Random life bits from February

Last Friday I was working at one of my clients, the Calgary Zoo, and the controller arranged a quick "behind the scenes" for my audit team and the finance group. This meant over lunch we got to go with the Zookeeper in a trench that runs between the giraffes and the hippos and help him feed the giraffes. I fed around 15 carrots to the mother and father of Sophie, the newest baby giraffe - Sophie just hung back and stood pretty with a "I know I am adorable" look to her. Mom and dad chowed down, slurping carrots with their long tongues and leaning over me looking for a few more. While I was facing the giraffes, the Zookeeper said "just turn around slow" and I did to find one of the hippos had come out of the water and now had his head over the railing where I stood, just a few inches away. He looked at me and opened his gigantic mouth as to say "yeah, so what about those giraffes - check THIS out" - his tongue and teeth and lips were so big and close that my picture couldn't even fit it in. Can't remember what I ate for lunch.

I had a low-grade fever for a few days mid-month and eventually got better without a visit to the clinic. Nice. The rest of the month I spent quite tired...March looks to be better on the fatigue-front.

On a rare night out with Tasha, we took in a most amazing musical experience at Jack Singer listening for an hour and a half, no intermission, no warm up - to The Fray. I downloaded their album when I got home, and wondered if the drummer was single?

Jack and Davis were over at Mom and Dad's for dinner last week and I played "tickle monster" with them as requested - where they bounce on Mom and Dad's bed and I kneel in the middle, stretching my arms out like an octopus trying to tickle them while they squeal. They know my game as soon as I arrive. I hadn't seen them for a while and Jack said "I really missed you". I guess tickling is my forte - Talyn requests "Auntie Tricia tickles" most nights that I see him. The twins prefer the heartier version of my craft. It's wonderful to have something that little boys love you for.

Since December I have been noticing dark spots on my skin - they almost look like bruises, and they have been increasing in numbers, spreading up and across my torso since then and getting darker. My doctor has seen it (bloodwork is all good) and I am seeing a specialist later this week to test whether it is a form of rejection or not - post transplant #1 I had skin Graft-versus-host-disease of the skin and had to do a light therapy treatment so that it didn't thicken. But this is far more extensive - I really look like a leopard from the thigh up to my neck. And then there's my neck which still has an open wound from last summer when I fell and my skin graft was aggravated. Seeing my plastic surgeon next week too and may need another graft. My bandages cost $5/day, and I am really tired of my neck needing to be covered all the time, not to mention how seized up my upper back and neck muscles are while they try to accommodate the wound. Skin is just skin, and I know as long as it's not necrotising faciatus I should be happy, but I am sick of looking at my skin right now.

I have been helping do some creative work to assist in finishing a book that Ryan has created that talks about the happiness you can find even while facing cancer and death. He has taught me so much. Assisting with it breaks my heart and fills it with a unique energy all at the same time.

February I worked a little too much (fixing that don't worry) but liked that a client reported that they loved working with me...nice to know I still know what I am doing at work after a 3 year break. Last night I left the office, worked out with a friend, had a steam and went to Costco, spent too much, bought too much, did another workout to haul all the stuff up from my parkade, watched PVRd Grey's Anatomy and went to bed early. There were so many nights in summer 2006 that such a month and a night seemed totally impossible and an unfair dream. Guess you need to keep dreaming.

Leukemia & Lymphoma Society asked me to be the honoured hero for the 2010 Light the Night Walk in September.

Last summer a friend of my dad's gave me an orchid plant for good energy. I loved the plant - Dr. Aung has orchids all over his clinic in Edmonton. The flowers just seem perfect and simple. In the Fall, the flowers all eventually fell off - I googled to find out that once that happens you are to cut the stems down, so I did. Just 2 little sticks. Months passed. Every week I watered with the little orchid food. Nothing. Sticks. While I was in Maui for 2 weeks in January, I didn't have anyone look after my place. No water for the orchid (sticks), no orchid food. When I came back, I sat down on my sofa and looked over and saw a one inch sprout coming out of one of the sticks! In the absence of water and food, the orchid had not only survived, but it grew. And since then I have watched the sprout grow longer and pop little buds and the buds get larger. And yesterday the biggest bud opened into a beautiful flower....not totally perfect - it has one petal that is like Nemo's fin, but beautiful. Amazing what can not only survive in the face of challenge but grow into something beautiful.

Wonderful Whales, Weddings and Westermans

It is hard to blog when I feel that words cannot really describe the incredible moments I have experienced in recent weeks. But avoiding it doesn't help. From heartbreaking to amazing, the past month and a bit has been very full and I have learned so much more about life and how potent it can be.

As many of you know and can read on Ryan and Tasha's blogs (see side panel for links), the Westermans have been riding a fast and furious roller coaster since the news that Ryan's tumour had broken free of the experimental treatment's reigns just before Christmas. And after being admitted to hospital on New Year's Eve with stroke-like symptoms, Ryan found out a few days later that his tumour had moved to his brain stem, and the doctors recommended taking a hospice bed immediately. It was a surreal concept for a guy so alive. And after a day or so, Ryan took action. Ryan prepared videos for his family to ensure everything he wanted to say is said in case he lost his speech. He wanted to have his "celebration of life" with him in attendance, and so we had a party later that week - people flew in and everyone shared stories of their friend Ryan.

Having been in the room when Ryan's doctor recommended taking a hospice bed, I felt a huge dilemma in leaving for Hawaii a few days later, both because of the uncertainty for Ryan as well as for the support Tasha would need. In one way, Ryan's situation should remind me that things like going to Hawaii were important especially given my own health situation. Ryan and I were diagnosed a few months apart in 1997 and have relapsed several times after a variety of treatment options including experimental ones. On the other hand it seemed ludicrous to leave. Both Tasha and Ryan told me to go, and Ryan said he would be pissed off if I didn't go (said with a large Ryan grin on his face). Ryan's celebration was the night before we were to leave, and he looked so full of life roaming around the room that I truly believed he would be there when I returned.

So I went to Maui with mom and dad - to an incredible oceanfront condo (Dad had found it last minute for half price!) that couldn't be any better. We just walked down to the beach every day (Mom and I with our coffee cups) and boogey boarded (Dad non-stop), snorkeled with turtles or just relaxed on the sand. Or sat on the patio and watch the whales (at least 10 sightings each day) flap and jump and blow spray from their spouts. Or watched at least two weddings take place on the beach in front of us (even started ranking them!). On the few times we left our oceanfront paradise, we had pupus and mojitos at Tommy Bahamas. It was a wonderful holiday and once again I was filled with the Maui energy I have come to love. And aside from a grueling trip home (flights delayed and rerouted and delayed again!) the three of us agree the trip was absolutely the most relaxing we have had.

Dad brought his laptop and webcam, so I was able to keep track of Tasha and Ryan while in Maui, getting the updates that Ryan continued to play the "exception" role he has perfected...very little change from when I left. I was able to show them a few waves on the webcam, report my daily turtle and whale sightings for Talyn and enjoy my holiday even more fully.

And when I returned, I went over to see Ryan and Tasha and found that while Ryan's right side was a bit weaker, not a lot had changed. We had dinner and then Talyn wanted to play Uno with his mom, dad, Baba and I. And after Ryan and I were the last-place finishers in the card game, he pulled out the Connect 4 game to challenge me. I forgot how great that game is - such a simple objective of lining up 4 coloured chips in a row, but so difficult. After much thought and time, I won the first game. The next game I backed myself into a corner without even seeing it and Ryan kicked my butt. And all my worry about having gone to Maui evaporated. This guy was just fine. Who has a tumour wrapped around his brain stem and still beats me at Connect 4? Mr. Ryan Westerman that's who.

The next night a few of us surprised Ryan at dinner at the restaurant Teatro - it was an extraordinary evening - we all shared our favourite memory or story about Ryan and he in turn shared his favourite of each of us. Such pure and honest energy exchanged. Honest tears and pure laughter.

As Ryan describes his new "pad", it is a remarkable place that to me feels like a mountain retreat house than anything. Given his continued ability to push the boundary of the doctors' predictions, it is a great place of flexibility and options that supports what he and his family need. I am very grateful for that and on my tour of the place was even thinking of how to contribute to the hospice in the future. The value it is providing to Ryan, Tasha and Talyn certainly rivals even the progress of research.

As I have told him, Ryan is "writing the textbook" on how to live when you're told you're going to die soon. He has struck a perfect balance of respecting the possibility of leaving this world with respecting the possibility of a further miracle. He has also mastered the balance of "fighting to live" with "living". He has faced the fear of the moment of death. These are all things he and I and Tasha have discussed over the years, in the various contexts of each of our cancer fights. But he is walking the talk and I am inspired, proud and amazed at the way he is able to execute so remarkably the very theories that I aspire to. Cancer or not, all of us should do the videos. Now. We should celebrate life. Now. The risk of doing that is what?

My words cannot possibly report the depth of life I have been fortunate to experience recently. And so I'll conclude. It's just been so many shades of wonderful.