Hello All,
Thank you for reading my blog posts this week. I enjoyed writing them even though it was a little intimidating to try to follow Greg Hebert, an incredible writer with a powerful message. I'd like to share this last post with my partners, Matt Whitteker and Eric Belanger. Thank you again for "tuning in." (Did I just age myself?)
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Excited
With Fight for The Cure 3 just eight days away I’m in a state of sheer excitement. To specify exactly which part of the event has me so sleepless is tough to pin down precisely. For one, in our third year I’m able to say that myself along with co founders Rob Imbeault, Eric Belanger and Scott Whitteker (year 1) are ecstatic about the community support we’ve received and we’re looking at a sell out event! Secondly, my regular correspondence, coaching and organizing the “white collar” boxers /boxing part of the event has been an incredible experience but I can say undoubtedly that I’m nervous for “my guys” having their first official boxing match. Finally the sheer buzz around the city for the Third Annual Fight for the Cure is overwhelming. With an estimated six media appearances and features leading up to the event the city of Ottawa has clearly embraced the event we’ve worked so hard to build.
This has truly been an outstanding experience which has been made possible by some exceptional people that we’ve met along the way. Sleep hours will be few, and the final preparations will be many but all will be more than worth it come March 27 watching “my guys” step into the ring for the first time to raise money for one incredible fight.
- Matt Whitteker
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Why we do it - Eric Belanger
Just over 3 years ago now Matt and I sat down and decided to kick off a major fundraising event in support of a charity. A charity of choice is often a personal decision and with so many great causes out there, we went through a priority process. First and formost we wanted to keep it local along with many other factors, we decided on the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation. Like most of you here and as it’s been said before, cancer has affected us in some form or another and will most likely continue to do so in the years to come. It is a battle that most are considered the underdog to win. Personally, as head coach at Final Round Boxing, I help people win battles daily with life, health and of course inside the ropes. Being competitive by nature, a good challenge and being considered the underdog is something I am always up for and am often confident to come out on top. The battle called cancer is no exception, I am confident that if we all do what we are capable of doing, whether it be organize or participate and support an event such as Fight For the Cure, being the scientist in the lab or the caring doctor at the patient’s bedside, we will win. And I look forward to the day where Matt, Rob and I must revisit our event in search of a new challenge and celebrate our victory!
In 8 days from now you will witness a community come together for one unique night and take a step forward towards that victory. Personally, I would like to thank ALL of our sponsors, specifically the Heart and Crown along with everyone who has worked so hard to make this event a sure success. The volunteer boxers who have trained day in and day out, the volunteer officials and referees donating their time, the ORCF staff and volunteers, all Final Round Boxing members and volunteers, and of course, our white collar boxers who have spent the last few months in training, taking the risk of stepping into that ring and participating in our fight for the cure in a way only few can ever experience.
- Eric Belanger
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I've mentioned the Heart & Crown a lot this week, but I'd like to quickly thank our other sponsors that are helping make Fight For The Cure a success this year.
Hampton Inn Conference Centre - www.hamptoninnottawa.com
Konica Minolta - www.konicaminolta.ca
Ottawa Business Journal - www.obj.ca
Mezzanotte - www.mezzanotte-bistro.com
Enviropure - www.enviropurehome.com
Fari Detailing - www.fari.ca
Carried Away Gift Baskets - http://tr.im/SmNZ
Empire Grill - www.empiregrill.com
Soma Health & Fitness - www.somahealthandfitness.com
See you Ringside!!!
Rob Imbeault
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Rocky MacDougall
This year's honouree is Rocky MacDougall. Trevor MacDougall my long time friend and colleague, has been an avid supporter of FFTC since its inception and is now an active committee member. Trevor lost his uncle last year to cancer. Rocky is the epitome of a Canadian hero. After completing his military service he earned his Bachelor & Education Degrees at Saint F.X. University. This enabled Rocky to begin a teaching career in the Antigonish / Guysborough area which lasted over 27years. Although he was an accomplished boxer, he often stated that teaching young children gave him more satisfaction than anything he accomplished in the ring. Rocky had a remarkable career in boxing. He turned professional in 1960 and went on to capture the Canadian Professional Featherweight Championship in 1965, a title he held until 1967. In 1969 he regained the Canadian Featherweight Championship, which he held until he retired from competitive boxing in 1972. Rocky was a member of the Canadian Professional & Amateur Boxing Hall of Fame along with being a life member of the Canadian Amateur Boxing Association.
For those of you who know Trevor MacDougall, you would agree it wouldn't be too bold to suggest that he himself is a bit of a celebrity in the Ottawa community. He was indeed endowed with the gift-of-gab and tremendously friendly with any and every one who came in to contact with him. While uncle Rocky was in his last few weeks, it was difficult to see Trevor in a quiet disposition with which I can unfortunately relate when I watched my grandfather whither away. Trevor has since volunteered his time and resources to the FFTC committee and we will be honouring Rocky MacDougall this year with our new-found Robbie Wilcox Honorarium Award.
For those of you who know Trevor MacDougall, you would agree it wouldn't be too bold to suggest that he himself is a bit of a celebrity in the Ottawa community. He was indeed endowed with the gift-of-gab and tremendously friendly with any and every one who came in to contact with him. While uncle Rocky was in his last few weeks, it was difficult to see Trevor in a quiet disposition with which I can unfortunately relate when I watched my grandfather whither away. Trevor has since volunteered his time and resources to the FFTC committee and we will be honouring Rocky MacDougall this year with our new-found Robbie Wilcox Honorarium Award.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Robbie Wilcox Honorarium Award
Instead of spending money on a celebrity guest, where that money could go straight to the Foundation we have chosen to honour a survivor or fallen friend as a representative of the loved ones we've lost and the ones who are still with us. To be honest first year, this was more because we had no money and therefore no choice, but last year something interesting happened. We mistakenly booked FFTC 2009 one week after the Canadian National Tournament which means that most boxing clubs either had no fighters to send or their coaching team simply weren't free. Eric Belanger, Final Round's Head Coach, was in charge of the match making and he himself attended the nationals with our competitors. It was two days before the event and prospects were grim. Eric took a chance and called a coach/friend from Hamilton, Bob Wilcox. The Wilcox's is a boxing family with six children; Jessie, Steve, Sheldon, Bradley, Spencer and Amber. All five sons either compete or are interested in boxing and took part in the national tournament so it was a long shot that they would be able to drive all the way from Hamilton, Ontario to fight in a one night fight night one week after flying to Edmonton for the Nationals. Eric explained the situation and Bob’s answer was a quick "We're in!" Surprised, Eric said thank you and we were all set. We came to find out that the Wilcox family had another little boy. Robbie was 7 when he passed away from cancer and when Bob heard the event was to benefit the Cancer Foundation it was an immediate yes. Eric went to trophy store to get one more plaque which he himself paid for to present to the Wilcox family. We have since decided to honour someone at our event which will be embody the ones we love who have been affected with the disease and award them with the Robbie Wilcox Honorarium Award. We feel this is a great way to bring the community just a little bit closer.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Along The Way
It’s often said that life’s a journey, not a destination and this event has proven to be no different. The first year I was able to offer my time and services through my company, 10Count, but the last two years have brought me something I hadn’t considered, which are new friends. I have made some great professional contacts and more importantly I have forged new friendships as well as strengthened existing ones. We all come together to share a common goal and we all have our parts to play.
The white collar fighters are executives and entrepreneurs who take on this challenge and even though they initially face a rude awakening when they find out how hard this sport truly is, they stay. They get in the ring and they fight. Each one of them has their own reason for participating and every one of them challenges themselves to see how far their body will take them which is usually much further than they would have guessed. I’ve gotten to train with them, yell at them to finish their circuits and I’ve even gotten in the ring and pushed them as far as they can be pushed. Some are too shy to hit me, others not shy enough (Jim!). I love to see them realize that they are much stronger and more in shape than they thought they were. They walk, or mildly limp, away from the work out dripping in sweat, maybe a little blood, with a private accomplished smile on their face. I’m honoured to know these individuals who push themselves, even if it means putting themselves in harm’s way, for the memory of loved one or a chance at saving a stranger. Either way I am tremendously lucky to know them and luckier still to call them my friends.
Last year in the midst of a global recession, we weren’t sure we could pull the event off. We had no sponsorship and it seemed it might have to wait another year. A member of the Fight For the Cure committee, and long-time friend, Trevor McDougall, mentioned that the legendary Heart & Crown were interested in helping. We had a meeting and the rest is history. The Heart & Crown Irish Pubs have a history of generous and thoughtful philanthropy in our community. They are dedicated partners in our event and are truly appreciated for their active involvement with us and their many philanthropic initiatives. Also, it’s the HEART & CROWN!!! ...which is pretty much the best pub in the city!
I have met some incredible people at the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation. It’s amazing to me to see that it’s more than just a job to them and I have made and I continue to make some great friends with many of them. They get sincerely excited for each event. They work tirelessly alongside us to help make our event a success. Thank you guys! You are all amazing!
Out of the three of us, I would have to say that Matt Whitteker is the champion of this event. I do my part in trying to arrange sponsorships and selling tables and Eric Belanger has more than his hands full in developing our Final Round competitive team which has yielded several national level caliber fighters, two of them Canadian Champions, since we started only 3 years ago. Matt takes it upon himself to train all the white collar fighters. While this may be fun, it is hundreds of hours of his time leading up to the event. He is on the committee and when a fight fell through at the last second on fight night in year one Matt changed in to his gear, got in the ring and fought despite trying to run the show. I thought I’d take this opportunity to acknowledge the fact that he’s done a tremendous job on both Final Round and Fight for the Cure. I’ve also partnered with Matt on a few successful business endeavors and he shows great ambition. One more thing, he’s only 26.
If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading!
The white collar fighters are executives and entrepreneurs who take on this challenge and even though they initially face a rude awakening when they find out how hard this sport truly is, they stay. They get in the ring and they fight. Each one of them has their own reason for participating and every one of them challenges themselves to see how far their body will take them which is usually much further than they would have guessed. I’ve gotten to train with them, yell at them to finish their circuits and I’ve even gotten in the ring and pushed them as far as they can be pushed. Some are too shy to hit me, others not shy enough (Jim!). I love to see them realize that they are much stronger and more in shape than they thought they were. They walk, or mildly limp, away from the work out dripping in sweat, maybe a little blood, with a private accomplished smile on their face. I’m honoured to know these individuals who push themselves, even if it means putting themselves in harm’s way, for the memory of loved one or a chance at saving a stranger. Either way I am tremendously lucky to know them and luckier still to call them my friends.
Last year in the midst of a global recession, we weren’t sure we could pull the event off. We had no sponsorship and it seemed it might have to wait another year. A member of the Fight For the Cure committee, and long-time friend, Trevor McDougall, mentioned that the legendary Heart & Crown were interested in helping. We had a meeting and the rest is history. The Heart & Crown Irish Pubs have a history of generous and thoughtful philanthropy in our community. They are dedicated partners in our event and are truly appreciated for their active involvement with us and their many philanthropic initiatives. Also, it’s the HEART & CROWN!!! ...which is pretty much the best pub in the city!
I have met some incredible people at the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation. It’s amazing to me to see that it’s more than just a job to them and I have made and I continue to make some great friends with many of them. They get sincerely excited for each event. They work tirelessly alongside us to help make our event a success. Thank you guys! You are all amazing!
Out of the three of us, I would have to say that Matt Whitteker is the champion of this event. I do my part in trying to arrange sponsorships and selling tables and Eric Belanger has more than his hands full in developing our Final Round competitive team which has yielded several national level caliber fighters, two of them Canadian Champions, since we started only 3 years ago. Matt takes it upon himself to train all the white collar fighters. While this may be fun, it is hundreds of hours of his time leading up to the event. He is on the committee and when a fight fell through at the last second on fight night in year one Matt changed in to his gear, got in the ring and fought despite trying to run the show. I thought I’d take this opportunity to acknowledge the fact that he’s done a tremendous job on both Final Round and Fight for the Cure. I’ve also partnered with Matt on a few successful business endeavors and he shows great ambition. One more thing, he’s only 26.
If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading!
Monday, March 15, 2010
"Papa"
George Imbeault was a pilot who fought for Canada in World War II. After the war, he became one of the "Original 6" Canadian Tire owners which led to him owning a chain of hardware stores. He was a husband for 54 years, a father to four and grandfather to six children. He was a devout philanthropist belonging to the Lions Club and Kiwanis Organizations and he himself presented Terry Fox with a cheque during his run across Canada(image below). He was all of these things, but to me, he was my grandfather who would sit us grandchildren down individually to teach us how to budget,to save and supplied each of us with a copy of The Wealthy Barber. He was a very kind and thoughtful man. The best advice he gave me is when I was in my twenties and after breaking up with a girl I asked him how his marriage lasted so long and expressed how I just couldn't "figure women out." He replied with a simple "don't try to figure them out, just try to make them happy. Life is simpler this way."
"Papa" died from liver cancer quietly in his home in Greely with many of us in the room. Looking back, I am glad we all got the chance to say goodbye. My grandfather was my inspiration in becoming an entrepreneur and his work both ethically and philanthropically lives on in my actions. I've since lost five more family and friends to this disease and I make it a personal challenge to keep myself involved in the fight and to try to inspire others to do the same. When I read about breakthroughs, like the decoding of the DNA of a lobular breast cancer tumour at UBC last year, I feel myself smile and give a private Michael Jordan/Wayne Gretzky fist pump. Being involved makes me feel like I am a part of the fight. I'm in the game and all of my hard work is not just for a better life for me and my family, but rather recognizes that we are all in this together. And to be clear, it's not about "giving back," it's simply about giving.
Fight For The Cure
In 2008, when my friends and partners (Matt Whitteker and Eric Belanger) came up with the idea for Fight For The Cure Charity Boxing Gala with the proceeds going to the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation, I was immediately on board and I continue to co-chair the event with them to this day. I've been involved in boxing for a dozen years now and the potential to help the foundation just felt like a great fit. We feature what we call "White Collar" fights where local executives, entrepreneurs and celebrities, after training with us at Final Round, jump in the ring and fight an exhibition bout. The Chair of the Cancer Foundation at the time, Walter Robinson, led the charge and has since become a little addicted to the boxing training, as most do, and he will be fighting for the third year in a row. It is a formal, four course dinner and this year will showcase three of white collar matches as well as a few of our own nationally ranked amateur boxers. It will be held on March 27th, 2010 at the Hampton Inn Conference Centre with the Heart & Crown Irish Pubs stepping up in their second year as our headline sponsor. More information can be found at www.fightforthecure.ca. This week I will be blogging a little more about the event, its participants and maybe even a bit more about myself.
Rob Imbeault
The quickest way to happiness is to help deliver it to others.
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Race to Live Again
Well here it is, my final entry as this week's guest blogger.
I've done my best to relay my experiences, lessons learned and humble wisdom throughout the week by showing you a glimpse of what I felt during the process and how I feel today. Each day has featured a different portion of the experience starting with the initial diagnosis and progressing to surgery and treatment and beyond. I've been able to summarize each leg of the journey with a moral or theme, but for today's final instalment, I'm afraid all I can do is tell you that I'm still trying to make sense of it all.
If you're fortunate enough to have a skilled medical team, a strong and loving family, supportive friends and an understanding employer and ultimately wind up where I am today then there is no better bit of advice than; savour the moment and make the most of your time on this planet.
Sound advice for anyone really, but it can be taken to extremes for those who survive this type of lift-altering event. So while I'm still very much at a loss to make sense of the entire story, I have become aware that it's important to pace yourself.
Cancer survivors and no doubt anyone who has survived a serious trauma may feel an increased desire to make up for lost time. To make every decision count. To do something grand. To live and love to the fullest and to leave a legacy. These are all laudable ambitions but it's important to remember that a lifetime is measured in little moments not in grand gestures and not a single one of us gets to choose how we'll be remembered.
Let me recap my own experience...
I was diagnosed with synovial cell sarcoma in my head and neck last May. The surgery involved cutting a line down the centre of my chin, along the jaw line and on to my right ear. Then the bone was cut in the middle so that my jaw could be split in two, allowing my surgeon access to tumour. The original plan was to have me sewed up and on the road to recovery within a few weeks. What happened next surprised everyone except me. Post operative pathology revealed the tumour was a fairly aggressive type of cancer meaning I would have to undergo radiation as quickly as possible. It's the last thing anyone wants to hear but perhaps more difficult than the news itself was having to share it with loved ones. It's difficult to tell those who care about you that you're facing such a difficult battle because in the end, those closest to you will have to fight it as well and I hate to be a burden. Everyone was shocked but steadfast in their support of me and my fight. Anything less than resounding success wasn't even considered a possibility. We would beat this together and that was the end of the debate.
The recovery from surgery was long and frustrating. It left me with very limited mobility in my jaw making it difficult to eat. Then radiation began and what tissue hadn't been damaged by the surgery was ravaged by the lethal rays shot through my body. My sense of taste vanished, the muscles hardened and my voice changed. After six weeks of treatment and some decidedly unhappy days, I was relieved to begin the real recovery stage. From that point on, I would be extra vigilant in matters of health. I would exercise more, eat better and reduce my exposure to stress. As much as my life may have been irreversibly altered, it would go on.
And that brings us back to the present. You see, I decided that not only would my life go on, but it would mean more. I had to extract every possible ounce of "living" out of my life to ensure that I would have no regrets if my health was ever threatened again. I made ambitious new career plans, expanding my existing role in media to one I hope will be much more challenging in the near future. I proposed to my beautiful girlfriend, ensuring that not one more day would pass without making her aware of how much I love her. I made a promise to speak more opening with family and friends about emotions so that no conversation was ever left unfinished. I made a pledge to give more back to the community which had so unexpected supported me. That decision led me to getting involved with the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation and in addition to this I am planning more volunteer work and acts of philanthropy. I'm making plans to travel more, compromise less and to go to bed proud of myself each and every day.
But that's a lot of pressure to bear and as I soon discovered, it's unrealistic to expect that everyday will be memorable and exciting. There's no question that surviving a trauma helps to refocus the mind but it doesn't leave you with super powers. You must remember that above all else, you're still a human being.
Once I realised that I had created unrealistic expectations I also realised that it was all just a coping mechanism. Subconsciously I had given myself a long list of busy-work to take my mind off the fact that I didn't fully recognize the man looking at me in the mirror. He looked frail and uncertain and any attempt to convey independence and confidence was betrayed by a very visible scar that ran down the centre of his face. I realised I had lost a part of myself in the process of fighting my cancer and I thought I might never get it back. All the optimism in the world would never make me whole again. All the goals and ambitions couldn't change the fact that my mortality was as plainly obvious as the nose on my face.
But I've discovered that what matters more is that I have gained far more than I lost. My respect for the humanity of others increased tenfold thanks to the unprecedented generosity and support of my family and friends. My profound admiration for the dedication and selflessness of the medical community inspired me to be a better person. My newfound appreciation for the fragility of life prompted me to tell those around me how I feel and it focused my motivation on achieving my goals. The experience taught me that for all I had lost, I had still been given some precious gifts to share. The power of positive thinking is now more important to me than ever but not in the sense that we humans have special healing abilities. No, the power of my positive thinking pushes me to leave the world a bit better than I found it because we are all fighting the battle of our lives every day. There will always be those who face challenges greater and smaller than you or me. None of us know what lies ahead and the beauty of this thing called life is how much more precious it can become once you are aware of how fragile it is.
My battle with cancer continues. It is no more and no less relevant than any other battle, but it has taught me to live in the present, to love more and to work harder. I have the luxury of working in a position that grants me a louder voice than others. I am a radio broadcaster and as such I will advocate for others who can't speak as loudly. I am a young man and as such, I will work hard to achieve my goals while doing my best to lead by positive example. I am engaged to a beautiful woman and as such I will honour her until my last breath. I am a good friend who has received the love of good friends and as such I will be there to return the favour whenever it might be needed. My battle with cancer continues and it makes me stronger everyday. Courage is founded in belief that you are doing the right thing. Working together to fight cancer, supporting each other and learning from the experience are all good things.
For whatever reason you've come here to read these blogs I hope they have given you something useful. Good luck to you and yours.
I've done my best to relay my experiences, lessons learned and humble wisdom throughout the week by showing you a glimpse of what I felt during the process and how I feel today. Each day has featured a different portion of the experience starting with the initial diagnosis and progressing to surgery and treatment and beyond. I've been able to summarize each leg of the journey with a moral or theme, but for today's final instalment, I'm afraid all I can do is tell you that I'm still trying to make sense of it all.
If you're fortunate enough to have a skilled medical team, a strong and loving family, supportive friends and an understanding employer and ultimately wind up where I am today then there is no better bit of advice than; savour the moment and make the most of your time on this planet.
Sound advice for anyone really, but it can be taken to extremes for those who survive this type of lift-altering event. So while I'm still very much at a loss to make sense of the entire story, I have become aware that it's important to pace yourself.
Cancer survivors and no doubt anyone who has survived a serious trauma may feel an increased desire to make up for lost time. To make every decision count. To do something grand. To live and love to the fullest and to leave a legacy. These are all laudable ambitions but it's important to remember that a lifetime is measured in little moments not in grand gestures and not a single one of us gets to choose how we'll be remembered.
Let me recap my own experience...
I was diagnosed with synovial cell sarcoma in my head and neck last May. The surgery involved cutting a line down the centre of my chin, along the jaw line and on to my right ear. Then the bone was cut in the middle so that my jaw could be split in two, allowing my surgeon access to tumour. The original plan was to have me sewed up and on the road to recovery within a few weeks. What happened next surprised everyone except me. Post operative pathology revealed the tumour was a fairly aggressive type of cancer meaning I would have to undergo radiation as quickly as possible. It's the last thing anyone wants to hear but perhaps more difficult than the news itself was having to share it with loved ones. It's difficult to tell those who care about you that you're facing such a difficult battle because in the end, those closest to you will have to fight it as well and I hate to be a burden. Everyone was shocked but steadfast in their support of me and my fight. Anything less than resounding success wasn't even considered a possibility. We would beat this together and that was the end of the debate.
The recovery from surgery was long and frustrating. It left me with very limited mobility in my jaw making it difficult to eat. Then radiation began and what tissue hadn't been damaged by the surgery was ravaged by the lethal rays shot through my body. My sense of taste vanished, the muscles hardened and my voice changed. After six weeks of treatment and some decidedly unhappy days, I was relieved to begin the real recovery stage. From that point on, I would be extra vigilant in matters of health. I would exercise more, eat better and reduce my exposure to stress. As much as my life may have been irreversibly altered, it would go on.
And that brings us back to the present. You see, I decided that not only would my life go on, but it would mean more. I had to extract every possible ounce of "living" out of my life to ensure that I would have no regrets if my health was ever threatened again. I made ambitious new career plans, expanding my existing role in media to one I hope will be much more challenging in the near future. I proposed to my beautiful girlfriend, ensuring that not one more day would pass without making her aware of how much I love her. I made a promise to speak more opening with family and friends about emotions so that no conversation was ever left unfinished. I made a pledge to give more back to the community which had so unexpected supported me. That decision led me to getting involved with the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation and in addition to this I am planning more volunteer work and acts of philanthropy. I'm making plans to travel more, compromise less and to go to bed proud of myself each and every day.
But that's a lot of pressure to bear and as I soon discovered, it's unrealistic to expect that everyday will be memorable and exciting. There's no question that surviving a trauma helps to refocus the mind but it doesn't leave you with super powers. You must remember that above all else, you're still a human being.
Once I realised that I had created unrealistic expectations I also realised that it was all just a coping mechanism. Subconsciously I had given myself a long list of busy-work to take my mind off the fact that I didn't fully recognize the man looking at me in the mirror. He looked frail and uncertain and any attempt to convey independence and confidence was betrayed by a very visible scar that ran down the centre of his face. I realised I had lost a part of myself in the process of fighting my cancer and I thought I might never get it back. All the optimism in the world would never make me whole again. All the goals and ambitions couldn't change the fact that my mortality was as plainly obvious as the nose on my face.
But I've discovered that what matters more is that I have gained far more than I lost. My respect for the humanity of others increased tenfold thanks to the unprecedented generosity and support of my family and friends. My profound admiration for the dedication and selflessness of the medical community inspired me to be a better person. My newfound appreciation for the fragility of life prompted me to tell those around me how I feel and it focused my motivation on achieving my goals. The experience taught me that for all I had lost, I had still been given some precious gifts to share. The power of positive thinking is now more important to me than ever but not in the sense that we humans have special healing abilities. No, the power of my positive thinking pushes me to leave the world a bit better than I found it because we are all fighting the battle of our lives every day. There will always be those who face challenges greater and smaller than you or me. None of us know what lies ahead and the beauty of this thing called life is how much more precious it can become once you are aware of how fragile it is.
My battle with cancer continues. It is no more and no less relevant than any other battle, but it has taught me to live in the present, to love more and to work harder. I have the luxury of working in a position that grants me a louder voice than others. I am a radio broadcaster and as such I will advocate for others who can't speak as loudly. I am a young man and as such, I will work hard to achieve my goals while doing my best to lead by positive example. I am engaged to a beautiful woman and as such I will honour her until my last breath. I am a good friend who has received the love of good friends and as such I will be there to return the favour whenever it might be needed. My battle with cancer continues and it makes me stronger everyday. Courage is founded in belief that you are doing the right thing. Working together to fight cancer, supporting each other and learning from the experience are all good things.
For whatever reason you've come here to read these blogs I hope they have given you something useful. Good luck to you and yours.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Treatment Options
The funny thing about getting healthy is how most of it isn't funny at all. In fact a good deal of it is downright unpleasant. The part that no one really warns you about is how treatment and follow-up care is actually harder to deal with than the diagnosis, the surgery or the emotional trauma. I'm sure it varies for everyone but the one constant is the ever present nature of treatment. It doesn't matter if you're prescribed radiation or chemotherapy or a combination of the two; the one fundamental truth of the process is that it will be a lengthy and on-going ordeal and the effects of fatigue and pain are cumulative. Doctors, nurses, therapists and other specialists do their best to warn you. They try to explain that everything will feel fine at first and then it will gradually become more and more difficult. But most do so with the sincerity and credibility that I would have trying to talk someone through landing a jumbo jet. You see, I've never flown a plane so my advice wouldn't carry much weight.
So you can prepare for the inevitable and you can remind yourself of why you must endure the process, but in the end there will be days when you question everything.
For me, the questions began to fly about mid-way through my radiation treatment. For those who are unfamiliar with the process, radiation has the effect of slowly killing cells in a prescribed area. The drawback is that as many healthy cells die in the process as diseased cells but the procedure is based upon the theory that the good cells will regenerate whereas the sick cells will not. After undergoing 13 of the 33 treatments I was prescribed, I called the hospital and told them I would not be coming back for treatment number 14. I said I was having second thoughts about continuing the process because the side effects were taking a heavy toll and I was concerned about the long-term implications of what we were doing. My concern was prompted by a shockingly sudden loss of ability to taste anything. It was as though my tongue had simply been removed and I couldn't enjoy the simple pleasure of eating. That concern turned into outright fear when the lack of sensation was replaced by a foul and rotten taste that made it virtually impossible to eat. In addition to that, my skin was becoming severely and painfully irritated, I had no fewer than a dozen canker sores and my sense of smell was being affected. The radiation to my head and neck was damaging nerves in and around my mouth and I came to the conclusion that I wasn't prepared to live if every single meal was going to feel like torture. I began researching the side effects of head and neck radiation online and discovered that I would face a lifetime of mouth ulcers, increased likelihood of cavities, gum damage, tooth loss and vocal cord damage. I was keenly aware of the rarity and seriousness of my condition and that I had to do everything in my power to ensure the cancer was gone. But at what price? At what point do you exchange living for existing? How far into that compromise was I prepared to reach?
So once again, I turned to the realm of social media for guidance. I figured I had shared so much of myself with my friends via our online relationship that maybe it was time I asked them to reciprocate.
And boy did they.
So today I share with you not my own blog entry, but rather what my friends shared with me. Sympathetic, cautious and hypothetical as were most of the responses, those who wrote to me that day will never understand the depth of gratitude I have for their thoughts. I asked an impossible question and what I got in return was some of the most sound advice I could have hoped for.
September 21, 2009:
K.S. wrote "Would stopping radiation now really give it a better chance of it coming back, or would it put your life at greater risk? This is YOUR tour on this Earth. I really think you are precious and I know that others who love you feel the same. We want you in our lives for as long as possible. You may not be able to smell the air after a rainfall, but you would still be able to feel the air on your skin and listen to the birds singing and roll down the grassy hill and see the world around you."
O.W. wrote "At the risk of giving incredibly bad advice, I would knock it on the head and hope for the best."
J.H. wrote "Pretty tough question to answer my friend. I'm not sure that anyone really knows what they would do until faced with it. I will say that whatever you decide will be right for you and I will support your decision. I can say that seeing a bit of what it is like just from being around you that not tasting things is a lot worse than many people might think. In the end you are in charge of you. "
A.S. wrote "My personal opinion is - you should ask yourself how badly you want to be here and if the answer is that you want to be around then you should follow the specialist's advice on how to do just that."
S.G. wrote "I don't think there is a wrong choice either way. It's just a tough choice. A doctor's job is to keep you alive as long as possible. Your job is to choose how you want to live. Not many here are willing to offer what they would do for fear of it changing your mind with possible negative results. People make smart choices based on facts. You have none to base this on other than success percentage, and even that's not a guarantee. It's like asking what day will I die on and what will kill me? Booze, smokes, red meat a bus or heart attack. Who knows. We can't choose the way we die, only how we live. How do you want to live?"
G.E. wrote "The world has a plethora of possibilities that go beyond taste and smell. There are wonderful sights left to see. There are unbelievable sounds to hear. There are friendships and family.
I don't know what I would do. But I know that, despite the losses, there is a worse fate. In truth, it is you who must overcome those loses and learn to get by without them if they remain permanent. The question really is about your willingness to take on that fight. And you, sir, are a fighter. Not an easy choice. Be well Greg, I'll support whatever decision you make."
---
There were many, many more entries encouraging continued radiation and advising against it but all promised to support whatever decision I made in the end. I chose these six messages because they resonated with me the most. Some in their simplicity and some in their underlying wisdom. I opted to return to treatment the following day and finish the course of 33 radiation treatments as had been prescribed because in the end there are no guarantees for anything in life. The loss of taste, the pain and the long-term side-effects might all have continued with or without the treatment but the one certainty I had was that my chances of getting sick again would be greater. My friends gave back to me that which I had lost along the way; my perspective. They reminded me of the scope of my problem and the gravity of the choices to be made. Mostly they reminded me that we are all fragile, sometimes indecisive and always vulnerable but we are never alone. Whether in grief or in support, never be afraid to reach out with your hand, you might be surprised by who reaches back.
So you can prepare for the inevitable and you can remind yourself of why you must endure the process, but in the end there will be days when you question everything.
For me, the questions began to fly about mid-way through my radiation treatment. For those who are unfamiliar with the process, radiation has the effect of slowly killing cells in a prescribed area. The drawback is that as many healthy cells die in the process as diseased cells but the procedure is based upon the theory that the good cells will regenerate whereas the sick cells will not. After undergoing 13 of the 33 treatments I was prescribed, I called the hospital and told them I would not be coming back for treatment number 14. I said I was having second thoughts about continuing the process because the side effects were taking a heavy toll and I was concerned about the long-term implications of what we were doing. My concern was prompted by a shockingly sudden loss of ability to taste anything. It was as though my tongue had simply been removed and I couldn't enjoy the simple pleasure of eating. That concern turned into outright fear when the lack of sensation was replaced by a foul and rotten taste that made it virtually impossible to eat. In addition to that, my skin was becoming severely and painfully irritated, I had no fewer than a dozen canker sores and my sense of smell was being affected. The radiation to my head and neck was damaging nerves in and around my mouth and I came to the conclusion that I wasn't prepared to live if every single meal was going to feel like torture. I began researching the side effects of head and neck radiation online and discovered that I would face a lifetime of mouth ulcers, increased likelihood of cavities, gum damage, tooth loss and vocal cord damage. I was keenly aware of the rarity and seriousness of my condition and that I had to do everything in my power to ensure the cancer was gone. But at what price? At what point do you exchange living for existing? How far into that compromise was I prepared to reach?
So once again, I turned to the realm of social media for guidance. I figured I had shared so much of myself with my friends via our online relationship that maybe it was time I asked them to reciprocate.
And boy did they.
So today I share with you not my own blog entry, but rather what my friends shared with me. Sympathetic, cautious and hypothetical as were most of the responses, those who wrote to me that day will never understand the depth of gratitude I have for their thoughts. I asked an impossible question and what I got in return was some of the most sound advice I could have hoped for.
September 21, 2009:
K.S. wrote "Would stopping radiation now really give it a better chance of it coming back, or would it put your life at greater risk? This is YOUR tour on this Earth. I really think you are precious and I know that others who love you feel the same. We want you in our lives for as long as possible. You may not be able to smell the air after a rainfall, but you would still be able to feel the air on your skin and listen to the birds singing and roll down the grassy hill and see the world around you."
O.W. wrote "At the risk of giving incredibly bad advice, I would knock it on the head and hope for the best."
J.H. wrote "Pretty tough question to answer my friend. I'm not sure that anyone really knows what they would do until faced with it. I will say that whatever you decide will be right for you and I will support your decision. I can say that seeing a bit of what it is like just from being around you that not tasting things is a lot worse than many people might think. In the end you are in charge of you. "
A.S. wrote "My personal opinion is - you should ask yourself how badly you want to be here and if the answer is that you want to be around then you should follow the specialist's advice on how to do just that."
S.G. wrote "I don't think there is a wrong choice either way. It's just a tough choice. A doctor's job is to keep you alive as long as possible. Your job is to choose how you want to live. Not many here are willing to offer what they would do for fear of it changing your mind with possible negative results. People make smart choices based on facts. You have none to base this on other than success percentage, and even that's not a guarantee. It's like asking what day will I die on and what will kill me? Booze, smokes, red meat a bus or heart attack. Who knows. We can't choose the way we die, only how we live. How do you want to live?"
G.E. wrote "The world has a plethora of possibilities that go beyond taste and smell. There are wonderful sights left to see. There are unbelievable sounds to hear. There are friendships and family.
I don't know what I would do. But I know that, despite the losses, there is a worse fate. In truth, it is you who must overcome those loses and learn to get by without them if they remain permanent. The question really is about your willingness to take on that fight. And you, sir, are a fighter. Not an easy choice. Be well Greg, I'll support whatever decision you make."
---
There were many, many more entries encouraging continued radiation and advising against it but all promised to support whatever decision I made in the end. I chose these six messages because they resonated with me the most. Some in their simplicity and some in their underlying wisdom. I opted to return to treatment the following day and finish the course of 33 radiation treatments as had been prescribed because in the end there are no guarantees for anything in life. The loss of taste, the pain and the long-term side-effects might all have continued with or without the treatment but the one certainty I had was that my chances of getting sick again would be greater. My friends gave back to me that which I had lost along the way; my perspective. They reminded me of the scope of my problem and the gravity of the choices to be made. Mostly they reminded me that we are all fragile, sometimes indecisive and always vulnerable but we are never alone. Whether in grief or in support, never be afraid to reach out with your hand, you might be surprised by who reaches back.
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