Hey everyone,
My blog is taking a snow day today. There is a ton of snow in Vancouver and I am completely exhausted. I will be back on Sunday per usual though!
Take care!
-Eamonn
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Sunday, 16 December 2012
Remission, a Perfect Word
I find the word "remission" an interesting and probably perfect choice for someone who has gone through cancer treatment.
From what I have seen, the doctors at my hospital, don't use the word "cure" very often. Even though the cancer I had, Ewings sarcoma, was "curable", and I believe I have been cured, no one really knows for sure. It is just the nature of the beast. Some treatments work well, some not so well for all types of cancers, but sometimes treatment just doesn't work, and sometimes it works better than expected.
After going through chemo, radiation and surgery, even though the cancer is no longer visible, and no longer there, I don't know if I will ever be "cured" of the side effects. I think this is why remission is such a perfect, or appropriate word. I still think about getting sick, still have lingering side effects, and although my cancer is gone, it is still a part of my mentality.
I think this is the case for many cancer survivors and caregivers as well. It may be gone, as far as you can tell, but you never really know. I wish we could all be cured but for now I will take remission, it is certainly not a "bad" word, and to me, I think it perfectly describes the "almost back to normal, but never quite normal" way I feel. I am in remission, and although not perfect, it is perfect for me these days.
From what I have seen, the doctors at my hospital, don't use the word "cure" very often. Even though the cancer I had, Ewings sarcoma, was "curable", and I believe I have been cured, no one really knows for sure. It is just the nature of the beast. Some treatments work well, some not so well for all types of cancers, but sometimes treatment just doesn't work, and sometimes it works better than expected.
After going through chemo, radiation and surgery, even though the cancer is no longer visible, and no longer there, I don't know if I will ever be "cured" of the side effects. I think this is why remission is such a perfect, or appropriate word. I still think about getting sick, still have lingering side effects, and although my cancer is gone, it is still a part of my mentality.
I think this is the case for many cancer survivors and caregivers as well. It may be gone, as far as you can tell, but you never really know. I wish we could all be cured but for now I will take remission, it is certainly not a "bad" word, and to me, I think it perfectly describes the "almost back to normal, but never quite normal" way I feel. I am in remission, and although not perfect, it is perfect for me these days.
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
Being Proud of my Body
I am proud of my body. I am not particularly the strongest or fittest man in the world. But I put my body through hell and it came out with me on the right side of things. I never treated it the best, sometimes I ate or drank too much, or didn't give it the exercise it deserved, but I won't look at it the same way after cancer.
Little things that I never thought I would be proud of. My veins deserve an award. The amount of chemo that went through them and the scaring that has followed. They were so beat up at one point that I could not straighten my arms without pain. They are getting better now.
I am proud of my skin. Chemo sure does dry it out, while radiation made it blister and burn. Must be worth than traveling through the desert without water. The amount of skin cream I used to keep it in tolerable shape was probably worth a small fortune. All that is left now is some patches where the radiation goes went where there used to be some hair.
I am proud of my leg and hip. Particularly proud if I do say so. These were the areas that were attacked by Ewings Sarcoma. And although I lost bits of my body, some muscle, some fat, they too proved how strong and resilient they were. They didn't ask for this but who does? my leg will always be badly scarred but now it is a source of pride for me. I fought hard to stop the cancer in my body, and although it will be a constant reminder of many painful days it also serves as my motivation to keep going.
I am proud of my stomach. The amount of drugs it had to deal with, and as sick as it felt some days, it came through for me too. It tolerated what it could (which some days wasn't much) but it did what it could.
I am proud of my brain. It kept telling me to keep going, and kept things from falling apart. Kept convincing me that this was the right thing to do and not to quit. Even though I had battered everything it was connected too. Letting me know that everything would be better, whether I believed it or not.
My body is truly amazing is what I have learned from all this. The ability of a body to heal and deal with trauma I don't think I ever really understood until this. I will always be grateful for what it did for me. I will still eat too much and drink too much sometimes, but I will treat it better now, and I will always be proud of it. I still have a long way to go to get where it deserves, but we are getting there, and most importantly, we will.
Little things that I never thought I would be proud of. My veins deserve an award. The amount of chemo that went through them and the scaring that has followed. They were so beat up at one point that I could not straighten my arms without pain. They are getting better now.
I am proud of my skin. Chemo sure does dry it out, while radiation made it blister and burn. Must be worth than traveling through the desert without water. The amount of skin cream I used to keep it in tolerable shape was probably worth a small fortune. All that is left now is some patches where the radiation goes went where there used to be some hair.
I am proud of my leg and hip. Particularly proud if I do say so. These were the areas that were attacked by Ewings Sarcoma. And although I lost bits of my body, some muscle, some fat, they too proved how strong and resilient they were. They didn't ask for this but who does? my leg will always be badly scarred but now it is a source of pride for me. I fought hard to stop the cancer in my body, and although it will be a constant reminder of many painful days it also serves as my motivation to keep going.
I am proud of my stomach. The amount of drugs it had to deal with, and as sick as it felt some days, it came through for me too. It tolerated what it could (which some days wasn't much) but it did what it could.
I am proud of my brain. It kept telling me to keep going, and kept things from falling apart. Kept convincing me that this was the right thing to do and not to quit. Even though I had battered everything it was connected too. Letting me know that everything would be better, whether I believed it or not.
 |
| Me in Hawaii about seven months after treatment |
Sunday, 9 December 2012
Living in the chemo ward
There are two ways to get chemotherapy that I know of from an IV like me, as an in patient or an outpatient.
I had both ways, but I found in patient to be much more difficult to deal with. As an out patient at least I could go feel like garbage at home.
I didn't have a lot of visitors when I was an In patient. I got used to being without a lot of people around me, and only Sara and the nursing staff to keep me company. Sara was great, she made sure I never spent a night in the chemo ward alone. For whatever reason, patients didn't seem to talk too much to one another. Not much to say I guess. It may have been the age gap. Everyone except one guy was older then me, by a wide margin. I don't view this as a bad thing. I will never forget the first day I was in the chemo ward, someone came in with a fever/infection and died a few hours later. This would set the tone for the fear for me with every chemo treatment and every infection I had. The. mans mother crying and screaming is something I won't ever forget
I found it really hard being in the chemo ward, but I won't complain about it. Some people had to stay much longer than me. Some people were there for weeks, or even months at a time. I am sure some people I met never left. That is the saddest part. I had to stay five days at a time, longer if I got sick. the first day in was always really long, blood tests, meeting with the doctors. Making sure I was in good enough shape to get the chemo. Some days you weren't. It was really hard to go home and prepare yourself mentally again for the next week. But even though these days were long, the week itself was really more difficult. Thursday was the worst. Knowing I only had one more day to go. I always wanted to leave so bad. My doctor would let me leave for an hour or so when I finished chemo each day, it was the best part of my day. Sometimes I would get out at breakfast too if chemo was delayed, it felt like escaping from prison.
I always had to go in when I got sick too in their emergency room. This would usually end up with another three to four day stay. This happened basically happen a week after every chemo treatment, save a few times. I never felt like it was an "emergency" but when you have a fever and people are calling in doctors from their homes at midnight, as much as you don't want to believe it is serious, you know it is. I was usually too sick to care though. The chemo ward is depressing is easily the most depressing place I have ever been. The smell, the pain, it was hard. I have gone back though, stepping back onto that floor, after all I had been through, it was tough, but as I volunteer there now, i do it on my own terms, which makes it manageable. I am not scared of it any more.
I am glad for the people that work their though, they are easily some of the most dedicated and important people I have ever met. They were professional, honest, and organized! I could not imagine how busy and difficult that job must be!
I spent the better part of half a year in the chemo ward. It is one of the biggest things that drives me to continue to volunteer and fundraise and help people who are there, and keep people from having to go there. I look forward to a day where the chemo ward is not a prison for anyone, and is completely unnecessary.
I had both ways, but I found in patient to be much more difficult to deal with. As an out patient at least I could go feel like garbage at home.
I didn't have a lot of visitors when I was an In patient. I got used to being without a lot of people around me, and only Sara and the nursing staff to keep me company. Sara was great, she made sure I never spent a night in the chemo ward alone. For whatever reason, patients didn't seem to talk too much to one another. Not much to say I guess. It may have been the age gap. Everyone except one guy was older then me, by a wide margin. I don't view this as a bad thing. I will never forget the first day I was in the chemo ward, someone came in with a fever/infection and died a few hours later. This would set the tone for the fear for me with every chemo treatment and every infection I had. The. mans mother crying and screaming is something I won't ever forget
I found it really hard being in the chemo ward, but I won't complain about it. Some people had to stay much longer than me. Some people were there for weeks, or even months at a time. I am sure some people I met never left. That is the saddest part. I had to stay five days at a time, longer if I got sick. the first day in was always really long, blood tests, meeting with the doctors. Making sure I was in good enough shape to get the chemo. Some days you weren't. It was really hard to go home and prepare yourself mentally again for the next week. But even though these days were long, the week itself was really more difficult. Thursday was the worst. Knowing I only had one more day to go. I always wanted to leave so bad. My doctor would let me leave for an hour or so when I finished chemo each day, it was the best part of my day. Sometimes I would get out at breakfast too if chemo was delayed, it felt like escaping from prison.
I always had to go in when I got sick too in their emergency room. This would usually end up with another three to four day stay. This happened basically happen a week after every chemo treatment, save a few times. I never felt like it was an "emergency" but when you have a fever and people are calling in doctors from their homes at midnight, as much as you don't want to believe it is serious, you know it is. I was usually too sick to care though. The chemo ward is depressing is easily the most depressing place I have ever been. The smell, the pain, it was hard. I have gone back though, stepping back onto that floor, after all I had been through, it was tough, but as I volunteer there now, i do it on my own terms, which makes it manageable. I am not scared of it any more.
I am glad for the people that work their though, they are easily some of the most dedicated and important people I have ever met. They were professional, honest, and organized! I could not imagine how busy and difficult that job must be!
I spent the better part of half a year in the chemo ward. It is one of the biggest things that drives me to continue to volunteer and fundraise and help people who are there, and keep people from having to go there. I look forward to a day where the chemo ward is not a prison for anyone, and is completely unnecessary.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
My "Cancerversary"
Today was my one year checkup after a year of treatment of Ewings Sarcoma.
I am one year free of cancer, and a solid year in remission. This is probably the biggest thing I have accomplished in my life.
It has been a wild two years. From diagnosis to treatment to everything in between and after. All the side effects and all the emotion was crazy. I still find it really hard to think about but needless to say this was a milestone day for me.
For the first time in a long time I fell "better". It was great to see the look on my doctors faces, telling me my tests look excellent and that we can start spreading out check ups further apart (from 3 months to 4). Not a huge step and I am sure I will still worry about aches and pains and freak out from time to time (hopefully less frequently!) but a step forward none the less.
The other day I saw this comic strip on XKCD and I was amazed at how accurate it was describing what I went through, its called "Two years".
I am still alive, and still doing science (chemistry is my job after all!) But I really liked this, I actually cried a bit when I first saw it. it hit so close to home.
I am keeping it short today, my family is visiting, it is a big day for all of us. I have never been prouder to be a survivor then I am today.
I am one year free of cancer, and a solid year in remission. This is probably the biggest thing I have accomplished in my life.
It has been a wild two years. From diagnosis to treatment to everything in between and after. All the side effects and all the emotion was crazy. I still find it really hard to think about but needless to say this was a milestone day for me.
For the first time in a long time I fell "better". It was great to see the look on my doctors faces, telling me my tests look excellent and that we can start spreading out check ups further apart (from 3 months to 4). Not a huge step and I am sure I will still worry about aches and pains and freak out from time to time (hopefully less frequently!) but a step forward none the less.
The other day I saw this comic strip on XKCD and I was amazed at how accurate it was describing what I went through, its called "Two years".
I am keeping it short today, my family is visiting, it is a big day for all of us. I have never been prouder to be a survivor then I am today.
Sunday, 2 December 2012
My First "Cancer" Speech
This previous week, while I am still waiting for test results, I was asked to give a speech by Dr. Dave Perrin (UBC Chemistry, Cancer imaging agents) to the department at the holiday party to raise awareness for the "Ride to Conquer Cancer" that I (along with many others do). So I decided this blog post would be that speech. I can't believe how hard it was to give while I am still waiting for test results.
It was received very well, except one person that told me I shouldn't talk about cancer at a holiday party because "It is too depressing to think about sick people at Christmas". To which I responded, some people don't have the choice. Anyways, here it is, I think it went well.
It was received very well, except one person that told me I shouldn't talk about cancer at a holiday party because "It is too depressing to think about sick people at Christmas". To which I responded, some people don't have the choice. Anyways, here it is, I think it went well.
Hello and Good evening,
For those of you who don’t know
me, my name is Eamonn Conrad and I am a post-Doctoral fellow in Derek Gates lab
here at UBC. I like to start by thanking Dr. Perrin for giving me the
opportunity to speak at this great event tonight. I thought a lot about what I
was going to say tonight, but realized that I mainly would like to thank the
department for its support.
As many of you know, in January
2011 I was diagnosed with cancer (Ewings Sarcoma) and took a one year leave of absence to get
treatment at the BC Cancer Agency. This holiday party marks my one year anniversary
of returning to work. The support I received while on leave from the department,
were second to none. To me, it is moments of support like this that define
people and the places they work in, more so than any course offered, degree
granted or publication ever could. I am proud to work in a department where
support is always there for its students and colleagues in their time of need.
While in treatment I made it a
personal goal to give back to the research that saved my life, as well as many
others, and found a way to do this through The Ride to Conquer Cancer. This past June I rode my bike from Vancouver
to Seattle fundraising for the BC Cancer Foundation. I raised almost $5000 personally,
and the event raised $11.2 million for cancer research, making it the biggest
and most successful fundraiser of its type in Canada. I would like to thank
everyone in the department who donated last year. I am happy to report that
your dollars helped with some of the most recent breakthroughs in breast
cancer. Oncologists at the BCCA have discovered that breast cancer is not four
types of cancer as previously thought, but at
least 10. Though at the surface this
may seem troubling, this is allowing for more specific treatment to many people
and most importantly, saving people’s lives.
The Ride to Conquer Cancer not
only changed my life but no doubt saved it. Last Year, I rode for myself to
thank those who helped me. This year I have started my own team getting more
people involved and we are riding for everyone who cannot, so people will not
lose friends and family to this disease. I am riding because it makes a
difference. Many of you have already joined me in this fight – professors,
students, and even the CGSS with your donations and I am asking for others to
join as well because together we truly can make a difference in the lives of so
many people. Most importantly, this ride
gives people hope, which is really what the holidays are all about.
If you’re interested, please come
talk to me about it and join the fight - I would be happy to get anyone
involved, and don’t worry about contact info for it, I will be sending out
emails throughout the year! I hope tonight that I have convinced more of you to
take up this fight with me. Thank you again for those who already have
committed to this year, it is greatly appreciated, and to all the previous
donors who help make this event a success. My last request of tonight is that over
this holiday season reflect on what is important to you. If you feel this isn’t
the cause for you, I encourage you to find a cause this year that you are
passionate about and will make a difference in people’s lives. I guarantee you
will find it rewarding, and it will make a positive impact in peoples lives. I
will end with this, advice from one of Canadas and the CBCs comedian “Red
Green”, “keep your stick on the ice, we’re all in this together”.
Thank you.
Eamonn Conrad (www.conquercancer.ca/goto/eamonnc)
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
Losing your hair and yourself a bit too
Hey world, this is going to be a short one this week, I have my checkup this week, so not much time to write.
Most chemo treatments make your hair fall out. This I was prepared for.
Or so I thought.
The first round of chemo treatments no hair fell out. I thought this was a big success and that it would just gradually fall out over time. The first few weeks went by and it was still quite strongly bound to my head.
My second chemo treatment was quite a different experience. It was a different set of drugs and I found it hard to believe but my hair started falling out in clumps off the top of my head within half an hour. My pillow was covered. It is not something I like to think about. Some hair held on, but the drive home from the hospital it fell out a bit more in the car. When I changed my clothes my chest hair fell out. Although a smooth chest is some guys dream, this was not something I was looking forward to.
Hair falling out everywhere. I tried to "hang on" to as much as I could but it was a losing battle, so I armed myself with my trimmers and cut it all off the top of my head. As a guy this wasn't a huge deal, I don't style my hair per se, I felt I looked a bit weird bald but it wasn't terrible. I can only imagine how a women feels, or a guy who cares about his hair for that matter.
What I wasn't prepared for, and something I never really thought about was when my eyebrows and eye lashes fell out. When this happened it was obvious to the world I was sick. I always liked hiding from people that I was undergoing chemo but I couldn't anymore. It was one of the things that made me feel super self conscious. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror most days. I didn't see myself anymore. Just some sick hairless pasty thing. I have been told that loss of identity is a common problem chemo patients have. So if you have this problem, you are not alone. I just stopped looking in the mirror and pretended everything was fine most days, and that I looked fine, even though I didn't.
As chemo went on, my treatments got spread out more. My eye lashes would grow in a bit, fall out again, the cycle was really hard to deal with mentally. Eventually though, as I finished chemo, my hair grew back...and then fell out again. Apparently this happens to a lot of chemo patients too, something I wasn't aware of. It is one final slap in the face.
But my hair did grow back. It was very mentally tough to wait it out coming back. It didn't grow back as full, and my facial hair is patchy, but it was a real sign that I was recovering.
I won't soon forget what it felt like to lose all my hair, and the mental trauma it causes. But at the end of the day, I needed the treatment, so I can't complain too much. That is basically how I deal with those thoughts in my memory these days.
Most chemo treatments make your hair fall out. This I was prepared for.
Or so I thought.
The first round of chemo treatments no hair fell out. I thought this was a big success and that it would just gradually fall out over time. The first few weeks went by and it was still quite strongly bound to my head.
My second chemo treatment was quite a different experience. It was a different set of drugs and I found it hard to believe but my hair started falling out in clumps off the top of my head within half an hour. My pillow was covered. It is not something I like to think about. Some hair held on, but the drive home from the hospital it fell out a bit more in the car. When I changed my clothes my chest hair fell out. Although a smooth chest is some guys dream, this was not something I was looking forward to.
Hair falling out everywhere. I tried to "hang on" to as much as I could but it was a losing battle, so I armed myself with my trimmers and cut it all off the top of my head. As a guy this wasn't a huge deal, I don't style my hair per se, I felt I looked a bit weird bald but it wasn't terrible. I can only imagine how a women feels, or a guy who cares about his hair for that matter.
What I wasn't prepared for, and something I never really thought about was when my eyebrows and eye lashes fell out. When this happened it was obvious to the world I was sick. I always liked hiding from people that I was undergoing chemo but I couldn't anymore. It was one of the things that made me feel super self conscious. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror most days. I didn't see myself anymore. Just some sick hairless pasty thing. I have been told that loss of identity is a common problem chemo patients have. So if you have this problem, you are not alone. I just stopped looking in the mirror and pretended everything was fine most days, and that I looked fine, even though I didn't.
As chemo went on, my treatments got spread out more. My eye lashes would grow in a bit, fall out again, the cycle was really hard to deal with mentally. Eventually though, as I finished chemo, my hair grew back...and then fell out again. Apparently this happens to a lot of chemo patients too, something I wasn't aware of. It is one final slap in the face.
But my hair did grow back. It was very mentally tough to wait it out coming back. It didn't grow back as full, and my facial hair is patchy, but it was a real sign that I was recovering.
I won't soon forget what it felt like to lose all my hair, and the mental trauma it causes. But at the end of the day, I needed the treatment, so I can't complain too much. That is basically how I deal with those thoughts in my memory these days.
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