The Plan - Part I

DCA (dichloroacetate) is a cheap and simple molecule that has been used for a number of years to treat rare metabolic diseases in children. In January of 2007, Dr. Evangelos Michelakis of the University of Alberta discovered that DCA had the ability to shrink cancer tumours in rats up to 100% in some cases, and in as little as 5 weeks.

Dr. Michelakis discovered that DCA "turns on" the mitochondria in cancer cells despite the long held belief that the mitochondria in cancer cells suffered irrevocable damage. With the mitochondria turned on, "the DCA re-activates the apoptosis mechanism", or the suicide mechanism in cancer cells and as a result, they die off rapidly.

I imagine Dr. Michelakis and his colleagues had quite the celebration that night. Finally, the cure for cancer.

Unfortunately, the doctor's smile may have turned to a frown when he found that DCA was not patentable as a molecule. There was no incentive for private companies to spend the millions of dollars needed to get DCA approved as a cancer treatment by Health Canada or the FDA. .

So when Dr. Michelakis' first paper came out explaining the astonishing effects of DCA on tumours in rats and why no one would support its development, cancer patients continent-wide were flooding cancer centres with calls about DCA. People with all stages and types of cancer were phoning in on their knees, begging for human trials to be approved.

When none of the cancer centres responded, people starting purchasing the compound and making DCA at home; people started "dealing" in DCA all over the world. On certain sites, people were petitioning for DCA and on other sites you'd find people begging for it. People were offering their left overs to those who were desperate.

So, a year and half after Dr. Michelakis' research room revelry, we now have (created of course, of the people, by the people, and for the people - despite it being a Canadian descovery) the DCA Site (http://www.thedcasite.com/) and Buy DCA.com (http://www.buydca.com/?gclid=CMqg06v40JMCFQwxiQodeUpTiA) amongst many other DCA related sites.

Despite its world wide web presence, the majority of cancer patients know nothing about it because it hasn't been approved for Phase I clinical trials in the States or Canada. It's effectiveness in clinical trials, can only be summarized by Phase II trials (Phase I trials merely determine dosage) and we're simply not there yet.

If the cure for cancer is in a simple molecule, a simple pill, and not in expensive radiation equipment, chemical therapy and 12 hour surgery, something mighty is going to go down!

I found out about DCA in January from a friend of mine who told me that her and her husband had seen it on TV and read an article about it. I went straight to my "alternative" cancer doctor and said "tell me where I can get this "CDA" stuff in Vancouver." He said "I don't know anything about "CeeDA", but I can refer you to a Doctor in Kits who can get DCA for you."

Since then, I found a centre in Toronto who has received approval from the Ontario Health Board to prescribe DCA and monitor its results. I'm currently taking DCA and they are monitoring me closely. We shall see.

I wish I was a rat, I wish I was a rat, I wish I was a rat...

Quackery

I often wonder what the aliens would think if they arrived on earth after a future apocalypse. These days, I wonder what they would think about all the women they'd find with no breasts; just scars. I wonder if they would recognize them as part of our race.

In their search for answers, they would likely find the women who had had mastectomies and implants but had no nipples; the smooth new breasts of a mannequin. And then, they would find the women with mastectomies and implants and tattooed nipples.

Would they find the cancer in autopsy and wonder why the breasts were removed; hacked off? Would they wonder why we treated the tumour and not the body? Would they wish they had got to us sooner, to tell us, to let us know what they know?

Recently, I took my Mom to a support group for young women with metastasising cancer. I was glad to learn when we got there that "young women" pretty much applied to women in their thirties. There were twelve of us there. Eleven with breast cancer; and me.

"They've decided to take off the other breast" she said. "They've got to take the breasts off" another said. "The Tamoxifen has been really hard on me" she said as she stared into her lap. "I'm finding it really hard to be at work" another one said. "I'm really afraid of what I will feel like when I look down; I'm terrified, this is appalling." she said. "I've been coming to this group since my mastectomy in 2001, my cancer has returned." she said.

Another women talked about her cats; she said one of her cats was sick and died. She realized after her mastectomy how nice it would have been to have her cat around.

I tried to offer my own fears and the sense of horror I had at times. "I have an opportunity to research a surgery in Germany." I told them as I wiped the rain off my face. "They would take everything out, including my bladder and rectum. They would sew up my bum. I would wear two colostomy bags." They really listened in. "I'm afraid of existing like that." I said.

They wondered if the cancer would be gone after that horror. I could only tell them what the German Doctor told me: "maybe."

When we left, the lady who talked about her cats a lot gave us a picture of her cats.

The next day the facilitator called me at home to thank me and my mother for joining the group. She said she was sorry there were "no other cancers" in the room. She said that last week there were "a couple colon cancers and a lung cancer"and that those groups are naturally more diverse. She thanked me for trying to empathize with them and for speaking so eloquently. She said she was sorry for my situation, that it was grim. She invited us back.

We didn't go back. Maybe we'll try another group.

The Day I Turned Authentic and Had to Advertise for It

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This Tumour of Mine Longs to Hold Me

I am beginning to think that my tumour is my mini-me; my alter ego. It is so oppositional in every way.

To avoid the probe of the papsmear it devilishly tucked its feet up and curled itself away three times. It offered only the cancer-free cells for testing, yielding negative results and took the time it needed to nuture and propogate, to deepen and breed.

Even at the biopsy, it's self-willed ways irked the oncologists. They scratched at the tumour nearly 8 times, (all the while telling me I was so strong and so brave and that they were almost done), before they got the sample of its 8cm breadth that would finally reveal it's type and character; adeno carcinoma.

It endured 35 rounds of radiation and two rounds of deep penetrating radiation (Brachytherapy), where it faced radiation pellets head on, in the ring for 36 hours. After that it merely skulked away for long enough to impregnate the nearby lymph node and returm to centre cervix in bloom. During this fight, it vengefully resisted the Cisplatin by sending swelling and rash to all my extremeties, including my throat and tongue, deeming me allergic to the family of chemo drugs specific to a cervical tumour.

In our second attempt to treat the cancer and prolong my life we tried Paclitaxol and Carboplatin, a distant cousin to Cisplatin. The tumour casually layed back and allowed the chemo to nibble at its toes; his body stretching, pulsing and bloody.

While I generally consider myself more altruistic than black hearted, I chuckle (believe it or not, yes, with all my whining, I still chuckle) at its counteraction and polarity.

As the doctors have recently told me there is nothing else they can do for me or my tumour, I can only believe that as I learn may out of my oppositional nature, so too, will the tumour.

The Hammer & The Healer

"I know, I know - the boardroom right.? I'll see you there in a couple of hours, I need to finish my chanting for this morning."

"Ms. Backs, NOW!"

"Okay, okay jee-Zuss."

"Have a seat, please. You're joined by the panel this morning. You remember Hope? There are a few issues on the table this morning. First off, your morning chant. It's distruptive to the entire team, but mostly to you. You must change your chant or stop chanting immediately."

"What is this a performance review or something? You're the one who told me to use the Meditation Room whenever I wanted, but now you want to tell me how to use it. I knew it, every job is the same. They tell you what to do and when to do it, they run your life, measure your performance. Why is it that I keep coming around to the idea of quitting this job? Huh? What is it with The Hammer and The Healer anyway? This is the fourth or fifth time in a year that I felt like this."

"Ms Backs, there are rules here. The Meditation Room is to be used alone each morning for half an hour before you start your day. As explained to you when you started here, it is to be used only for positive reinforcement and healing. It is meant to bring to you a level of awareness that will help with your overall happiness and will strengthen your immune system. For the past few days, you've been inviting Death in to the room, staying for at least 4 hours and chanting 'I'm gonna die, I'm dying, I'm gonna die, I'm dying, dying, dying, dead' over and over and again. What part of that exericise is following the rules Treice?"

"Yeah, well, whatever. You guys are not the boss of me."

"We are here to help you and as you know, that is very different than 'being the boss of you.' Do you want to die? Do you know what dying people want?"

"Thanks, yes, I saw that book on my desk. I suppose if someone is really dying, then they want to die. If someone is not really dying, they want to live. Simple. I can't see why that book is over 300 pages; dying people want to live. It's like writing a book titled "What Hungry People Want", um, duh?

"Do you want to die Treice, are you really dying?"

"TREICE! I asked you a question! Answer me!"

"No, I don't want to die. But I can think of one really good reason to die."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I wouldn't have to come to work anymore!"

"Ha, ha, very funny. Seriously, now."

"No, I don't want to die, but I feel like I'm dying, dying inside, I can't seem to turn it around. I'm desperate to not die and I can't find the way to stay; the way to life. This job, this saving my life job is taking a toll on me and I'm sick and very, very tired of it all. I know that you're here to help and I appreciate you, I need you guys. I'm sorry about the re-hires. I didn't mean to bring Death back but I couldn't help it. Despair too; they're sharing a desk. I need your help, please help me. I'm desperate, this is not fair, this is killing me. I need help. Please help me."

"Treice, you have become a very intergral part of our team and we need you, and we need your help too. You are perect in everyway, you are beautiful just as you are. When you close your eyes, who is smiling at you Treice? Who would smile at you if you could close your eyes and have people smile at you every time, who would it be?

"My Father, my dad; I miss him and love him deeply"

"Good, who else?"

"My Gramma and my Babushka, I miss them too, I didn't say good-bye properly."

"Good, who else?"

"My Mother, my Husband, my Son."

"And?"

"My friend Niki, um, my gurus...Gabor and Nirmal. And well, you guys, I guess."

"How would you like if all of us held hands for you, and formed a circle around you, and smiled at you, every time you closed your eyes? Would you like that? Would that help you to heal? Would it ground you and make you strong? Would it shift your awareness and make you feel safe? Would it remind you that you are meant to live? Would it give you the strength to get through each day, would it help you breathe? Would it help to shrink the tumour?"

"Yes, yes it would."

"Well than that's what we'lll do Treice. What else do you need?"

"I need that operation you were telling me about, the one that Hope performs."

"The lobotomy?"

"No, not the lobotomy, you idiot. Although....that could work too, less thinking. Less thinking is good."

"I know the one, you mean the one where she manipulates the eyes so that they face inward? That one is performed in the Meditation Room and it takes about 36 hours. When you're done, you will only be able to see internally, you will only be able to scan your body and your mind, you will assess how you are feeling and let yourself be; there will be no more clutter for you Treice, just calm."

"Yes that's the one. I want that one. But how will I see my work, how will I work, how will I manage, how will I make the coffee?"

"Like we told you, this is your work Treice and you will manage brilliantly; and you're not supposed to drink coffee!"

Two Deaths, A Wedding and A Pregnancy In 60 Days

Max was conceived on a Wednesday between flying in from Prince George on Tuesday, and flying out to Toronto on Thursday to spend time with my Gramma in her last days. My father knew I was pregnant; this brought him some joy and great sadness; as it did me. He died 40 days after Max was concieved.

2 Funerals and A Wedding in 60 Days

Kelly and I got married on October 8th 2005. We could not have known then, that what most couples experience in years of marriage, would hit us like a bag of sand falling from the sky within 60 days of our wedding. We could not have known then that we would have an enormous toll taken on us. I feel sad for the absence of fancy and free.

2 Funerals in 30 Days

I'd like to start by thanking all of you for being present to honor our Grandmother, our mother, our cousin, our aunt, our friend and although she was an only child, our sister of all sisters. And also, for being present to honor an awareness of the emotions and the memories that we've all been experiencing around the passing of Margaret Villeneuve.

At my Grandmothers 65th Birthday Party, my mother made a speech that made a reference (albeit a comical and not so positive reference) to her punctuality or lack of it. She was presented with a beautiful chime clock to assist her in being more punctual. I would like to offer that this time, and to this destination she's arrived on time.

I suppose that with so many questions and curiosities around death, we may suggest that a timely arrival be defined unequivocally by the preciousness of a very full, very long and very benevolent life. To experience Margaret's very full and very long life, we need only close our eyes and place her image before us to feel the vibration and the colour of her entire being.

Last week, my cousin Paula painted my Gramma's fingernails. Pink; the colour of a young girl's heart.

As she did so, I had an image in my mind of my Grandmother at the age of 84, just before she died. I saw her on a beautiful wooden park bench; her face toward the buttery sun; the red and gold leaves chattering in fall fashion all around her.

I place next to her my Grandmother at the age of 10. They lean into one another and they hold each other's soft hands. They are matched in their beliefs and their thoughts about life. The 10-year-old Gramma is sorry to hear about what she's endured over the next 74 years but she's not surprised.

I like to lengthen the bench and add a Gramma between them for each decade of her life. Now the bench is filled; a 10 year old Margaret, a 20 year old Margaret, a 30 year old Margaret, a 40 year old Margaret, a 50 year old Margaret and a 60, 70, and 84 year old Margaret.

When I do, the park bench begins to reflect her strength in character; it shows a progression, that she's always moved forward. My Gramma's very full and very long life was also content. As each of the Gramma's chat with each other on the bench, they discover their pains and their lessons; they listen and they smile and they know one another. The youngest Margaret must have known that she was meant for a life of perseverance; the oldest Margaret had come out victorious because of that perseverance.

My own memories of my Grandmother are very bright. You know they say that the reason that Grandparents and Grandchildren get along so well is because they have a common enemy! She never said a harsh word to me; she never used my first name in combination with my middle and last name in anger. When I think of her now I can smell her and I can see her behind the steering wheel of many a car. I see bubbles blowing from her mauve lips. I hear her voice, scratching at the silence and carving out a shape.

Our relationship was never still for we traveled the highways each weekend to visit the friends and family she loved so dearly. Sometimes I think that if it weren't for her bum leg, the two of us would have traveled in an Indian Motorcycle; me in the sidecar of course!

Margaret Villeneuve was a lighthouse. And all of us here who are related to her either by blood or by love are lighthouses too. We are lighthouses for we are grounded, we are in position, we help others to find their way and we embody light. While my Gramma has come through many storms, she always kept her lighthouse windows clean. Her clean windows meant that she never complained; she was always illuminated in our presence; when we glided into her territory she would keep us safe for the night and she helped us to project our own light.

It may be true that we have all just come through a storm of emotion and memory around Margaret's passing. To honour her and to be certain that she may find each one of us and feel the power of our light, let us clean our windows as the day and our lives go on so that we may begin to shine again.

We love you Gramma. Please kiss your husband and your son for us.

The Funeral

I’d like to start by thanking each of you for being here to experience Boris Vlasenko, his life and his ways. Perhaps to you he is your oldest friend, your lover, your newest friend, a part of your family, your friend’s father or simply, the man whose being and vibration you’ve come to honor; just for today. My father always said that if in a life time, a man could count his friends on one hand, he could count himself lucky. I’d like to suggest that my father was beyond lucky; for his life, his perseverance and his charm were born of sheer effort and intention.

My Dad knew that he was blessed for being loved and liked by so many, but, like the rest of us, he could never put his finger on the reasons why. As I called each of you to tell you he had passed away, many of you shared your thoughts about him with me. You used words like unique, special, witty, influential, neat, intelligent and compassionate. I would like to offer those compliments to him today.

Among these great compliments, none of you mentioned that he was bigger than a building. As a child, I thought he was. How unsettling it was to pass a building with him and see him glide through it inches below the door frame. As my depth perception and reality matured I realized of course, that he wasn’t as big as a building but I did go on to win all school yard bets about whose Dad could beat up whose Dad, or whose Dad was bigger than whose Dad.

When my Dad arrived to pick me up at school, we all watched him coming down the hall in slow long legged strides towards me. When he would bend at the torso to pick me up, it seemed to take so long for his face to finally connect with mine, and when it did, all the kids could feel his love.

Before Boris died he wished that his life and his death would come together like rain drops hitting a river. Today I seek solace in knowing that it did.

Boris was a lover of cities; from the ghosts of his heritage in Leningrad and Kiev to the billboards in Chicago, the daily death of chickens in Kensington Market, the crisp white concrete Rues of Montreal, to the smoke stacks and broken warehouse windows of Boston, he loved the city and the shot; for photography captivated him for many years

Through his lens, I see him at the top of Coney Islands’ Ferris Wheel; one of his favourite spots. At the peak of its cycle, he turns in slow motion to suck in the magic around him; like the Chinese man who could suck up the sea; my father sucked up life. As the wheel drops and stops at each level he feels no lower or higher than before; he is merely grateful for the change in perspective. I’d like to offer that like rain drops hitting a river, Boris has simply come to a new spot on his Ferris wheel.

Boris was a custodian of all memories. He kept them clean and colorful and ready to be pulled from the archives of his mind on a dime. When he shared his memories, he used his tongue to polish them as they came to life and made noise among us.

My father was a teller of jokes; while his repertoire included the standard knock knocks, and “a guy walks into bar…”, he could also sing Jingle Bells in Russian without cracking up and was never afraid to embarrass himself in the name of humour.

Boris is the owner of many a lesson. He was his own teacher and among many lessons he came to love the delicacy of humble pie. Towards his last days with us, he asked that his ego be pushed aside in the name of truth and he wanted to contribute more by faith and kindness than by smartness.

My father admired characters in fiction for he knew that if he hadn’t met them all, they all lived inside of him. He was touched that so many authors could write about him so accurately.

My Dad was a builder of families, one that became two and two that became one. My brother Jonas, my father’s wife Maria, my mother and my husband Kelly are united through him now.


My Dad was a thinker, a believer and a fighter; he was bigger than a building.

Dear Max

When I was pregnant with you we were so excited about having a baby, having a family. We talked about you every hour and we listened to you every minute. Because you were standing up inside my womb, we had to have a C-Section instead of a natural birth. I was devestated and relieved all at once.

It was 8:23 in the morning when you finally joined us on this side. I was behind a blue curtain and couldn't see or touch you for what seemed like an hour; but it was only minutes before your Dad brought you to me. While I waited for you, I was dubious. In my distortion, I heard a cat and asked the doctor if there was a cat in the room. He said no Treice, that's not a cat, that's your son. I said "are you sure? It sounds like a cat." He said he was sure. Believe it or not, I kept pressing the issue.

When your Dad brought you to me I held you and smiled. To date, this was the most surreal moment in my life. While most non-parent adults [like your Dad and I in the moments before your arrival] have seen babies, not all of us have seen newborns. And while we thought we were having a baby, we realized, in our first sleep deprived 57 hours that we had a newborn, and not a baby. I hope you too learn some day that these are two very different species. You became a baby soon enough, thank you.

I was so curious about you. A lot of women told me their stories of love and lights, and peace and understanding, and warmth and glowing this and shining that at their births, but not me. Nope, just intense curiosity. I wanted to put you on my tongue like a lozenge and figure you out slowly; I tried to meet your darting dark eyes and look deep into them to see if there was a brain in there or the moving parts of a clock. I wanted to feel for your ribs and see if your skin stretched around them like mine does. I wanted you to tell me how it felt to be resting on me instead of in me. I wanted to know who you were and who you might become. And I wanted to know who I was and who I might be with you in my life.

In the hospital room, your Dad slept on the floor and I got the hospital bed. You slept in a clear plastic rectangluar bin. At night, we would take turns walking you, feeding you , holding you and lgetting to know you in the hospital hallways. Your Dad thought he had it rough until he saw a Dad with new born twins crying at the same time! When it was my turn, I sang the only song that I could think of singing. "From this moment, I will never let you go". That was the title and only line, and I sang it over and over again; more like a chant. That night, at about 8:23, your parents were born.

It was there that we first discovered your feet. They appeared to be the size of a small boy, maybe in Kindergarten or Grade 1. I asked the doctor if they were too big. He said "well, they're generous."

You are 20 months old now and I've been singing to you since I wrote my chant. Sometimes, I sing the old favourites like Frere Jacques (by the way it's 'sonner a matine', not 'semma lemma teema', like I thought), and Hush Little Baby. And other times I sing the ones I've been making up since you were born like 'There's Another Human Being In the Bedroom', or 'His Name is Max and He Doesn't Like to Relax', or 'From This Moment I Will Never Let You Go'.

These days you talk about trucks and tractors and firetrucks. You love the sound of ambulances and airplanes and you eat mostly blueberries and Sunny Boy Organic Whole Wheat Waffles. After you eat, you hold your wrist with one hand, extend your middle finger and ask for 'won mo waffle.' You love the Butterfly Kiss and the Eskimo Kiss (although we're not allowed to call it that in 2008; it's a Nose Kiss), and you never leave me without blowing me a kiss through your tiny fingers. You've just planted peas, parsley, onions and pumkins in the garden. Your Dad bought you a baby watering can, and each morning you wake your Dad up to water them with you.

When I ride you around on my bike you say "Lally Bop" or "Ready, bump!" When you say 'pool', we think you're saying 'poo' and get excited that you're telling us you need to go! When we put you on the toilet instead of taking you to the pool, you drop your lower lip in disgust of your parents and say "I don wan it." Yesterday you said "comfortable" and I believe that tomorrow, you just might say "I didn't want scrambled, I prefer fried, but thanks for your effort Mom."

When we get to a locked door at home or elsewhere you say "Mommy needs key."

My dear Max, you are the key to all the locked doors in my world.

Love,

Mom

Deflated

Yet another appointment. I'm changing my attitude for this one.

The Hammer and The Healer

"Hey, listen, can we talk?"

"Sure, let's go the boardroom; grab your tea."

"Listen, I really hate to tell you this. I mean for the most part, you've been good to me here; but you know, I, um; I, I quit."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"You know, um, it's, ah, it's really too much for me here. I, I thought this was a place that I really wanted to work, but with the team changing as it is, I just, - I want out."

"You don't like the team, here at H & H?"

"NO! I don't like the team here at H & H; are you serious? Do you like the team? Do you like what you've created here? These people are shadows of people; they have no souls; they're counter productive. This is ridiculous really. Um, so yeah, listen, I just, -I quit."

"I happen to believe the team here is well balanced."

"Well balanced? Are you off your rocker? You hired Depression last week! What could she have to offer us here? The week before that you hired three new guys. Really come on, Isolation? Misery? Self Doubt? I saw Fault interviewing Sadness last week for Christ's sake. Look, I thought you really needed me here, and that I could do this job for you, but no, I can't; no one can do this job for you, this is ridiculous."

"Well, there's Hope; you and her have always got along."

"Got along? What? Hope is a fucking chameleon! Our relationship started when I caught her making out on my couch with Death. Jesus, I don't even see her anymore since you gave her office to the latest addition to your team. Her office is in the kitchen for Christ's sake, I see her at coffee break and that's it."

"You're still drinking coffee? You know, you shouldn't....."

"SHUT UP!"

"Do you have any positive thoughts, any at all, about what you're doing here?"

"Yes, I have some, I guess"

"You know that positive thoughts are exponentially more powerful than negative thoughts."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it doesn't matter that you are negative about your team; all negative thoughts are weak and all positive thoughts are powerful. It's true; try it."

"What is this? What did you do? Did you read a self help book and now your passing your learnings on? Great, thanks!" I can read my own self help book thank you very much."

"Yes, I did, and I do and you should."

"You do what?"

"I pass everything I learn on to you."

"Thank you, I guess."

"Look maybe you're right. People have done this job before you (and done very, very well) and if I recall correctly, the teams in the past may have been more balanced."

"AHHH HA! I knew it!"

"How about I make some more hires this week?"

"Forget it, I quit, I told you Fah-ni-to."

"Well, there's a couple resumes right here on the fax machine, how about we take a look at them together? Maybe you'd like to do the interviewing this time around? Maybe you can build new offices for them? You know that construction management thing you were on about before, maybe that would help."

"Oh? I, I would like that very much. Let me see those."

"Here you go."

"Hey look, it's Laughter, I used to work with her a couple years ago. And look, here's Pretty, I remember her, and Confidence, and look here's Healer herself, and Joy....can we hire them all?"

"Well, we have no room, we can't possibly hire them all."

"Look, I told you, I can do this. I can make space for new hires, this is doable. Hell, Death needs company in the corridor, I can put Laughter in there with him until I design something more suitable. I'll build the offices for these new hires. I'll do that and still do my real job."

"That is your real job. Congratulations!"

"Congratulations on what?"

"Youv'e been promoted.'"

"You don't say, you mean I came in here to quit and I got a promotion? I love that!"

"Good, we'll see you tomorrow then."

Empty and Sad

This morning I am empty and sad instead of full and happy. It seems that denial has many dance partners, happiness and postive thinking among them.

I'll be in the Chemo Chair again tomorrow and am fearful of the side effects experienced last time.

The folks at the Hammer and the Healer called a board meeting yesterday; what's up with the assigned seating? They always put Denial and Fault on either side of me, and Death and Hope straight across from me.

Death is currently negotiating for a permanent office but they're not biting. His desk is under the concrete stairs in the emergency exit corridor. He says it's too cold in there and it's hard for him to work in such poor conditions. He says he's going to call WCB.

Hope has a permanent office but it's in the photocopier room. I guess they set it up that way so I'd have to run in to her several times a day.

Today

Today, I feel like living but don't know how. Today, I want it more than ever but can't seem to grab it. Today with the buzz gone, I am down. I think I thought that the kindness would save my life; but alas the battle is still mine. Who gets this job? Me. Who wants it? Not me. In Charge of saving my own life, really? Me?

The Cancer Agency is bound by protocol; their protocol; the one devised by board members and research dollars. The one that says those that can be saved will, and those [who they don't believe can be saved] won't, or they won't help them as much as the ones who can.

So who will give me a hysterectomy? Their surgeon was originally on side, but after their group conference, (the conference where they talk about who is savable and who is not) they concluded that they wouldn't give me one. Again, maybe Dr. Phil can get one going for me. I'll ask around. Perhaps there is a back alley underground black market surgeon, the one with the coat hanger, maybe he'll do it. More resources needed, more appointments. More work, more worth, more life.

The Speech

Intro Joke 1
Thank you for coming out to the Kick-Ass Cancer Benefit, Celebrating and Supporting the Unstoppable Treice Backs. You know, when Erin first emailed me the idea for the title of this event, I, with an undocumented case of dyslexia apparently, read “celebrating and stopping the unsupportable Treice Backs!”

Intro Joke 2
Anyway, so thank you. Thanks for being here tonight. You know, I’m actually not here right now. I’m probably puking in the alley; I have Imposter Syndrome and I think I’ve flown the coop. I thought maybe later we could divide the room into those with Imposter Syndrome and those without; maybe do a little Row Row Row Your Boat or There Ain’t No Flies on Us, or even Kumbya?

No Seriously, Music
Actually, no we’ve got a great line of up of Music tonight. A big hand and a big thank you to Paul Pigat, to Wichita Trip, to the Boomchix and to Big Joe Burke. Also, we have a special performance by Soressa Gardner

No, Seriously
I’ve been struggling with how to convey how important and touching it is to me that you’ve all shown up tonight to support me; I can’t say enough. I’m very nervous, partially because there’s so many people in the room that I don’t know, but also because there are so many people in the room that I do know!

Body Joke 3
So maybe if the people I do know could leave the room, I could just hang out with the people I don't know!

Anyway, it was the Grandson of Confucius who said that just as water will flow, onobstructed, downhill, we given the chance to be what we are, will extend ourselves in kindness. So you guys are all living unobstructed lives as far as I can tell – very, very kind.

Now I'm serious, thank you for this
In the days preceding this event I started falling asleep each night to the sensation of swelling. Every time I closed my eyes this past week I felt I was filling up, like a balloon. I seemed to be taking many breaths in, but I never let them out. I could feel my arms puffing up slowly against my rising belly, my legs intensifying because my knees and ankles were inflating.

I felt like the man who could swallow the sea; until before I knew it I was huge in my room. The sensation in my limbs was that they were pink and light and growing and the stuffing themselves into the corners of my bedroom, my big old booty backed up against the window and my nose pressed into the ceiling. When I opened my eyes I could only see my cheeks as they grew like bubble gum up and over my head. And with each everlasting breath in, my nostrils grew to the size of eggs.There I lay, night after night, nap after nap this week, light as feather but like a gargantuan cherubim rising like dough.

Ahh, the sensation of love; the anticipation of this room and all of you who have come to warm it with me; thank you. Thank you so much for this.

This event has come together because of hearts like yours. It is powerful because of your contributions and for your empathy. I would like to take a moment to honour the people in the room who have been touched by cancer in some way or another, good and bad. Their fights have ultimately been round after round of referee-less pain and mayhem, love and learning and I want them to feel connected here tonight for their journeys. So a toast if you will, for everyone who’s been touched by less than perfect health.

Tonight let’s celebrate!

So, a big thank you to everyone, all the volunteers who helpled to put this event together and to all the merchants who donated gifts to support my family through this tough time. Also, a big thank you to the WISE Club for supporting me for 16 years now!

So just a few specific thank yous,

I'd like to thank Chuck MacFarlane who inserted herself back into my life with love and is running this fabulous Silent Auction.

I’d like to thank Glynis Burke who pitched this event with adornment to everyone who would listen, not to mention her constant pitching of the Edamame bean for treating cancer!

I’d like to thank Erin Frizzell for organizing this classy event with love and excellence as always.

I’d like to thank Monique Koronko for making clear, that in no uncertain terms she’s on my team.

I’d like to thank Niki Walton for living the truth everyday and for doing it gracefully, and for taking it as it comes, in her long beautiful strides

I’d like to thank my Mom for loving me and learning me, for being near me and for getting closer everyday

I’d like to thank my son Max for showing me that he needs me everyday

And I’d like to thank my husband Kelly for kissing me, for tucking me in and for telling me every night that everything is going to be okay.

So Let’s celebrate!

No Words

Swelling

I don't know quite what to do with all of this kindness, except accept it. It doesn't feel quite right and yet it does somehow; like it's filling some holes from the past, mudding over some cracks, applying pressure to puncture and stiching up some tears.

I don't know quite what to do with this swelling, this feeling of fullness. Perhaps I'll eat less; thank you.

The Chemo Chair

The Chemo chair sits with three other chemo chairs in a standard hospital room. There is one in each corner; two by the window. The chemo chair is a recliner and comes in hospital green or hospital peach. I like the chair by the window, and because hospital peach reminds me of dirty band-aids, I always try to grab a green chair.

Each room has a full-time nurse who juggles names, birthdates, admin, blood, veins, reactions and bags. She also tolerates patients who are angry with her or with the system. And she tries to understand and assist the patients who are teary eyed and weak.

When starting a chemo session for a patient, sometimes the nurse misses a vein and calls for another nurse; sometimes that nurse misses a vein and calls for another nurse too. Otherwise, as long as everything goes well there's one nurse to four chemo chairs. The nurse, who is usually dressed in nursing clothes or even casual gym clothes, has a special realtionship with her thick, blue, waxy gown and gloves. Each time she hangs a bag of Chemical Therapy, say Carbolplation or Paclitaxol, she must suit up. Just like we do when we're working with Asebestos. The protocol exists in case the bag breaks. If it does, it may burn her or get into her eyes; it may also give her cancer.

Sometimes, I sit and look at the other patients in the other chairs and wonder about them. Sometimes I try to avoid their stares because I know they're looking at me and wondering about me. Sometimes someone who still has their hair and is relatively new to the process stares a lot at everyone else in the room as if to wonder if she too will share our look some day soon.

Sometimes, I get scheduled with a preacher and I listen. Other times I'm with another mother and we talk. Sometimes the ESL patients struggle to understand and everyone wants to help the nurse explain at the same time. Other times, there is one guy in the room who wants to take care of everyone. Most times, though, there is silence among us.

The Anti-Venom

The Chemotherapy is truly a poison; somewhat devilish; for now anyway. In my second round, it seems to have brought on some pain and anquish. Some of that deep grief I was feeling last month is here with me now. It turned me about and left me sick, stoned, angry and hurt.

I hope that it's more angleic characteristics will reveal themselves in a few months when my body glows under its cancer free halo.

This and That

Sometimes late at night I find Fault lingering about. He's just a shadow for just a moment and then he's gone. My body has struggled it seems, to keep its cells benign. Too much running, too much playing, too much truth and not enough at the same time. Back to the shower; and the scour.

Last week, I found myself dressing pretty for my oncologist. I was supposed to have her paged in the building when I arrived. Instead, I ran into her just outside the clinic. A soft smile and a glance at the sidewalk showed me she recognized my beauty under my wig and asked if I would accompany her to the Safeway with her recyclables. We walked, and she held my arm, her head, just beneath my shoulder pressed against me. I thought for an instant that we could drop off my cancer there too, but they didn't have a bin for that.

I asked one of the doctors today if I could have a PET scan at the end of all the treatments. She said "yes, the PET scan is best for showing the cancer." I told her that she misunderstood me, I didn't want the PET scan to show the cancer, I wanted the PET scan to show that there was no cancer at the end of all these treatments. She smiled and cocked her head to one side in disbelief'.

Cancer Graffiti

Propinquity

Today is my last day of work. I'm feeling pretty good about it and I'm looking forward to starting something new. I had an interview this morning for another job. It went well.

The company was called The Hammer and The Healer and they asked me to be there for 10:00am. Their offices are located on the 89th floor of the Universal Building downtown. I'd never heard of these guys before but was anxious to get on with Construction Management.

I was escorted into a round conference room and was asked to sit before a panel of interviewers. The board room table was made of cinnamon bark and was stiched together with some kind of twine. I'd never seen anything like it. The artwork was colourful and framed in wood from pear trees and rose bushes. There were small, smooth stones and pebbles in the centre of the table and Hope was there.

I don't know how she ended up working for this construction company but I was a little offended. I wonder if the other interviewers knew that I caught her making out with Death on my couch last week; geez. I decided it was best not to say anything about that as I really wanted this job. She spoke first actually. She asked for her special glasses back.

I took them off and she was right, my eyes had adjusted and I could see just as well without them as when I was wearing them. I looked over to the windows and saw that they were framed with words of wisdom; a perfect vista for that wide sky.

One of the guys asked if I was comfortable, and then started. "We've taken a look at your resume and see you've included a lot of construction management experience here."

"Yes, yes, I have. That's what I am; a project manager; that's who I am; a manger, of things."

"Oh, you know that's so strange. We just don't see it. Do you remember what Angeles Arrien said once?"

"Ah, um, no, no idea."

"She said 'never hide your green hair - they can see it anyway.' You see Mrs. Backs, we think you have more to offer than this management stuff. We think you are an artist and a lover, a mother and a child. We think you love words and letters and clocks and watches. We truly believe that you think in shapes and colours; we see your moods and your madness and we'd love to have you here. How are you with multi taksing?"

"Oh, I am very, very good at multi tasking, you wouldn't really believe it. I truly am a star when it comes to multi tasking. Basically, I function by multi tasking all the time, whether I'm at home or at work, I'm all over it."

"That's really too bad."

"Um, oh?"

"You see for this job, you need to focus on only one thing. What do these pebbles here, in the centre of the table remind you of?"

"Um, aggregate; say a two inch minus?"

"You mean they don't make you think of how something so rough can emerge so smooth? They don't make you think of the power of the sea? They don't bring the taste of salt to the back of your tongue?"

"Come to think of it, they do. When I look at them I hear a trickle. You're right.

"That's good, very good. How are you with deadlines and spreadsheets? How do you handle stress?"

"I'm excellent with deadlines and spreadsheets, I work best under pressure."

"Again, that's really too bad. To work at The Hammer and The Healer you'll need to forget about deadlines and you'll need to be stress free. You'll need to learn to find peace and balance and you'll need to cleanse the soils in which these weeds are growing." You'll need to find joy and feel it. You will need to rest when you need to and walk when you can. You will need to heal yourself.

"When can I start?"

"You already have."

Deep Thoughts

I hate this, it really is too much at certain moments; in most moments. Recently, I've been getting 5 and 10 minutes a day of relief. Relief from my situation means I forget where I am, what I have and what it means and think of something different. I hope to get a couple full days in a row like that - another bit of rhetoric would really be helpful. This one is wearing on me.

Like yesterday at the Safeway. I spoke to the cashier about why they get frustrated when you swipe your debit card the wrong way. They try to grab it and turn it around for you or they say "no, no, the other way." I told him he should try saying nothing. There are only two options for us consumers you know, swipe it this way or swipe it that way. If it doesn't work the first time, I told him, I would think of swiping it the other way on my own; thus saving him the negative energy expenditure. He agreed and I thought about that for 5 or 10 minutes after that. Really deep thoughts, oh how nice.

Mostly I'm Okay With This

Flirting

Is thinking or obsessing about death an infidelity of sorts? Naturally my true love is to my life however I often find myself yearning for more information about death, to get closer, to kiss another. It is so risqué, so fun, so forbidden and so uncomfortable that it is almost certainly an affair.

Mostly, I have very structured thoughts about my death. For a project manager like myself, is this not the final project? The ultimate attention to critical path, to early starts and late finishes, to detail, to perfection and to flow. I can't get enough of the way this might go! A friend said recently that my imagination must be just running wild; she is absolutely right. It is in fact a furry of thoughts and shapes and lights and buzzing sounds. Right now, I can only entertain everything, absolutely everything is permitted here. Ahh, meditation, another thing on my list.

I learned that it is no betrayal, there is no affair. I'm just flirting. If I fear death I cannot live. I must do away with the fear, and to do that I must know death. I need to know it to say no to it. I need to get a taste of it to pass it up. I need to digest it to feel sick and purge it. I need to have a brief encounter with it to see my life without me and say no fucking way, thank you very much you fat-assed bastard.

So, I do hang out with death sometimes, Kelly doesn't mind.

I am paralyzed however, when it's the other way around; when death calls the shots and visits me with no warning, no phone call, nothing. When it flashes across my screen, knocks on my conscience and leaves track marks in my heart. If you could put dread in a needle and shoot it up it would fill your body with doom in less than a second. That's what it feels like when death stops by. When death visits me it feels like what it must feel like between the second you're holding on to the Golden Gate Bridge to jump and the second you're not. Pure dread.

Please don't come around here no more. (thank you very much you fat- assed bastard)