Showing posts with label Cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cancer. Show all posts

Monday, August 6, 2012

Ostomate Carries a Moose


Oct 2010
As an ostomate I have been told … avoid extreme activities, don’t lift big weights, don’t over-exert.  As a hunter I have been told … never hunt alone, a moose is too big for 1 person to handle, you need a truck or a quad for moosehunting.    I ignored all these suggestions.

I was reluctant to write this story, not wanting to offend those who dislike hunting, nor those who decline to eat meat. I have full respect for those differing opinions, and make no attempt to change them.  I hope others will quietly allow me mine.

In 2009 I was recovering from cancer and a colostomy, so didn’t hunt, and wondered if I would be able to hunt again.  It became a must-do on my Ostomy Bucket list. 

There are 3 parallel forces that take me hunting.  Philosophically … I easily connect with the natural world, and feel very comfortable and belonging while alone in the bush.  And Practically ….for the past 20 years, several families anticipate the steaks, roasts, and burger from my moose hunts.  And Ancestrally ... there is something buried deep in the reptile part of our brain that makes us hunters, gatherers, and survivors.  And yes, perhaps spending too much time alone in the bush, conjures up such thoughts :)

A Canada Moose stands 6 feet (2metres) tall at the shoulders, and can weigh up to 1500 pounds (700Kgs). 

My location is NorthWestern Canada.  I drive 4 hours from my home to the end of the road, then 28km by boat to my cabin.  I will be alone, and I will hunt every day for the next 10 days.  Here is a typical day. 
I woke to the alarm at 4:30am.  Made a thermos of coffee and ate a bowl of porridge.  Left the cabin at 5:00am.  It was very dark this morning, as it was cloudy and with almost no moon.  When it is this dark, it’s good to have the route in my head, and take clues from surrounding terrain to avoid being lost or hitting rocks.  After a dark 4km boatride, I transferred to a canoe and paddled 400meters up a small creek. Canoeing up the creek is more difficult than the lake travel, as I am low to the water, the creek is only 2meters wide with tall reeds growing on both sides, and VERY winding.  I did some moose cow-calls that can be heard (by bull moose) for up to 5 kms.  


By 10:30am it was obvious that no bull moose would be showing this morning, so I reversed my route and returned to the cabin.  Lunch, a short nap, a few chores, then back out for the evening hunt from about 4:00pm to sunset at 7:30pm.
These are long days, with 8-9 hours of sitting, silently, and moving only my eyeballs.  Many similar days passed.  On a typical moosehunting day … nothing happens.
One morning, I thought I heard a moose walking slowly in the creek, then quickly climb the bank, splashing as he lunged out of the water.  This added to a number of events that have tricked me over the years.  The noise was actually a flock of ducks that had probably slept in a bay on the creek.  A few started to move and stretch their wings, then they all stretched and splashed thru the water as they took flight.  Not a moose, but a new, exciting, and uncommon observation anyway.

On day 7, I woke to the alarm at 4:30am.  It was drizzling, and the forecast was for light rain all morning.  Staying in bed seemed tempting, but I decided to go hunting anyway.  It was so dark – no moon and heavy clouds.  Navigating in the dark was difficult as the terrain-clues were harder to see, and distance from shore was difficult to judge.  I traveled at lower speed, but it seemed like I was going way too fast for conditions (like overdriving your headlights, except there was no light).  At 9:30am the drizzle was tempting me to go back to the cabin, but then I heard a branch snap.  Doesn’t count as a moose until I have at least 3 clues (branch snaps, grunts, raking antlers, walking in water…) or actually SEE the moose.  He was just a silhouette, standing in the heavy bush.  I had to use binoculars to positively identify him.  I wanted a broadside shot, so waited.  Finally, at 40 yards, he turned and stood broadside, and I hit him with a good double-lung shot. He walked away, about 30 yards and went down.  I watched him thru the binoculars.  

I took a few pictures, then gathered my things, and went back to the cabin.  I assembled the gear I would need, ate a hearty meal, then returned to the site.  He had gone down in a burned area, so the entire forest floor was black and all the dead trees and shrubs were black.  And of course my clothes were blackened with the char.  I was glad that he wasn’t a big moose (there are no small moose when you are working alone).  Young or big or full-of-shit guys talk about quartering a moose.  A moose is only as heavy as the pieces you cut, so I cut him into ninths.  I hauled each piece about 50 yards, and loaded the 9 pieces in the boat.  

It was 5:30pm when I got back to the cabin.  It was tough lifting to get all the pieces from the boat up onto the dock.  It took 2 full hours to clean the pieces and  wrap them in bedsheets (to keep them clean and keep any flies off them).  
It was dark by the time I finished.  

It was a long hard day for a 61-year-old ostomate to handle a moose by himself.  
Despite the excitement of the day, sleep came easily that night.

This was an exhausting but immensely rewarding day for me.  Another Ostomy BucketList accomplishment 
… yes, I can still moosehunt with an ostomy.

And I earned freedom from ‘the rules’…
avoid extreme activities ... NOT
don’t lift big weights ... NOT
don’t over-exert ... NOT
never hunt alone ... NOT
a moose is too big for 1 person to handle ... NOT
need a truck or quad for moosehunting ... NOT

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Penalties for Not Listening


Hockey player Paul Riome didn’t listen to his body or his doctor.  
Minor Penalty was undetected cancer.  Major Penalty was a permanent colostomy.  
Riome tells of his experiences, attitude adjustments, and comeback to hockey. 

The story is about overcoming colorectal cancer 
and showing other hockey “tough-guys” the importance of prevention.

Even with daily rectal bleeding for over 2 years, I refused tests and examinations.


“You got Cancer ...  Life-expectancy is uncertain”.  Reminiscent of nasty and unexpected hockey hits, I asked myself  “what the hell was that for?”  Of course there was no answer, but I adjusted quickly and vowed that after surgery, I would do everything that I could do before surgery, and I would play hockey again. 

Surgery day arrived.  A nurse fussed to be sure the hospital gown covered my backside.  I joked at the silly gesture, as a dozen people would see everything I had, from the outside and the inside. 
After 6 hours of surgery, “I am back and I am alive!”

During recovery at the hospital, I set my sights on completing what I named a sprint, a half-marathon, and a full-marathon (actually … a shuffle to the doorway, to the nursing station, then a full loop around the ward). 

The rehab routine was similar to hockey injuries, but the outcome would be drastically different, as the surgery damages could never be restored.  With trepidation, I started Public Skating, surrounded by grandparents teaching pre-school kids to skate.

Exactly four months after surgery, I was back playing hockey.  I was amazed at how many players made a point of acknowledgement, usually with the back-handed male style
‘… Nice you’re back, looking dangerous as ever’
‘… I always hated going into the corner with you, but now I’m really afraid of the sh*t flying’
‘… I thought with your butt sewn shut, that your stride would be shorter’  

After an aggressive altercation around the net, a large and hostile defenseman pummeled me with a verbal tirade of hockey-trash-talk.  I said ‘you can’t really call me that, because I don’t even have one’.  Instantly he went silent, smiled, put his arm around my shoulder, and said in amazement “you’re the one”. 

Hockey team-mates were curious, so I volunteered to answer any questions they had, and show them anything they wanted to see.  They all related to the red-neck attitude that prevents us from having rectal examinations and colonoscopies, even while knowing that these procedures are effective lifesavers.  
Earlier tests, with earlier detection, probably would have ‘saved my ass’ 
and I may have avoided the surgery and permanent colostomy  
Several wives (mostly with tears) told me it was my experience 
that convinced their husband to get a colonoscopy. 
I am humbly pleased that others have benefitted from my experiences


An ostomy is not as good as the original equipment 
but I get to live
Two years ago my doctor told me I could have a perfectly normal life with a colostomy. 
     I didn’t believe him then.  
     I do believe him now.


Saturday, May 19, 2012

Greg Doesn’t Golf anymore


Greg was the spark that started this Living Bigger With Colostomy blog. 

Greg golfed 6 days a week for 30 summers, then was diagnosed with T3 colon cancer, which resulted in surgery for a colostomy, as well as chemo and radiation.  

Greg quit golfing, fearing the embarrassment of changing a pouch while his golf-buddies waited, or the horrors of a pouch explosion.

Greg also quit driving and riding in a car, for fear of the seatbelt rubbing on his stoma.

Greg declined to lift grocery bags, for fear of a hernia.

Greg stayed in his house, intentionally remaining inactive, and gained enough weight that his pants didn’t fit.  So he started wearing his pouch outside his pants.  With this new humiliation, he refused to leave his house … so both Greg and his wife became reclusive.  This soon dragged both of them into a depression which brought apathy, and lowered confidence and motivation.  Soon Greg’s wife was changing his appliances for him, and they spiraled down together.

Greg and I talked a lot.  Cautiously, I shared many of my positive and active experiences living a normal life with a colostomy – wanting to show that he and his wife could live bigger, yet not wanting to intimidate with my adventures that would be unbelievable and unrealistic for him.  We had a few successes:

  • Seatbelts – I drive, and carried a backpack with a hipbelt for 40 days.  Its OK for Greg to drive and ride.
  • Pouch on the Outside – Buy pants 2 inches bigger, wear suspenders, and get the pouch back inside your pants!
  • Pouch Explosions Golfing – I have golfed for 2 years and played over 100 hockey games (taking hits and blocking shots) and have never had an explosion. Greg is safe to golf ... and no reason to be embarrassed changing pouches on the golf-course, being much more environmentally sensitive than his buddies that relieve beer-overloads in the bushes.
 These small incremental successes are positive and encouraging.

Golfing with Greg is now on my bucket list !

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Nepal2011: We are SO Fortunate

May 2011
We are unimaginably wealthy, compared to Nepalese standards …
Nepal is the poorest country in South Asia, and the 12th poorest country in the world
Average ANNUAL income is $450
57% of Nepalese live for under $60 per month -  30% live for under $12 per month
50% of Nepalese children under 5 years of age, are malnourished
Life expectancy for men is 63 years, and for women is 64 years.  Less in the countryside
Child mortality is the highest in Asia.  Maternal mortality is the highest in the world
Education, HealthCare and Drinking Water are NOT available to all

To travel in Nepal is to step into the bottom of the Third World. 

We have so much – they have so little.  
Yet it seems most countryside Nepalese are happier than we are.
Public Transportation means you walk

There are few roads.  Everything is hauled on someone’s back

Housing standards are not the same as ours
Stone buildings means every ‘brick’ is hand carved
In the countryside, there are no flush toilets
These woman in these kitchens will prepare meals for 20 guests
Nepalese People work hard
Yet Nepalese people seem genuinely happy

Sometimes we may think life is treating us badly so we feel justified to complain
But our hardships are insignificant in comparison with the life struggles of most Nepalese people. 

I found no Ostomy Supplies in Nepal. 
Our Nepalese guide was shocked by my Colostomy,
having never even heard about ostomies.  

It occurred to me that there are few (if any) ostomates in Nepal. 

People in Nepal don’t have ostomies – they just die
Considering this alternative ...
We are all so very fortunate to be alive

We should not complain. Ever.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Nepal2011: Colostomy Got Me Here

May 2011
Trekking to Everest Base Camp was an absolutely awesome trek! 
I can honestly say there was not a single minute when I thought I would rather be somewhere else.  Really!
I couldn’t dream for more … 

Spectacular Nepalese landscape

Happy & friendly Nepalese people

A varied but like-minded team from Canada

Physically & mentally challenging trek





Trekking to Everest Base Camp
was on my ‘bucket list’ for decades.


Cancer & Colostomy motivated me to

Just do it !

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Nepal2011: Summit Kala Patthar

May 2011
For trekkers wanting the big-view of Everest … overnight at Gorak Shep, wake-up at 3:45am, ascend Kala Patthar in the dark, and watch the sunrise on Everest.  But, It’s not that easy. 

Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) is caused by a combination of reduced air pressure and lower oxygen levels at high altitudes [beyond 2400m / 8000ft].  Gorak Shep is 5164m / 16942m.  Kala Patthar is 5545m / 18192ft.  By the time we reached Gorak Shep, AMS had taken its toll on our group.  Some people stayed in their warm sleeping bags, rather than face the dark, cold, windy, harshness of the climb – for days they have been hurting from AMS-induced dizziness, fatigue, lethargy, and screamer-headaches.  Some of us were fortunate to not have these symptoms, nor the rib-rattling cough, nor the loss-of-appetite that robs strength and resolve. 


The climb is long, slow, and relentless.  The air has 50% of the oxygen that we expect at sea-level.  Lungs work harder to compensate.  Heartrate rises to force more blood to the big muscles. Muscles resist and retaliate when being pushed on half-rations of oxygen.  We each
struggle to find the strength and drive
to continue moving upward.  
Few words are spoken.  People stop for their own reasons - maybe only a rest, or to clear their foggy brain, or to question the pain vs the reward of this summit, or to deal with the nausea & pending vomiting, or from their body’s refusal to continue.  It’s not predictable who will be stopped by AMS.

Kala Patthur with Pumori in the background
I could see the prayer flags ripping on the wind swept summit.  How hard could it be to climb those last 100 meters?  I was amazed at how slowly I progressed.  Focusing mindlessly on my feet, it occurred to me that 
Each step was less
than the length of my boots! 

I was pushing myself, mentally and physically, and 
All I had left was 6 inch strides!  


My thoughts were simple.
Keep moving ... just one step at a time. 

  


2 Cancer Survivors and our guide Ganesh at Kala Patthur summit
Six of our team, ages 57 to 62 summitted Kala Patthar.  Summiting was worth the pain.The clouds cleared and the sun rose, showing  Everest with its perennial plume of snow blowing over its summit.

We spent 45 minutes on top of Kala Patthar, celebrating our accomplishment, hanging prayer flags, and taking pictures, yet regretting the absence of fellow-trekkers with whom we had shared the last 20 days.  The walk down had less physical exertion, but we remained focused, well aware of the perils of fatigue while descending.


Everest as seen from summit of Kala Patthur
Why did elders summit, when younger people didn’t?  
Maybe the elders were attuned to their aging bodies and avoided AMS by methodically moving ‘mountain-slow’.  Maybe the elders knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime shot, and they wouldn’t quit until they had nothing left.


Living Bigger with Colostomy on Kala Patthar summit 



Rob Hill climbed the SevenSummits
I climbed Kala Patthar
We all have our own mountains to climb.


Yes we can.  Ostomates can climb mountains.





For another perspective of this event, read what trip leader Tami wrote:

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Nepal2011: Everest Base Camp



It is a cold, desolate, hilly climb along the Khumbu Glacier from Gorek Shep (5164m / 16942ft) to Everest Base Camp (5364m / 17598ft). The air has 50% less oxygen than at sea level.  Our lungs struggle to fuel our bodies, and our muscles retaliate as we push them relentlessly on half-rations of oxygen.  The rocky moraine and the aging glacier ensure there is no sustainable vegetation or animal life here.   






The massive faces of Everest, Nuptse, and Lhotse tower above us.  It seems natural to feel very small in this place.  The big mountains seem intimidating, and certainly not inviting.  






It is customary and respectful to hang Prayer Flags





We all felt honoured and privileged to be here. Everest Base Camp is a special place.  For some, it is a lifetime bucket-list highlight.  For others it is the destination at the end of a long trekk. 









But for the 5 cancer survivors there was a special connecting bond.

We spontaneously joined in a circular huddle with eyes closed and heads bowed.  To us, it seemed the wind and snow stopped, and the 5 of us were alone. We each experienced our personal flashback - from the cancer, through treatment, through recovery, to standing together at Everest Basecamp.  As if controlled by a single mind, we simultaneously raised our heads and met the eyes of our fellow survivors. 
One survivor said 
'We are alive, and We are here on Everest’
Emotions were shown by some, felt by all
Thankful, Joyful, Peaceful, Proud, Hopeful

The huddle split into a line, Ashok joined us, and someone took this picture. 
Living is hard.  Life is a struggle.  Enjoy it.   

This same event is told with more insightful, eloquent, and artistic flair by our Trip Leader Tami.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Prevention

Many men will find reasons to decline a colonoscopy, 
even knowing it is a simple procedure and a proven lifesaver. 

A Colonoscopy could save your ass – maybe your life!

I sat in our hockey dressing room with 15 men, all over the age of 50.  There were subtle questions about ‘what caused it?’ with each hockey player quietly and cautiously wanting to avoid or prevent the same from happening to him.  

To a man, they all related to the red-neck attitude that prevents us from having rectal examinations and colonoscopies, even while knowing that these procedures are effective lifesavers. 

Even with daily rectal bleeding, I had refused any tests and examinations for 2 years.  

Earlier tests, with earlier detection, 
probably would have ‘saved my ass’ 
and I may have avoided the surgery 
and permanent colostomy
  
I watched the somber faces as I talked.  Over the next two years, I had more than 25 hockey players discretely tell me they had ‘that procedure’ done.  Several wives (mostly with tears) told me they had unsuccessfully ‘encouraged’ their husbands for years, but it was my experience that had convinced their husband to have the colonoscopy procedure done.  I am humbly pleased that others have benefited from my experience.





Read the full story of my 




Comeback to Hockey


December2009 [4 months after surgery]

I had Traded Cancer for a Colostomy 
then  Recovered with Rehab 
                              from Colostomy&Resection Surgery


Exactly 4 months after surgery, I was back playing hockey.
This was the first big test of my conviction that 
After surgery
I will do everything I could do before surgery
The first milestone was to earn confidence that I could block shots and take the hits … without an explosion!  

Hockey Talk
Hockey team-mates were curious about what had happened to me, so I volunteered to answer any questions they had, and show them anything they wanted to see … and that had a way of dispensing with what could have been an uncomfortable situation.  Players aged 50-65 parade around the dressing room and shower together after games – and we jokingly concluded that even with an ostomy, my body would not be the worst among the variety of sizes and shapes!     

News of my cancer and surgery somehow travelled around the league of about 250 hockey players.  As I played ‘first game back’ with each team, I was amazed at how many players made a point of acknowledgement, usually with the back-handed male style ... 
'Didn't slow you down a bit'

'Nice you're back, looking dangerous as ever'

‘I always hated going into the corner with you, 
but now I’m really afraid of the shit flying’

‘I thought with your butt sewn shut, 
that your stride would be shorter’ 

It was all sincere and heartfelt, but the presentation
was the just the best that men that age can do.  



You're the one
After an aggressive altercation around the net, a large and hostile defenseman pummeled me with a verbal tirade of hockey-trash-talk including “…#@*& ass-hole …”.    I sniped back ‘you can’t really call me that, because I don’t even have one’.  Instantly he went silent, smiled, put his arm around my shoulder, and said in amazement “you’re the one”, knowing only that someone in the league had been hurt by cancer and surgery, but had recovered.


Read the full story of  my 
Comeback to Hockey


  


Yes we  can.  
Ostomates can play Hockey.