust or distrust these people?

Who trusts you?

These are difficult questions, not just because we need to clarify the meaning of the word "trust" to answer the questions (something that is usually required for any intelligent conversation), but because the answers require deep thought, honesty, and admittedly some anguish.

We may find, for instance, that someone whom we ought to trust actually measures up quite poorly on the trust-o-meter. Or we may find that we have artificially ranked someone as trustworthy on the basis of wish fulfillment more than actual performance.

An example of the former occurred to me recently when I discovered that someone whom I trusted implicitly was saying very hurtful things about me and offering unfounded opinions about my lack of integrity to someone else. When I challenged the individual, I had the distinct impression that they thought I was making more of the issue than it warranted. Unfortunately, since that time, as I've monitored the situation, I've confirmed that my original trust was unjustified. Not only did the person say hurtful things, but they have since clearly demonstrated little understanding or appreciation of things that are meaningful and important to me.

An example of the latter is the typical situation most men face when they belong to a group, a team, or an association. I say men, because some research has validated the gender difference in establishing trust in social situations, men being inclined to establish trust on the basis of symbolic associations, women more inclined to personal and family relationships. Men tend to value being members of a group, whereas women tend to value more highly the personal connections they have established directly with other people.

The situation of wish-fulfillment for men can occur when there is a disconnect between the symbolism implicit in the group and the actual functioning of the group. If you are anything like me, then you tend towards loyalty to the group as an almost instinctive behaviour. And then something happens which makes it clear that the symbol was not nearly as important as you had hoped.

The point of all this is not that it should surprise anyone that trust is critical for almost all of us, but that trust can be destroyed in an instant or the realization occur that there wasn't any justification for trust in the first place.

Trust requires finally balancing those two parts of the human brain that appear to work in completely different ways. One part is instinctive, the kind of mechanism described by Malcolm Gladwell in Blink. Here we realize that trust can happen in an instant (or be lost in the blink of an eye), usually for reasons that make sense in evolutionary terms. We look someone in the eye or observe behaviour which confirms or denies the possibility of trust. We can't ignore those intuitions, but they can be fallible.

The second part is more rational and deliberative. Here we find ourselves thinking and reflecting about evidence for trust, outside those fleeting impressions. But again, such deliberation isn't necessarily less fallible. The whole point of men having a slightly more symbolic approach to establishing trust suggests that the deliberative mind can be seduced almost as easily as the instinctive mind, merely by floating the right symbol or icon at the right time and place. What we thought was thinking turns out to be the magnetic appeal of the symbol.

But if experience tells me anything about these bicameral features of the human brain and the nature of trust it's this - don't trust either one fully. Or to put it more positively - trust both equally well. The other thing experience tells me about trust is almost too obvious to even mention; namely, there is no substitute for time, observation, and keeping tabs. Trust me...I know what I'm talking about.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0853 - My Final Four

This evening my wife mentioned to me that tomorrow marks exactly two years since my surgery for colorectal cancer. So much has happened since then - post-surgical complications that left me in hospital for almost a month, chemotherapy, another tumour board, further tests and worries, one discharge from the cancer centre followed by more treatment and finally another discharge. That was followed in short order by being laid off work, looking for another job and rebounding with an excellent career move with a fantastic company.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm still here. Sure, there are scars and days when I deeply wish my physical problems would just disappear, nights when I wish I could just sleep through several hours without trips to the washroom. But I'm working and making a tangible contribution in my career. My family life is very good; in fact, my wife and I are getting ready to celebrate 35 years of married life and we have two grown sons who make us proud every day.

In fact, I was just re-reading the blog entry on my An Unwanted Journey thread that my eldest son wrote on my behalf two years ago after my surgery. He did a great job. Both my sons impress me regularly with their maturity, good humour, and knowledge. I love being with them. On most days, I think they really enjoy my company too. I know I'm an old fart by comparison to them, looking forward as they are to further post-secondary education and careers, and me often looking back trying to recall what it was like to be their age when the world was so much slower and simpler.

As I sit here writing on my notebook computer, I'm watching this year's Sweet Sixteen games. Two years ago, as I rolled into surgery, we were waiting for the Final Four games to begin on April 1st. Then, as now, we watch some of the most exciting games in all televised sports - young men with their whole lives stretching out in front of them, young men not that different from my two sons. Then, I wasn't sure what kind of future, if any, lay before me. Part of the worry was simply that I wanted to be around with my wife to see that future unfold for my sons.

Today, I have reason to be optimistic and to think that I just may be around long enough to see my scars fade and my sons continue to move into an exciting future. Nothing should be taken for granted, whether it be in the NCAA March Madness or in life in general. But is it ever sweet to be here right now with my life partner and my two sons. This Final Four is the best of all.

March Madness 2008 - Round 1 Upsets

I'm feeling just a little tired. It's actually a bit of a struggle to catch anywhere close to 64 games in 2 days and remember something significant about any particular game.

That's why running a March Madness pool works well for me. I can concentrate less on remembering particulars of specific games and more on how my family, friends, colleagues and I are doing in the overall prediction race.

As of slightly after midnight last night, I had fallen from my position atop the pool standings to a more modest tie for 6th place. Not that it makes much of a difference overall, since each accurately predicted game point accumulation doubles with each round. Today's and tomorrow's games will see quite a bit of movement in the pool standings.

There were some minor upsets during the first round - Arkansas beating Indiana and Texas A&M beating BYU. I actually got burned in those 8th and 9th ranked games in 3 out of 4 predictions. But what really surprised me (even though you know ahead of time that there will be upsets) was 4th-ranked Connecticut falling to 13th-ranked San Diego, 5th-ranked Drake falling to 12th-ranked Western Kentucky, 7th-ranked Gonzaga falling to 10th-ranked Davidson (but Stephen Curry's performance was the highlight of the tournament thus far for me), 6th-ranked USC falling to 11th-ranked Kansas State, 4th-ranked Vanderbilt falling to 13th-ranked Sienna, and 5th-ranked Clemson falling to 12-ranked Villanova. That's 6 major upsets!

Then there were the close calls, like 2nd-ranked Duke squeaking by 15th-ranked Belmont by a point.

Viewing and remembering games will be a little easier now that we're into round 2 of March Madness...not a lot, just a little easier. At least some of the games won't be scheduled at roughly the same time.

So now, I prepare for another two weekend days with the TV on, a couple notebook computers close by (one for the on demand VIP streaming video and another to do a little real work) and wondering how my long-suffering wife will put up with nothing but NCAA hoops.

March Madness 2008 - Selection Sunday

Well it's time again. Just twenty minutes until the NCAA March Madness team selection meeting begins.

This year, I'll be administering a company pool. But I won't have much work to do (that's right - a lazy admin; but I'm an official member of thelazyadmin.com group run by my friend and colleague Rodney Buike, an IT Pro Advisor with Microsoft Canada anyway, so what would you expect?) since the pool mechanics will be managed on a web site (http://www.runyourpool.com/).

In my humble opinion, there is no sporting tournament as consistently exciting as the NCAA March Madness men's basketball. Even so, it's sometimes a little difficult keeping up with all the teams, all the coaches, all the players, not to mention the history, the upsets, the continual switching between games on TV, and so on. But that's part of the reason why it's madness.

This year, the game I'd most like to see is the Best of the Big Ten Wisconsin against Memphis (currently ranked 8th and 1st - at least before the selection meeting). One of the best vignettes I've seen was about a young boy with leukemia, named Max Bass, and his basketball hero on the Wisconsin Badgers, Michael Flowers, both of whom sport the number 22 on their team jerseys. The vignette isn't yet available online, but the buzzer beater in which Michael Flowers got the winning 3-pointer to beat Texas - and which he dedicated to Max - is available here.

I've also signed up for the March Madness VIP pass on ncaa.com, specifically the NCAA March Madness On Demand. I should warn you, right now it's over 80% full for the free VIP registration. Today, all you get is historical highlights since it's only Selection Sunday. But during the tournament, and for the first time in history, you'll have access to all 63 games in streaming video, as well as recaps, highlights, etc.

Let the excitement begin.

Life to the Max

Max has been a part of our sons' lives for their entire memory. They were both young enough that they can't really remember a time without him around the house, greeting them at the door each day, playing and chasing them around the house, begging to be walked or let outside to do his business...just there, always there.

Last night, we had to say good-bye to Max. I've never had to do this before either, so it was a new and unwelcome experience for the entire family. We had booked an appointment at the animal hospital and then, with teary eyes, took him in for a final good-bye.

More tears, more hugs, more good-byes...and then it was over.

The veterinary staff were very sensitive and understanding, but with something like this, there isn't much somebody else can do to mitigate the grief. We'll get paw prints in about a week's time to give to our sons, and of course, we'll keep the collar and leash for ourselves, but the bottom line is that our beloved dog Max is gone.

We'll miss him.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0834 - Via

Monday, a colleague and I took Via Rail to Toronto for a day-long meeting. Compared to travelling by car during typical Toronto rush-hour traffic, the train was a relaxing, even pleasant, experience. We could read, chat, prepare for the meeting, work on meeting follow-up activities, even simply pause and watch the scenery go by.

We talked about the experience of travelling by train with our children. For me, it's been quite a while since my wife and I took our two sons for an excursion from Kitchener to Toronto by rail. But the memory is a good one. If I remember correctly, we went from one train experience to disembarking at Union Station to a meal in a nearby restaurant and then on to the subway to visit the Royal Ontario Museum, yet another brand new experience for the boys, this time on a subterranean track.

All of which got me thinking about taking the train from Barrie to Toronto with my grandmother many years ago and to other occasions at the home of my other grandparents who lived near the rail line that used to wrap around Kempenfelt Bay. I would sometimes be invited to stay at their home overnight on a weekend, laying awake at night listening to the sound of freight and passenger trains rumbling by within a quarter mile of the bedroom.

There is definitely a romance in riding the rails.

On another occasion this week, a colleague and I were talking about charities for children and I mentioned what I thought was a worthy candidate for corporate giving - the James Fund for Neuroblastoma Research at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. I conveyed how I had corresponded with one of the founders of the fund, Syd Birrell, the father to James Birrell in whose memory the fund is named and the author of a book which I read during my own treatment for colorectal cancer in 2006, Ya Can't Let Cancer Ruin Your Day: The James Emails.

At the time, reading the book was profoundly difficult for me, but today I picked it up again and read the email in which Syd talks about the Via Rail trip he and James took in early February 2000 from Toronto to Montreal and back again to Cobourg.

The trip that Syd and James took was a true adventure providing them both with a very happy memory for the difficult days that lay ahead for the Birrell family. Via pulled out all the stops on that weekend in order to ensure James had a wonderful memory of riding the rails, visiting the dome car and sleeping in the largest overnight cabin available. It was a great example of corporate sensitivity and engagement.

And it all reminded me that our personal journeys may be wanted or unwanted, romantic or fraught with peril, for business or for pleasure - but often one and the same.

This morning, a good friend and I braved the winter storm, drove to St. Jacobs and spent a couple hours together catching up over a breakfast of typical country fare. We spoke of recent events in our lives, difficulties, successes, and the way ahead. My friend asked me directly,

"Now that you've survived cancer, I notice that you still refer to your 'unwanted journey'. Do you think that's accurate?"

"Well, it's more a matter of keeping the integrity of the thread," I said. "But the truth is that calling the journey unwanted is now tinged more with a sense of unexpected than the crisis and dread I felt when I first used the phrase in November 2005."

Via.

The journey now appears more like that word. It's neutral. A way forward. A way through the surrounding landscape.

I had no real control when the journey began. It was out of my hands. Like a child, I didn't really know what to expect. It was, again like a child, something of an adventure. And in hindsight I can see the romance and the lessons learned along the way. Those are all good things I suppose.

Yet no matter what has transpired in the interim, I think the words that inspired me on 25-Nov-2005 apply equally well today in retrospect:

"You will choose courage and hope. Though the journey was unwanted, you will choose the way you face the future and your inner spirit will prevail.”

Say

John Mayer - Say [New]
by wonderful-life1989

Take out of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so called problems
Better put them in quotations
Say what you need to say (8x)

Walkin like a one man army
Fightin with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you’d be better off instead
If you could only
Say what you need to say (8x)

Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You better know that in the end its better to say too much
Than to never to say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open
Why?
Say what you need to say (25x)

I don't often write about song lyrics. But if you had to peg me in the musical genres spectrum, it would probably be as a fan of the singer/songwriter. Ever since the day I started singing with some friends in a traveling gospel band in the early 70s and playing along with my bass guitar, I valued the simplicity of a good lyric, a decent melody, and a simple guitar accompaniment. So after a couple years on the bass, I opted to pick up an acoustic guitar and start doing some solo work.

I wasn't a songwriter, but I loved finding those songs which fit naturally with some simple strumming or finger picking and either a six-string or twelve-string acoustic.

Being a somewhat typical boomer, you can probably now predict with some accuracy who and what I like to listen to in the singer/songwriter genre. There wouldn't be a lot of surprises. And I really don't give a damn whether anyone thinks I'm a sentimental old fool, or that I might have some rather simple tastes, or even that I'm predictable. All I know is when someone or something turns my fancy, makes me replay a musical selection, or tweaks some extra listening or occasionally some extra reflection.

John Mayer's music is, as you might expect, something which often fits. I have most of his albums and look forward to his new releases. One which I just downloaded from Apple's iTunes today is Say.

Like so much of his music, I find that Mayer is both accessible and just a bit surprising. He breaks some rules some of the time, rules like don't keep repeating a phrase or don't put the bridge in too early. In Say, he repeats a single phrase eight times over...several times.

"Say what you need to say...say what you need to say...say what you need to say..."

I haven't seen the movie The Bucket List and until this evening I hadn't seen the music video.

But the music and lyrics resonate with me...a lot.

I don't need a personal bucket list...at least not just yet. But I do need to say what I need to say. "Better to say too much than never to say what you need to say." That could be a page right out of my own book. Thank you John Mayer. Thanks so much.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0820 - Reminders, Celebrations, Aggravations

Surviving colorectal cancer is certainly worth celebrating. Today, I received an email from a friend at the Colorectal Cancer Association of Canada. Another survivor (in her case a Stage IV cancer; in my case an advanced Stage III cancer) was celebrating a birthday, something which most prognoses would have suggested probably wouldn't happen for her again. My friend was forwarding the celebratory note accompanied by a group of colonoscopy "quotes". I'd seen them all before, most of which are quite humorous (you can find them here, if you're interested).

Despite the good news, yesterday provided reminders about the legacy of treatment and the tightrope of survival. All day long, I felt queasy and affected by intestinal upset, the origin of which appeared to be nothing more serious than eating leftovers from a take-out Chinese meal the night before. But whereas before treatment the upset would have been minor, now it's an event that disrupts my equilibrium and creates substantial anxiety. Disruptive sleep (three nights in a row now), constant bio breaks from work and meetings, difficulty walking and getting about, extra precautions about food and drink - they're becoming typical elements of my post-cancer world.

Sometimes I find myself swearing under my breath as I walk with difficulty to my car or anxiously make my way to the closest washroom, remembering how easy it was before cancer, before treatment; recalling how much I had taken for granted about physical health before the diagnosis. Survival is not, for me at least, just an onwards and upwards progressive path. It's a struggle. There are days when you mercifully forget, but then there are days when everything you do reminds you that you are a survivor, but with the scars and after-effects there to remind you constantly that things are not the same.

And then you turn on the radio, dial in to 89.9, the local signal for CBC Radio 1 from Toronto, and hear the news about cancer deaths linked to problematic hormone receptor tests conducted in Newfoundland and Labrador between 1997 and 2005. 322 of 1,013 patients dead of breast cancer, perhaps owing at least in part to the bad test results.

I find myself turning off the radio as I pull in to a local health food store to purchase some hemp hearts. Too much bad news, too many aches and pains, too many reminders, too many aggravations. And as I write this blog after finding myself awake and uncomfortable for half the night, I'm glad it's the weekend when I can rest, relax, catch a few naps, and generally recuperate. Not to mention, reading and re-reading that celebratory email about my fellow survivor.

Yes, it's a mixed bag, this journey of recovery.

Rather and Race

CBC Newsworld today interviewed Dan Rather, who is back doing news coverage these days on HDNet. The interview was about the state of news coverage in the United States, especially coverage of the presidential primaries and the "race to the bottom" trend in celebrity journalism.

News is a public trust for Rather with a corresponding responsibility for ensuring news is primarily about providing accurate information. Therefore, the "race to the bottom" type of e-tainment coverage of Britney Spears and other celebrities is just one symptom of a disheartening trend, assuming what you care about is the quality of information. Another is the way corporate power seems to have captured the most important media. Centralization of resources and control of media is hardly ever a good thing.

In regards to the US primaries, Rather was blunt about how important race is to the forthcoming election. Racism is still endemic throughout North America, even though politicians like Obama don't talk about it overtly.

He didn't talk about gender, but that's implied as well.

Although Rather mentioned the Internet as the most important technological factor affecting coverage of the presidential primaries, there wasn't much discussion of whether the rise of blogs and other Internet-based forms of expression indicate another example of a "race to the bottom" or a positive trend towards decentralization, an example of giving the people an independent voice. Depending on the voice and depending on the content, you could argue both cases.

So, whether it's race and Barack Obama, the race to discover what's happening with Britney Spears, or the race to find your voice on the Internet, Rather still has something useful to say, especially if the listener assumes responsibility to become even better informed after having heard what Rather has to say.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0812 - Not available

If someone were to ask me to describe a definitive moment in my life story, the first thing to spring to mind is the day when the gastroenterologist confirmed that I had cancer. Even though I thought I was prepared to hear the diagnosis and considered it a probability, to hear the words delivered so unequivocally and with such consolation in the voice of the doctor was devastating.

The next few days were the worst, as not only I, but my entire family, had to come to terms with what was clearly a life-threatening illness. But as I turned my attention to confirmatory tests and then a treatment protocol, followed by a prolonged period of serious medical interventions, I learned to deal with the implications. Part of dealing with the diagnosis was throwing myself quite literally into research and discovery, trying to find a measure of equilibrium in a time of upset and turmoil, not knowing whether any of the medical procedures would make a big enough difference to give me a significant chance at recovery.

Even after the radiation, surgery, and chemotherapy, the long, slow road to recovery was without guarantees. I came to discover that other aspects of my life - my profession, my career prospects, my opportunities - were seriously curtailed, despite the sympathy of those around me. Just as I began to entertain possibilities of "getting back in the game", I'd find reality pulling me back into the whirlpool of uncertainty and limitation.

But if you have followed me on my description of "my unwanted journey", you will have noticed a sure, albeit gradual, emergence of optimism. That has been accompanied by a corresponding reluctance to describe my life in terms of that momentous diagnosis of cancer.

There is nothing strange or curious in any of this. It's just the way it is.

But I have to pause occasionally as I regain my footing.

I found myself saying "No, I'm not available" this week to a couple of requests for volunteering my time for very good causes. I was asked to spend time helping with events in the region specifically about cancer education. But, despite the fact that I believe in the importance and value of such events, despite my interest in participating and providing support to those whose lives have been interrupted by diagnoses similar to my own, I have to say "I'm not available."

This is hard for me. But I think it's part of recovery. And despite it being hard, having the chance to say no is also exhilarating and liberating. There are other responsibilities and opportunities right now that are more important for me and my family.

I will never turn my back on my struggle with cancer. I will make myself available, on an individual basis, to those who are struggling with a diagnosis of cancer or treatment. But by saying "No" right now, I am also saying "Yes" to life beyond diagnosis and treatment.

My hope is that this makes me not only a lucky man, but a better man.

Lost Time

"Whenever there's a book that gets on camera, there's usually a purpose." - The Lost Book Club

"It's a show that really rewards continued viewing." - again, from The Lost Book Club, a special feature of the DVD collection of the third season

The past couple weeks, I've spent a lot of my spare time relaxing and watching the entire third season of the TV series Lost. During this time, I've been somewhat surprised to see my youngest son reading a number of books that I never would have predicted. I was intrigued to see him taking books to work and for reading on the bus, trying to figure out what the common thread might be.

But as I started watching the third season myself, it became apparent to me that he was joining The Lost Book Club, following along with the book covers that appeared, perhaps only for a second or two, during the third season.

Whatever the motivation, it's great to see a television series fostering enjoyment of reading.

The Lost Library (a partial list):

• Ann Rand's The Fountainhead


• Frank Baum's The Wizard of Oz


• Stephen King's Carrie, The Stand


• Gary Troup's Bad Twin


• Richard Adam's Watership Down


• John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men


• Henry James's The Turn of the Screw


• Joseph Heller's Catch-22


• Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time


• Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time


• Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov


• Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman


• Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities, A Christmas Carol, Great Expectations, Our Mutual Friend


• Judy Bloom's Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret

A more complete list is available here.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0785 - "Catch you later"

"Catch you later."

That is all that is left of Chris McKinstry's web site these days. He committed suicide on 23-Jan-2006 at the age of 38.

Push Singh committed suicide a month later on 28-Feb-2006 at the age of 34.

Both young men were students of artificial intelligence, Canadian, creators of competing collaborative "common sense" databases, and occasional correspondents. Both chose to end their lives by covering their head in a sealed plastic bag with gas piped into the bag, helium for Singh, carbon dioxide for McKinstry. Their stories are told in yesterday's online Wired Magazine's article "Two AI Pioneers. Two Bizarre Suicides. What Really Happened?"

No, I am not contemplating suicide!

In 2002, Ken Wilber published his first, and only, novel Boomeritis: A Novel That Will Set You Free, about an MIT grad in artificial intelligence who struggles through confusion into a "second tier of consciousness", a component of Wilber's concepts of Integral Psychology. Wilber's viewpoint is that Gen X and Y will be the first generations en masse to enter into this second tier of consciousness, clearly something that escaped my generation's captivity in egocentrism and ethnocentrism (according to the Library Journal's review of the book). Boomers, evidently, just don't get it - thus, boomeritis.

A more entertaining, less post-modernist driven piece of fiction dealing with the AI dream of personal immortality through "uploading" of human consciousness into machines is found in Robert J. Sawyer's 2000 sci-fi novel Calculating God - the author is another good Canadian living in Mississauga, Ontario. The setting here is the possible end of humanity because another civilization causes a supernova to sterilize the stellar neighbourhood to protect the machinery into which it has deposited themselves to achieve immortality.

More importantly, at least from a personal perspective, is that the protagonist of the novel is dying of cancer and an atheist, who is convinced by the alien visitor not only of the existence of a kind of occasionally intervening god but gets to visit god aboard the alien's space ship.

The point of all this preamble (and other references to similar sci-fi themes like Stargate's Ascension process) is identification and sympathy.

I am attracted to the prospect of ascension, transcending the limitations of physical, biological existence, of finding god or gods just when I'd written them off, of pain avoidance, especially the pain I felt when battling cancer - all these things are attractive. And speaking honestly, if what I read about Push Singh's unbearable physical pain and Chris McKinstry's emotional pain is accurate, then I can't blame them for their choice to commit suicide.

And, being a geek at heart with a fascination for the goals of artificial intelligence and other kinds of enlightenment technology, I readily acknowledge the magnetic attraction of technology and simultaneous frustration of the biological. Evolution, after all, is so bloody slow! Let's speed things up, shall we?

Nothing moves fast enough is a truism, even if we're just talking about normal, everyday life. But if you're searching for artificial intelligence, that feeling is exacerbated dramatically. Then, if you're suffering pain continually because of a chronic disease like cancer...well, the medical research isn't ever fast enough, the drugs don't work quickly enough, and the body itself becomes an impediment to all you would like to accomplish.

What part delusion, what part sanity?

I don't know.

What I do know is that they're intermingled, dangerously so. When I was in the hospital, drugged to the nines, and in a lot of pain, I recall an episode when I was hallucinating about being scheduled to deliver a lecture in Los Angeles the next morning. I called my nurse to ask for my pain meds early because I was going to be transported to Los Angeles at 4:00 am, half an hour early for my next meds. But I would probably need those meds when I was delivering my lecture, wouldn't I? The nurse didn't point out my delusion, but neither did she bring my pain medication early. By the way, I didn't get transported and I didn't deliver a lecture...just in case you're wondering ;>)

I fully acknowledge that there might be a little, or a lot of madness in the dream of AI and ascension. But cancer is also madness. Put the two together and, well, just maybe you'll be inclined to say "Catch you later."

The Appeal of Polytheism

Let's be clear. I don't believe there are many gods and goddesses. In fact, as most atheists are fond of repeating, we're all atheists these days. The only difference between actual atheists and monotheists is that monotheists have denied all gods but one. Atheists simply go the extra mile. They reject all the other gods, plus one.

But I am a fan of fantasy literature in the style of Neil Gaiman or Guy Gavriel Kay. In that literature, you find an unapologetic appeal to something I think is a universal human desire; namely, the attraction of many gods and goddesses. Gods in the air. Gods in the sea. Gods wandering among us. Gods that come and go, like the weather. Gods of trees. Gods of sexual desire. Gods of food and drink. Gods of the afterlife. And so on...

Most who avidly read these novels don't have any difficulty separating reality and the world of fiction into which they immerse themselves. But there is something about the fantasy of many larger-than-life figures - representing the good, the bad, the ugly, and the merely unusual - that captures the imagination and the attraction. In fact, I would suggest that a lot of what we call celebrity watching is really just a variant of the natural appeal of polytheism.

We aren't that different from our predecessors. We might be more secular, more sophisticated, even more rational and logical. But at the emotional and imaginative level, the place where we create and consume stories, is the deeply embedded predilection for gods and goddesses.

When we go to the movies, we almost always want to see characters who are bigger, stronger, faster, meaner, uglier, smarter than we are. Otherwise, why bother? When we play video games, it's the same thing. When we watch our favourite sporting events, our top TV drama or comedy series, when we listen to music, go to concerts, visit a gallery, or even when we read the paper, we're searching for meanings and patterns that almost always seem bound to something outside the ordinary.

Gods are attractive, whether we worship them or not.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0775 - Radiation Redux

Two years ago today I had my first radiation treatment and first chemotherapy treatment for colorectal cancer. There was so much more that transpired that day, in addition to the treatment, but thankfully it has become a bit of a blur now in retrospect. As I re-read my blog entry for that day, though, I can feel something of the overwhelming nature of what I was going through.

Today was so much simpler. I find myself just over a month into a new job, back into a little bit of T-SQL programming, and helping design specific implementation guidelines...enjoying making a solid contribution again. Tonight, as I watch the Raptors play the 76ers, all I have to do medically is stop eating twelve hours before going to the lab to have some blood drawn for my quarterly CEA follow-up tests.

There is nothing overwhelming about a day like today. It's been a good day, the kind of day that gratifies with the simple joys of doing useful work in a field I love with other people who love what they do. And then to come home to see my wife and youngest son, to chat for a while on the phone with my eldest son who is starting his second term of his second year at university, and to place yet another call to my Mother to wish her a happy birthday for tomorrow.

These are good things. It is a privilege to be able to do them. Anatomically, I am a little different these days, minus both a rectum and a mesorectum. I've lost physical strength and stamina, but I don't think I've lost any abilities to perform a good day's work in my field of information technology. And my wife and sons are still here cheering me on and supporting me.

If I never see another radiation unit, another chemotherapy lab, or get prepped for surgery again...well, that's just the way I like it.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0772 - Charity, Computers, and Cancer

Today, on my more technology-oriented blog, I wrote about donating idle time on one's personal and business computers to the World Community Grid. I've written about this before, in July, 2006, but I've been thinking about grid computing, cancer, and charity again, probably because it's the new year and such thoughts tend to appear almost spontaneously.

I'm convinced that unused computer resources may well be the single most potent and significant untapped resource available to humanity today. Grid computing provides the technical interface which allows those of us with computers to make those resources available to the benefit of humanity. Not only does grid computing allow servers to harness and coordinate all that unused and idle computing power, it provides "free" processing to scientists around the globe who are trying to make a difference in areas like health and environment research.

One of the most recent initiatives is the Ontario Cancer Institute's Help Conquer Cancer project. Igor Jurisica is the principal researcher involved, and his web site documents just how effective personal and business computers can be in analyzing millions of photographs of crystallized cancer proteins.

You don't have to be a geek, a technophile, or even the owner of a powerful computer to see the utility of grid computing. If all you have is an old desktop, or a game machine that sits idly most of the day while you're at work or school, you can make a difference. Even at work, if you can secure your IT department and management approval, idle computing time while you're away in meetings, out to lunch, filing, or merely thinking or planning is time and resources that can be utilized to benefit humanity.

Yes, it's good to donate money to the charity of choice. It's even better to donate time to volunteer work for associations and charities that make a difference in your local community. But if you think of your computers as currency, then you are wealthier than you think. Let's make that wealth available. Let's make 2008 the year when grid computing and charities achieved a significant milestone in scientific research.

An Unwanted Journey: Day 0767 - NED Revisited

I've been accused of being too "logical", too "rational" at times. The criticism goes something like this.

"You know, there's more to life than thinking. Life is also about emotions, faith, hope and belief."

True enough, but what sets us apart from other animals is our frontal cortex, that part of the brain that is used for reflection, planning, and yes, logic. As part of a very long evolutionary process, humanity bears biological markers of every stage of evolution including the reptilian and mammalian brains. So other ways of being human include aspects of those brains as well as what makes us distinctively human.

It is unwise to neglect any aspect of ourselves, but I think it a far worse crime to neglect that which help us cope with the complexities of modern life, including cancer. Unfortunately, I'm discovering that a lot of what we call logic or forethought or rationality is largely the narrative patterns we apply to life after the fact. In other words, we rationalize life and our experience with 20-20 hindsight. But we are generally pathetic at predictions. So when I hear predictions, my antenna are raised automatically.

What does this have to do with cancer? The acronym NED is often heard by cancer survivors - No Evidence of Disease, appropriately capitalized because it is a phrase which we all want to hear every time a set of medical tests has been performed. But if you rearrange that acronym to END, you get Evidence of No Disease.

Is there any difference? You bet there is. Now I have to say that not a single one of my oncologists has ever said to me that test results provide evidence of no disease, just no evidence of disease. But being what we are, and not always writing things down and analyzing them logically, it is very easy to get confused. It is even easier for friends and family to get confused.

My experience has been that most people jump to the conclusion that having negative results in tests designed to detect recurrence of cancer means I have received evidence that there is no cancer present. But that is definitely not the case. There are no tests or instruments available to oncologists that can scan every single cell in the body for evidence of cancer. So we scan the site of surgery or take biopsy samples and analyze those.

The best news we can get is that limited sampling results in no evidence of disease. But that merely means that at this time and this place, the oncologists found nothing significant. It's a good indicator, to be sure, but it's predictive value isn't as great as some people think (or rather the conclusion to which they jump).

This is where being rational and logical is useful. It is helpful to sit back and think about how a simple rearrangement of words impacts one's life so dramatically. True, having NED isn't nearly as satisfying as having END, but such is what living with the possibility of recurrence is all about.

If that makes me too rational, too logical, to right-brained for some people, well then so be it. I can celebrate no evidence of disease, but that doesn't mean I have some kind of guarantee. And the next time I hear someone make the "round-trip fallacy", I'll be sure to correct them in regards to prognosis for cancer survivors. I don't think that's petty, I just think it helps me and other cancer survivors preserve our sanity.