The Bionic Man

Or is it the bionic woman and the ten million dollar man?  Either way, the guy has a new hip, titanium this time. It's known as a total hip arthroplasty, which consists of replacing both the acetabulum and the femoral head.  It is titanium and was cemeted in, which is apparently more common in Europe than in Canada -- this method was chosen so that there would be a stronger adherence to the bone, which is somewhat deteriorated by lesions due to the movement of the cancer cells out of the prostate area.

As I described in the summer, Tom is more than hilarious when he's in recovery -- apparently morphine, or whichever derivative they use when patients come out of surgery, agrees with him.  No cares in the world... he was floating, or zooming, along the ceiling apparently, and it was more than fun.  And there was much laughter, AND he proposed to one of the nurses.  Blonde, he tells me, "Just a cougar from Transcona" -- but I wasn't there to witness it.  Sister wives, anyone?

He was up and walking, with a walker, the day after.  They've removed all the wires and tubes, and he's been diligent about getting around.  Got himself down to the Tim Horton's in the hospital the second day for a coffee, mostly to alleviate the boredom, the waiting.  Lots of hurry up and wait, he said. 

The first day he was in the waiting mode last week was Wednesday.  I took him to check in at Concordia Hospital, which has a strong Mennonite connection as it was started by Mennonite immigrants from Russia in 1928.  My mom (Susanna) worked there (in a different location) in the summer of 1950, when she was 15 -- she dusted, wiped down beds, set tables, and helped out in the kitchen.  Aunt Herta was working there as a nurse, and cousin Judy (Voth) Hack was born there but they would not let mom visit her new niece...   Tom was taken to St. Boniface hospital that afternoon for an embolization, which is a procedure that shuts down blood flow to a particular part of the body, in this case a peri-acetabular metastasis.  The procedure went smoothly; Tom reported some pain when the catheter was removed from the vein, but the collagen plug was inserted successfully.  This is important because the surgery the next day included removal of the tumour as well as the hip replacement, and can minimize bleeding to the area.  And yes, the surgeon removed the tumour in the area, which was smaller than they thought.  So everything continues to move forward.

He'll be home either today or tomorrow, and we are looking forward to having him back.

HANDS

Full confession... this was written for the writer's circle part of my ELA class this autumn.  Just handed in that assignment last weekend, so now I want to share...

My great-aunt Helena never thought she would live into old age when they hauled her away to coal mines in Siberia.  Her hands dug coal from below the earth’s surface when she was 15. 

My great grandfather Peter built a house with his hands when he was in his 70s, having been allowed to enter Canada as a DP in 1951. He built a house when he was 75.  From scratch.  That's quite the retirement plan!

My great grandmother Margarete was a bone setter.  Her hands could change something in a body and make it whole.  She cured a boy with two club feet when she was a young woman.  In the early 1900s, it would have been a death sentence not to walk.

My grandfather Johannes made objects with his hands.  We still have a rolling pin he made.  A tin cup. Tools. This is a gift and his skill ensured their survival.  In 2012, not many people know how to make what they need to survive.

My father Peter’s hands were huge.  They certainly struck fear into me when he used them to spank.  They could fix vehicles (his profession), build anything (two houses, several decks, sheds, garages, you name it).  If he had been given a chance at education instead of being pulled out of school he could have healed people.  He had a gift with those hands.

My mother Susanna’s hands are gnarled with arthritis.  She has big hands too. They made, they make.  They write. They still do what she needs them to do, but sometimes they drop things. Who would have thought my mother would become crippled with arthritis?  She was eternally youthful, energetic, focused on helping others. She makes beauty in our family with her creations and manages history with her words. She is a memory keeper.

 

My husband Tom is a potter.  A ceramic artist.  His hands make beautiful functional clay objects.  He wants to be doing this into his old age, but right now he is dealing with stage 4 cancer that has metastasized to his bones.  He has the muscle memory of making ceramics and when he works at his wheel, his hands know what to do.

My hands, Brigitte’s hands, are practical and real. As a mother, as a woman, as a student, my hands are important.  I use them to hold, draw closer, make food, clean our home, make and mend clothes, explain activities and actions, and to guide my young. My hands can love; my hands can harm. My hands can hold a steering wheel, a needle, a pen, a wooden spoon, touch a computer keyboard and piano keys. My hands are powerful. 

My daughter Nicole’s hands don’t always do what she wants them to do. She struggles with printing.  She struggled with tying shoe laces.  Those hands finally figured it out. (Her brain figured it out.)  They can print; they can draw. Shoe laces are no longer a major challenge. Those hands are small and sweet, just like grandmother Sadie’s, who used her hands to heal and to apply red lipstick.  She was a nurse, a career woman when  most women worked in the home.

My sons, Kai and Gabriel, have hands that are capable of doing almost anything.  Piano, violin, pens and pencils, computers, bikes, drawing, writing, making, fixing, creating.  Gifts from the past into the future.  How blessed they are.  Use your hands for the good, I say.

Who bestows these blessings?  Who bestows the challenges? Do we have to own it, say it, thank for it, curse for it?  Who knows what we will get?  Our hands. What they can do.  What they will do.

Sexy Cancer Campaigns -- Sexy Prostate Cancer Campaigns?

I listened to The Current on my way to work yesterday, and wondered what it would be like if prostate, or testicular, cancer campaigns were sexualized the way the breast cancer campaigns have been.  The big question was if the campaigns are saving lives or saving breasts.  I listened to the story with a mindset focused on Tom, who is dealing with metastasized prostate cancer.  I wonder what would happen if similar tactics would be applied to cancers that have a more male focus -- such as prostate or testicular cancer.  It would be great to raise awareness -- no one should be ashamed of the kind of cancer they have when they start to work toward regaining health and getting rid of the cancer.  

Would a similar approach for the more male focused cancers resonate (or "swing", or "stand up erectly", if I can put it where it is) with men and their partners?  The sexy breast cancer campaigns include voice-overs by men talking about breasts and photos of attractive female bodies, focused on female breasts.  We live in a society that celebrates and reveres female breasts but doesn't celebrate prostates, testicles or penises as openly.  ... or at all.... The Movember movement has created a vehicle to raise awareness, raise funds, and create new ways to think about prostate cancer and mental health. And we get to see a lot of men with more hair on their faces than usual... at least until they have to take the anti-androgen drugs that are the first line of defense against the spread of prostate cancer.  Then one of the side effects is hair loss... oh well, that sounds bleak. 

Tom needs to talk about his particular "ish" (as he calls them), although not all the time, and he has found a local support group through CancerCare Manitoba.  It's more than important to get all the issues out into the open.  We could save lives that way.  Any way we can help people feel less embarrassed about any cancer that has links to our bodily functions is good.  I think that getting it out there will make people feel more like they still belong to a world that celebrates sexuality.  As adults that's an important part of our being.  People might feel neutered (in the words of the prostate literature), or less feminine, because of things done to remove cancers; we all want to feel sexy and real and engaged.  Healthy.  And alive.

Giving Thanks

I am thinking about why I should give thanks, given the season we enter.    

This has been a miserable/grumpy week for me, if I can be so personal.  This is how it felt: There is nothing that happened in the last while that is about my life, about me, or is helping me progress to something I want.  There... it's out.  And it's completely selfish. I spend my time driving people from here to there.  I wait while they do things. I slog away at homework for my courses. The second I enter the house, there is a demand.  The dog follows me around, waiting for more love.  And don't get me started on work.  Every time I think things have progressed to a new stage, or we work on new ideas, there's a roadblock.

And then I took a step sideways -- this is life.  The life that I wanted.  The life that I got.  And this life is rich enough that there are the demands, there are the requests, there is the dynamic of ongoing relationships, and yes, there's the dog who is loyal, faithful, and demanding. The three kids continue to progress in their own areas -- they are making excellent choices, they are supported by teachers and schools who care about them, they challenge things where they need to be challenged, and they love us right back.

Someone in Cancer Care Manitoba listened to Tom and took his case to a group meeting where they discussed what to do about the pain in his acetabulum (big word for pelvic girdle).  They see this situation as urgent, given that it has been eroded by cancer cells, causes him serious pain, and could degenerate enough to be dangerous for his physical stability.  So they are recommending a hip replacement.  This is a big step.  But they have to do it first before they can radiate the area, as once radiation takes place, the bone is effectively killed.  And then you can't do the replacement. The fact that this physician listened is something we can be thankful for.  

We have plans to drive to our cottage to enjoy it for one last weekend with running water -- the water gets turned off some time after the Thanksgiving weekend.  And then it's a bit less fun, even though we go.  Thanks for that little cottage in the bush.  It's beautiful, and it's cosy, and it's where the kids have grown up, from babyhood onwards.  What a wonderful escape for us.

It's all about my perspective.  So I will take this with me as I go through this day.  I give thanks for the richness of my life.

 

No Vacuuming for the foreseeable future...

Well, once again Tom has an excuse to not vacuum.  This has been a long-standing "ish' between us, ranging from not so friendly (on my part, because I HATE vacuuming) to more jovial as I started to hand the job off to the kids.  Ha.  There you have it.  Family dynamics -- not always pretty, but dynamic indeed!

This is, once again, an update on Tom's cancer situation.  In the last two weeks we've met with specialists at Cancer Care Manitoba three times, and Tom has been for an injection designed to shut down testosterone production. This injection takes place through the stomach, placing a slow-release pea-sized pellet under the skin.  The person responsible for the bigger case is intrigued by the kind of cancer cells that have gone into the pelvic girdle.  Apparently they aren't "typical" for prostate cancer cells so there will be additional screening.  Also, typically, radiation might be used to deal with bone metastases, but the radiation oncologist wanted to make sure the area wasn't too weakened.  Turns out it is, and thanks to her and her listening skills, she has discussed this issue with orthopedic surgeons who have agreed that something needs to be done to stabilize the area.

So Tom now needs to have more surgery to resolve the weakening of the bone in that area.  What he's most worried about is the hospital food:  "Cancer had moved over to my pelvis and right hip.  I had been saying since January that my hip was bothering me. Turns out that I have a soft spot on my pelvis.
They want to put a couple of pins in there before they start radiation.
This means another week in the hospital. Concordia this time [more hospital food].  I am not allowed to do any heavy lifting, so I guess vacuuming is OUT!"

He's gone from bad news (aggressive, high density (I think was the word) cancer) to more reasonable news (we can give you drugs to slow down the cancer's growth, and by all appearances, according to the latest PSA test, it has), to using a cane (feels justified given that the bone is so weak), which is a "sexy" (in the words of the kids in our house), bright cane, to having someone listen to him/us talking about that pain in his pelvis, to hearing about more surgery.  And the good news is... no more vacuuming!  



 

Fledging

Throughout the spring and into the early summer, we watched the action on CBC's peregrine falcon cam.  Two sets of peregrine parents, located in Winnipeg and Brandon, were watched from afar.  The Winnipeg parents raised 4 birds; Brandon raised 3, although one of the Brandon youngsters died in mid August. This is part of a larger project called the Peregrine Falcon Recovery Project (Manitoba).

We eagerly watched the growth stages -- patient egg sitting by an adult for more than one month; the birthing of scrawny, large-winged, desperate-for-food babies who spent the next few weeks squished under a parent's body to shelter from the cold, wet or heat.  The baby birds grew quickly.  By mid to late summer they left the nests in which they were born.

The picture I loved the best (above)  is on the CBC's website, which is home to many more gorgeous shots. 

Watching the chicks emerge, grow and fledge made me think of my children and my role as a parent.  From being dependent on the adults for everything, the game started to change.  I watched the peregrine chicks emerge from under their mothers, screeching for food, jumping and hopping around the nest boxes, moving out from the nests to the roof's edge, hanging about, trying some jumps around the edges of their home buildings, and finally taking the big leap off the tall buildings on which they were raised.  From being fed mouth to mouth by their parents, they learned to tear apart the food brought by the parents; in fact, one of the videos posted is quite graphic.  I realized one day that the little fuzzballs were in fact major predators... efficient and voracious killing machines. 

I'm not going to compare child raising, or my own kids, to the predators of this story (although some days I might want to!), but I do love the image of fledging.  Much of the energy of our early years together was focused on making sure the babies and toddlers were fed, clothed, watered, put to sleep, entertained.  Our job as parents isn't over, by a long shot, but those little bald babies we had are certainly a bit hairier, more efficient at feeding, clothing and watering themselves, and usually manage to put themselves to bed.  And they can entertain themselves in such wonderful ways, interacting with friends and family in loving, feisty, positive, creative ways.

I know they are starting to move around the edges of our nest box.  They jump in and out. Forays into friendships, generating relationships that aren't set up by us.  I want them to keep trying, keep moving back and forth.  My job is to provide acceptance, love, and support to keep the movement going.  They already have the interest to try more.  I am there to make sure they take the necessary leaps when they are ready.  

SALSA

The tomatoes are ready... more and more every day. We love salsa, especially when it's homemade, and given the tomato crop failure last year (fungus? slugs? everything seemed to rot on the vines), Tom took it as a personal challenge to grow some big, productive tomato plants. By the time he was finished planting, we had a row of tomato plants against the fence and 20 more plants in my mother's back yard.

Gabriel and Kai watered the plants faithfully.  They thrived.  Throve?  Is that a word?  This week Tom was able to get the salsa-making project on the road...

 
Choose the ripest tomatoes.

 Get ready to chop.

 Into the pot.  Add the ingredients.  Simmer.

Salsa by Tom

Recipe makes 4-5 jars

2 sticks celery, finely chopped (we use more)

10 medium tomatoes, peeled

2 garlic cloves, crushed or chopped

2 medium onions, chopped

2/3 cup apple cider vinegar

2 small tins tomato paste

1 tbsp oregano

1 tbsp cumin

2 Jalapeno peppers, chopped (wear gloves)

2 ½ tsp pickling salt

2 tbsp brown sugar

1 green pepper, chopped

1 red pepper, chopped

Ground black pepper

Cook ingredients 1 hr on low heat.  Sterilise jars in oven at 200 for 15 minutes.  Ladle ingredients into jars.