The Legacy

Today Lance Armstrong placed 3rd in his return to the Tour de France. The media reports that his 3rd place finish does not come without disappointment and recriminations. I can't help but wonder what will actually be his legacy.

In 100 years will Lance Armstrong be remembered for the 7 Tour De France wins or for Livestrong? Will the record have been shattered by another great champion? Perhaps, but in my mind his achievement with Livestrong will not only never be equaled, it will be the enduring legacy.

Livestrong has given cancer patients a voice. The yellow wristband is recognized worldwide.

Today in the final leg of the Tour, numerous riders from other teams were wearing their Livestrong bracelet. I was moved and again felt the silent solidarity one feels with other cancer patients and their family.

This week we celebrated life together with a lunch at Bice featuring Caroline Rhea. We laughed and we recognized the formidable battle that Terry has undertaken. Oddly enough, although we know many people in common, it was cancer that brought us together.

We began with small courteous emails a few months ago, extending a cyber hug and smile. We became Facebook friends and supporters for the Tour de Lance. Each time our circle of friends continued to crisscross, we would smile, amused at the smallness of our world.

Through a bizarre twist of fate our pas de deux became a trio. Our worlds collided around Bev and now we were three. Three different cancers, 3 different people, same end result. All 3 of us had surgery at the same time, and only this spring did it even connect that we all knew each other. How weird is that you are saying???? Plenty weird.

Fast Forward to this week where I met Terry for the first time, and Bev saw Terry for the first time in many years. Knowing hugs, knowing glances, knowing smiles.

So Lance if you ever read this post, rest assured that in the long run today's 3rd place finish may have been a disappointment but for us it really makes no difference.

You gave us a voice, you gave us hope. You encouraged us to not only live, but to LIVESTRONG. The three of us are a testament to the work of your foundation.

Have no doubt this will be your legacy, and for that you will always be in First Place.

I must be crazy.

When I was growing up no one went to see a psychiatrist or psychologist. I remember my parents saying "You've gotta be crazy to see one of those". Not to mention, the images that we saw on television were usually frightening (lobotomies, shock therapy), and the psychiatrists were loonier than their patients. It was only in the late 1970's that pop psychology surfaced and although most of us took it in University, the stigma of actually going and consulting someone remained.

I always enjoyed the magic trick of pulling out a tablecloth and leaving everything perfectly in place. Well, when I was diagnosed with cancer it was as if the tablecloth was pulled and everything came crashing to the ground...no magic, just reality.

I knew I needed help.

My first attempt was through group therapy at a wonderful place, Gilda's. As the only male at the initial meeting I sat around a circle with about 10 women as we introduced ourselves and spoke of our cancer. It became apparent that this was not going to work for me. Firstly , I realized that most of these women had breast or uterine cancer and had much in common. I was clearly odd man out, "Kidney, how rare!" Frankly I took no solace from being in a room full of sad, crying, people. I couldn't wait for everyone to stop talking. It occurred to me that men and women don't necessarily succeed in similar therapies. Men probably won't sit around in a group and discuss how their Prostate Surgery has created sexual dysfunction. Maybe I'm wrong but I doubt it.

So my next step was a referral to a very nice social worker, who unfortunately knew nothing about cancer. The conversation quickly went downhill when her first question was " So you must be worried about Chemo?", "No I answered my cancer has no treatment, I pray that surgery will work as they have not developed a chemo or radiation that works on my type of cancer." She was shaken and taken aback and redirected with "How do you feel about dying".... needless to say we never saw each other again.

Thankfully I met a trained Oncological Psychiatrist to whom I did not need to explain my cancer issues, and who had seen other cancer patients and knew that my prognosis was probably not imminent death. Over the next few months, I laughed, I cried (a lot), and somehow made relative peace with my situation. Thank you Dr. Hoffman.

Throughout my 4 hospitalizations I have come to realize that we do a great job healing the body, but not such a great job healing the soul.

It's the soul that wakes you at 3am trembling in your bed.

It's your soul that is frightened like a 5 year old each time you put on a hospital gown.

It's your soul that sometimes wants to give up because you're just not sure how many more times you can put your family and friends through this hellish ride.

Last week I had my latest CT Scan and in the cubicle waiting next to me were a couple clutching hands as he waited his turn. As I was called I looked in and told them "The Scan is really not bad, you'll be okay, just believe you'll be okay", they both thanked me and off we went.

For the last 3 years I have been an advocate for a comprehensive program in Psycho Oncology. I believe we need a program that can address the needs of Children, Women and Men with huge variety of techniques and treatment types, that combine psychology, psychiatry and volunteerism.

On September 11, I ride with this mission in my mind, and as another step in the healing of a wounded soul.

I still need to raise $10,000 so if you know anyone who may be interested in contributing to the ride please ask them to join me at www.tourdelance.ca go to riders and click on my name.

Every donation matters. Thank you.

Biking is like Life

I have a hard time breathing. I could blame it on my reduced lung capacity but the truth is I'm a mouth breather. I never got the concept of breathing through your nose, it just doesn't seem to do the trick for me. In fact when I first start riding I tend to hyperventilate, and there is no way my cute little shnoz is gonna bring in enough air to satisfy me. Once I relax, it seems to work itself out unless of course it is a day like today with a face full of wind which only enhances the breathing issue. So I consciously have to force myself to relax, and in so doing, I came to realize that biking is a great life metaphor.

You wake up being hopeful, you slip into clothing ( probably too tight, but its the fashion), you slather on some cream and then you head out into the world hoping for the best.

You start at a good speed moving forward, nodding at people that pass as if to say good morning. Quickly you realize that today may not be exactly what you expect. Unexpected turbulence (wind) knocks you around and you may even feel like you are stuck in the same place. Other people keep moving passing you by, but you just don't seem to have the rhythm it takes to get yourself going. You regroup, you relax and before you know it you are in a groove.

You're moving, oh yeah, you are really moving. And then it happens, you hit a pothole and you are stopped dead in your tracks. A frigging flat, just after you were so sure that you were finally in the zone.

Yes today after about 26kms I ended up on the curb waiting for my lift home. It made me realize that I was somewhat envious of Lance Armstrong. I don't mean winning the Tour 7 times, or having raised 250 million dollars for charity, or making it all look so effortless at 37.

I mean wouldn't it be great to always have a support team around you. Clearing the road of all obstacles so you can just focus on the job at hand. Wouldn't it be great to have them immediately at hand to fix the flat and get you back on your feet in a millisecond. Wouldn't it be great to have them cheering you on, telling you that you can do it, that you can reach the summit.

And then I realized I have nothing to be envious of .... I have you.

My friends and family, my own 24/7 support team. My own personal cheering squad.

Hmmmm. I guess Lance and I have a lot more in common than Cancer. We have lots of people we can count on....we're the luckiest people in the world.

In case I have not said it lately...THANK YOU.

Real Proof

The human body is a remarkable thing. Okay, maybe not my body, but I speak in general. It's recuperative nature in particular has truly amazed me.

Numerous people were kind enough to let me know of someone who they new who was living with 1 kidney when it was clear that it was my prognosis. Somehow like a car I'm not sure we have a lot of unnecessary spare parts, but I was comfortable with the fact that I cold exist on one kidney. That was also true when they reassured me that we really don't need both lungs to function and although useful, we have numerous lobes and losing one in the mix would not leave me the worse for wear.

In fact, after all my surgeries, I actually recovered remarkably quickly if you ask me. In most cases I was back to work in weeks and in one case I actually worked from home within days.

After my first surgery I was very weak, but so committed to recuperating that I was actually back in gym within a month.

I had forgotten about the recuperative side of exercise, and although not scientific I can personally confirm it is true. How do I know you ask?????

My last operation left me with a large outward bulge on my left side. My abdominal muscle had pushed out ( somewhat like a hernia) and there was an accumulation of fluid. Although numb from having the nerve endings sliced, for months I felt very uncomfortable pulling. Imagine Sigourney Weaver in Alien, I looked ripe for an extraterrestrial to come bursting out my left side.

I consulted both an Osteopath and Phsyio and with minor results. I took to wearing a supporting brace (girdle). My doctor really didn't think it would ever get better, and in fact it was due to this discomfort that I had pretty much ruled out the ride this year.

My pride wouldn't let me skip the ride, so as you know for the last 2 months I have been training. After each ride when I undress my left side has been hyper sensitive. For about a half hour it feels like I have a really bad sunburn. Frankly I am so anxious to get in the shower at the end of the ride that I have not really focused on my bulge, in fact, it had become part of my reality. This week after my ride I was stunned to realize that with the cycling my abdominal muscles have begun to regenerate and the burning feeling was actually the nerve endings firing.

The bulge has all but disappeared. I kept staring in the mirror truly amazed by the radical change.

It's true, although it behooves me to admit it, getting off your ass and doing something helps in your recovery. Not only the physical but also the emotional recovery. So if you know someone recovering from surgery or chemo, give them a call, and go for a walk together. I promise the results will be encouraging...after all I have the proof.