Fri, 13 Apr 2001

In 1978 I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis, an inflammatory bowel
disease. I was told that there was no known cause, or cure, for this
condition. Thus, I suffered many years of internal bleeding and sickness.
From the onset, I was told that it could turn cancerous. However, I learned to
handle the disease by starving when it got really bad. I tried not to take the
massive doses of cortisone, as the side effects were truly awful. In this
manner, I spent the following twenty some years. I was routinely checked for
cancer. Then, on November the second, 2000, I felt that something was really
wrong.

New sensations in my abdomen became agonizing. I had been in discomfort when
I left my elementary school, where I taught grades 4 and 5. By 11 p.m. I was
in great agony. In desperation, I tried a drink of whiskey, to no avail. By
midnight I was nearly delerious with pain.

A friend whom I had met on my part time job (motor coach driver) returned my
call that I had placed earlier in the evening. Sensing that I was in a very
bad way, she drove across the city of Calgary, and loaded me into her van.
After rushing me to the emergency department of the Foothills Hospital, she
managed to get triage to admit me to the very overcrowded unit. It took many
shots of demerol just to level me out, due to the pain. I was placed on a
regular schedule of demerol, and admitted to hospital. Then began the tests.

Finally, I was told the prognosis. I had cancer in my intestines. I was
scheduled for immediate surgery. Then, results of further testing showed that
I had developed three large, fast-moving cancers. Surgery was delayed, while
the hospital scheduled one of the best surgeons in the field, Dr. Donald
Buie. On November 17 I went for surgery. I emerged from the operating room
without my entire large, and part of my small intestine. There was so much
cancer that fears were that it had spread into the lymph nodes.

The first pathology report on the tissue removed was dissapointing. It was
indeterminate. A second pathology report was ordered from a neighboring
province. The second report came back as negative. The margins of the surgery
were clear. The cancer had not spread to the lymph nodes, and so had not
metastasized anywhere else in my body.

The surgeon had told me that he had saved the rectum and a stump from my large
intestine. Having had many years to consider options should I develop cancer,
I had read of an operation where the end of the small intestine is hooked up to
the stump of the colon, and the resulting liquid feces controlled with drugs.
I looked forward to a life which would be relatively normal, and certainly not
much different than what I had been used to before surgery, with the very
prevalent incontinence. Which I had also controlled by starving. What you
don't eat doesn't come out. However, I was not prepared for my clinic meeting
with the surgeon.

Upon entering the examination room of the clinic, I was met by Dr. Buie and a
resident. I was told that I needed to go to the cancer clinic to determine if
I had any need for precautionary chemotherapy. I was also told that the
recommended surgery was the removal of the rectum and stump of the colon. This
would leave me on a plastic bag glued to the right front side of my abdomen,
where the opening was made following the first surgery. My mind swam. I was
to remain a freak.

I told the surgeon that some people have deep fears. Of snakes. Of spiders.
Irrational, yet deep seated. I too had such a fear. My fear was to 'have a
bag' following just the surgery that had taken place. This fear predated my
initial bowel disease. I had long thought that I would prefer death. Another
friend inadvertently intervened in my sombre thought processes - changing them
forever.

Prior to my surgery, I found to my suprise a friend two rooms down in the same
ward. She had developed rectal cancer, although I did not know this at the
time. We both went through surgery. Later, through a mutual friend, I found
out that her cancer had reached the lymph nodes, and had metastasized
throughout the body. She had a maximum of five years to live. Chemotherapy
would enhance her life quality, but would not extend it. I was devastated.

Resuming my search for information, I found that rectal cancer is often a
killer. The position of the cancer makes it easy for it to spread. My
remaining rectum and intestinal stump were prime targets for cancer, as I had,
in the words of the surgeon, "...just grown three..." Now, I truly had to
decide if being deformed was indeed worse than death itself. I came to the
conclusion that I wanted to live. I wanted to see my students again. I wanted
to do all the activities that life alone permits. All I needed was
reinforcement. It was not long in coming.

Developing an intestinal blockage is very painful. I was admitted once again
to hospital. This time, demerol was not used. I was given morphine. Lots of
it. The emergency ward doctor commented something to the effect that
"reasonable ammounts of morphine" just were not doing it. Again I was
admitted. This time, I was admitted under the care of a man who is known as
the best gastroenterologist in Southern Alberta, Dr. Gary May. An amazingly
intelligent and compassionate man, Dr. May had a gamut of tests run on me.
While in hospital, Dr. Buie and his team of interns (The Foothills hospital is
a teaching hospital of the University of Calgary) saw me. Dr. Buie told me
that I had "...as close to 100% chance of developing cancer in my lifetime..."
as anyone he had ever seen. I asked for the surgery. Dr. Buie said to see him
in his clinic, and he would book my surgery as urgent.

I am now awaiting my meeting with Dr. Buie on April 24, 2001. I will add more
when events materialize...