Remembrance Stories

Catherine (Kate) Parsons
August 11, 1953 – October 23, 2003

“A mother’s love lives in the hearts of her children; shaped and moulded with tender hands.”

This is my mother’s story!

How can I describe the woman who made me who I am? Often after we lose a loved one we tend to raise them on a pedestal, the difference with me is that I have always had my mother on a pedestal. To describe her in several words she was kind, unselfish, and proud and the strongest most resilient woman I have ever known.

My mother was a single mother, raising two children on her own with very little resources, but she seemed to turn one dollar into two and I never went without. My brother is eight years older than me, so since the age of 12 it was just mom and I. During my teenage years I was as rebellious as most teen girls are, but my mother soon put me in my place and said “it is either we are friends or we are enemies” so we became friends, best friends (but if she felt as though I crossed the line and disrespected her, lookout!). She gave me the perfect balance of discipline and freedom and as a result I could talk to my mother about anything, even boy troubles. Most of my friends confided in my mother too, my house was the frequent gathering place for my friends and I, and my friends were known as “Katie’s girls.”

One New Years Eve, several of my friends decided to sleep at my house after a night out, when we got back mom already had the turkey in the oven and it smelled so good and we were so hungry, so we woke her up to tell her about our night as we always did and she said to go get it. It was about 3 am and here was my mother sitting up in her bed with five girls sitting around and a turkey roaster in the center, and we all dug in heartily! When I asked what we would have for dinner the next day, she simply said “I guess we’ll go to Monnie’s” (my Aunt’s place). She was so carefree!

I always thought my mother would be here forever, she had been through so much and survived, that I sometimes thought she was indestructible. But one day after a couple days of what we thought was the flu; my mother asked me if she looked yellow. That was the beginning of our short battle. She was hospitalized and several days later she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. While you would think that she would be concerned about the radical surgery she was facing my mother simply worried about her children. On May 27, 2003 my mother underwent the Whipple procedure, and before her surgery we simply hugged and said how much we loved each other, there was nothing left unsaid between us.

She was remarkable! The surgery was so challenging but soon she recovered and was almost back to her old self. She often referred to herself as the “Queen of the Whipple” with a proud fist raised high in the air. With the reality of this cancer hitting home, I asked my mother if there was anything she had ever wanted, she looked around her home which was in much need of repair and thinking about her two children who were so far in debt to student loans, she responded “I have everything I ever wanted.” I think about that everyday, very rarely are we free from want, yet my mother was content and happy with the way her life was, despite the challenges. She had two children whom she loved more than anything and our accomplishments were her accomplishments. She was proud of the people that we had become and she realized that we were her success and she did a pretty good job! Not to mention her granddaughter Rebecca who was one year old at the time, and who brought a light to her Nana’s life, that I believe kept mom strong throughout her illness.

On August 11, 2003 we celebrated my mother’s 50th birthday with a small gathering of friends and family. She was vibrant. It was the perfect end to the summer, because a few weeks later mom had to start her chemo and radiation. The treatments took a toll on her body and she was no longer as vibrant as she was, and as her daughter and caretaker I was scared, frustrated and lost. There was nowhere to turn and while I was patient and I hoped and prayed that she would improve, it just never happened.

On October 23, 2003, just five months after diagnosis, my mother lost her battle to pancreatic cancer. It was two weeks before my 21st birthday and it was the love that we shared that kept me strong. Even in death she was my strength, my hope and my inspiration.

My mother now has three grandchildren, all my brother and sister-in-laws children, and I know that they keep her busy as she is their guardian angel. I feel her with me everyday and though she has left me physically, I know she is still surrounding me with her love and light. It is for her that I am trying to live my life in a positive way, and become the person she knew I could be.

She was a Mother, Nana, Sister and Friend and she will be forever loved and missed by me (Serina), Leon, Jocelyn, Rebecca, Matthew and William.

-Serina Parsons

“If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.”

Doreen Elizabeth (Dolly) Shunk

1958-2008

"We truly don’t know how important those who are closest are……..until they are gone."

We love and care for them but until they are no longer with us; we don’t know how much our lives are foDolly1.jpgrever changed.

Some of my fondest memories;

As a kid on Christmas morning it was always about getting my Aunt out of bed so I could open my presents. She was not an early riser and Christmas Day was no different for her.

When I was 15 years old I remember seeing my Aunt wearing her full leathers riding her 1974 Triumph down the road, to all my friends she was the coolest Aunt anyone could have. The first time she took me for a ride on her bike she calmly said “if we start to tip over, put your feet down and help me k”. Then there was my first night at the bar…yes you guessed it, my Aunt took me and bought me my first drink…I won’t tell you how old I was at the time but boy did I have fun that night!!

For several years my Aunt and I did not see each other much, instead she had an active life with her own group of friends she called “family”. There was always the occasional phone call or casual meeting, just enough to let me know she was there and ok.

About 8 years ago Dolly almost lost her life to an infection in her spinal column. I remember the day I was told she was in ICU at Sunnybrook and there was a possibility she would not walk again. For months she worked and fought hard to walk and regain her independence. It was then that we became very close. I had no idea how close we would become or that the title “Aunt” would become more like “Sister and Best friend”. It was also the time she found God and a deep spiritual belief. We were so far apart with religion that we often teased each other about it. I know her teasing was her worry of my lack of faith. As a result of the infection and surgery she was no longer able to work and was forced to settle for a less than comfortable disability payment. She never complained and always arrived with Birthday and Christmas gifts for everyone, even if it meant no grocery shopping that week. With her new challenges, Dolly still had the one thing that I will always remember about her………to have FUN!!! Life for her was all about living the moment and getting the most from each day.

With only 9 years between us in age it was easy for us to act like sisters rather than Aunt and Niece. She lived 2 blocks away from me and became a very important part of my family. Dolly walked through horrid weather to be with my kids every morning at 5:30 am to get them ready for school and as I said earlier she was NOT a morning person. Both Sarah and Tyler would look forward to Monday mornings because it meant Auntie Dolly would be there to take care of them. She had a caring, fun and feisty way of interacting with them. She shared her life experiences with all of us in hope she could save us the pain of her mistakes. I always knew the kids would be comfortable telling her things they would never tell my husband and me. I knew the kids were covered and would be looked after if they told her their deepest secrets.

Dolly never judged anyone for anything they did. She knew she was not perfect and thus nobody else was either. I know my grandmother used to shake her head at the sight of some of her friends. She looked deeper to find who people were. She had a special gift that made people feel comfortable.

Dolly’s fight with PC:

It all started with jaundice, neither of us for some very strange reason was too worried about it. I thought it’s probably some kind of infection; after all she lives a healthy life and is young right? Her doctor referred her to a local surgeon and after a couple of weeks of waiting, the ball started rolling downhill. Several failed ERCP’s followed by confirmed pancreatic tumour. Weeks of waiting to see a specialist at Toronto General Hospital where Dolly would finally have Percutaneous Transhepatic Biliary Drainage (drains externally into a bag) to give some relief from jaundice, which was causing extreme itching and fatigue. She was in fact glowing yellow; after all she had the jaundice for several weeks before receiving treatment. There were several complications as a result of the drains being used for jaundice. They had to be replaced often for they would clog or come out. They caused infections that required hospitalization, blood transfusions and IV antibiotics. Through all of the midnight drives to Toronto General Emergency Dept. after short stops at Orillia’s hospital for pain control, Dolly kept thinking positive. Not once did she say I am not going to make it or I give up and don’t want to be here. We both hoped the tumour could be removed. The surgeon at Toronto General gave us the news we so desperately wanted to hear, “the tumour appears to be operable and we will schedule you for a Whipple procedure”. The procedure was explained in full and all paperwork filled out. The two of us were on cloud nine and thinking of the future was no longer painful. Nine weeks later we were still waiting for a call from the surgeon to tell us when the surgery would take place. The call finally came but I had a feeling it was not going to be what we wanted to hear. The surgeon said “I need to see you about your most recent CT scan”. I never told Dolly I was scared about this appointment. I vividly remember the surgeon saying “the tumour is no longer operable, there was nothing they could do, the surgeon had no need to see Dolly again and well…….you have a few months to live”. Our worlds collapsed and the questions started “was the extended wait for surgery the reason she was no longer a surgical candidate”? Surgeon’s response was “we will never know now”. How about “I would like a second opinion” followed by “they are my colleagues but feel free to see them if you like”. The surgeon told us Dolly could receive chemotherapy as palliative care; it could help control pain and keep her more comfortable. That day is forever ingrained in my memory. Dolly and I cried for what seemed like hours. What bothered Dolly the most about dying? Not being there to see Sarah and Tyler grow up, go to university, get married and have children. The drive home from Toronto seemed never ending. She would stop crying long enough for me to start. I was angry about the lengthy waiting time for surgery and was telling her so when out of nowhere she looked at me and said, “It’s kind of exciting you know”. I said “what is exciting”? She said “Dying”. OMG I was mortified until she said, “I am going to a better place where there is no pain and starting a new life”. Of course my response was “OK then…whatever works for you Dolly”. This comment brought us both to a painful laugh. She smiled until we arrived home.

Dolly had 2 requests.

1. Would I please find a way to let her die at home with her four kids and me by her side?
2. Would I please quit smoking?

I promised her I would honor both requests. I had no idea these promises would be the most painful and difficult of my life. The next 8 months were full of battles followed by more battles. Her last major battle was that of a bypass surgery so she could continue to eat, the tumour had blocked her stomach from intestines. It was several calls to the surgeon before this permanent solution was put in place. It seemed as though they didn’t want to waste resources on someone who they thought would have been dead by now, all her treatments seemed to be a fight. Dolly endured several chemo treatments which did in fact keep her pain at a manageable level.

I knew the end was near when she developed Ascites. I was taking her to the hospital twice a week to have 5-6 litres of fluid drained from her stomach. She joked about it saying “I am bigger than you were when you were pregnant”!! The last trip to the hospital to drain this fluid I was told by her oncologist that she would not make it through the next 24 hours. She slowly stopped drinking, became confused and irritated at times but I knew I was witnessing the end of my Dolly. It was my turn to fulfill the last promise I made her. I kept the Dilaudid flowing as high as allowed, the Fentanyl patches, the Ativan, the Morphine etc. I gave her everything I could to keep her as pain free as possible. Two days later she was still fighting for her life. I told her over and over again it was ok for her to leave us now. We talked about almost everything that she wanted done before she died but there was one thing she could not talk about, the fate of her 2 fifteen year old cats and her deeply loved 14 year old dog. “Red Dog” didn’t leave her side for the last few days of her life; he knew she was going to leave him soon. Dolly never gave up and fought to live to the very end.

Life has forever changed for my family. We lost “Auntie Dolly” to Pancreatic Cancer on February 10, 2008 at her home in my arms at the tender age of 49 years after a courageous 8 month battle. Her “fur kids” joined her in heaven that same day.

You know when it’s time to let your loved one go but you never truly are ready to say goodbye.

Cathy Goodchild

DONALD JOSEPH DRISCOLL

This is Donnie's story.

Donnie died from pancreatic cancer on January 12, 2008, he was only 48 years old. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October 2007. He lived for only 3 months after the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was made.

What makes Donnie's story so unbearable is the fact that he started having pain in his abdomen and lower back in 1994. At that time Donnie was living in Ontario and started to be investigated there. He came home to PEI in 2002, as he was feeling increasingly unsure of his health. He told the doctors about his pain and weight loss and was immediately put on anti-depressants. The pain continued and got worse and he was put on Vioxx and higher doses of anti-depressants. He did get referred to two other physicians and he had a colonoscopy and an endoscopy done in 2004 but they did not reveal anything. Donnie was referred to a doctor in Moncton in March of 2007. Here, he was told that his pain was "emotional", not physical. No tests were done or ordered. He was advised to seek counseling, to stop chewing gum, avoid fatty foods, stop smoking, and try acupuncture. The doctor reassured him of the benignancy of his condition.

Donnie returned home, devastated and distressed about the diagnosis. He continued to push himself to go to work. Donnie was a server at the Racino in Charlottetown. He worked so hard, going up and down flights of stairs carrying trays of food and dishes even though walking was increasingly difficult. Donnie spent most his off time in bed, cut off from family and life in general. Donnie tried so many things to help himself. He tried healing touch therapy, neuro modulation therapy in Riverview, NB, he went to a counselor to work on his "emotional pain", and he tried many dietary and nutritional changes as well. Donnie tried so hard last summer to get himself better, it is pitiful to remember. He was found, on more than one occasion at his home in the depths of despair over his ever worsening pain and physical deterioration. We, his family were so worried and confused. I live with the knowledge that I let him down. I was not there for him. I mistakenly or naively believed that the doctors were trying to do the right thing. We encouraged Donnie to continue pushing for help from his doctor and to ask for tests to be done, nothing was done. Donnie went to the ER twice last summer and both times was sent away with a prescription.

Finally, Donnie could work no more. He was now bent over at the waist constantly, with his hands on the floor, as this was the only position that he could tolerate. He goes again to his doctor and basically begs for a CT scan. The doctor surprisingly orders one at his request, but still feels it is unnecessary. The doctor again mentions the effects of depression and how they can cause pain. The doctor still believes it is all in Donnie's head. At this appointment Donnie weighed less than 120lbs. Donnie waits for the CT for several weeks, spending his days now with my parents because he is afraid to be alone. He knows that he is dying and tells my father this. October 4th, 2007 Donnie is told that he has cancer. The cancer is in the lymph nodes, the liver, the lungs, the pelvic bones and the tail of the pancreas. Donnie is given Oxycontin and goes home with my sister to tell my parents.

The next three months is an ordeal that I am still trying to come to grips with. I still cannot believe all that Donnie suffered. I never knew that a human being could have pain like that. I totally believed that there would be something to ease Donnie's pain, but there wasn't. He suffered every day. I went home for Thanksgiving after being told about Donnie's diagnosis. When I got to Donnie's house he was in bed in pain. The Oxycontin was not working. I took him to the hospital and this time we were not leaving until they helped Donnie. I took him from his home and he never returned. Donnie was finally admitted to the hospital. They kept increasing the Oxycontin and added Morphine every hour as needed along with a list of other drugs, but it never really got on top of the pain. Chemotherapy was ordered. Donnie had one round of Gemcitabine and then came the news that his cancer was not Adenocarcinoma but a neuro endocrine tumor of the pancreas. This is a very rare form of pancreatic cancer and these tumors are very slow-growing.

Donnie's chemo was changed to Streptozotocin and Doxorubicin. He had one treatment of this. It was decided just before his second treatment that chemotherapy was not helping and in fact could do more harm than good. Treatment was stopped. It was now just palliative care that was required. We managed to get Donnie into the Palliative Care Unit in Charlottetown. We were so happy to go there and so was Donnie. We were hopeful that here he would get the pain under control. His medications were changed and tinkered with constantly. Donnie was now on Methadone 3 times a day, a Versid pump, Buscopan, Sandostatatin, Sufentenol and Deladid every hour along with, Ativan, Lyrica and others that I cannot remember. His pain was never any lower than 5 out of 10 with many times throughout each day where it went to well over 10. It was a constant ringing for help from Donnie's room. The nurses were wonderful. We, Donnie's family, were there with him every day. We fed him, we looked after him, and we watched over him and tried to comfort him. That is all that we could do, just be there for him. My parents came every day. They were overcome with grief and disbelief. It took a lot out of them as they are both in their 80's but they came religiously and faithfully for Donnie. Thus was Donnie's journey.

The last five days that he was with us, he was in fact not really with us. His lungs were filling with fluid and he was given a drug to dry up the secretions. Donnie never talked to us again after this drug was started. Although, I am sure that he made eye contact with me and my sister on several occasions. We never left his side and someone was always holding his hand or touching him just so that he would know that he was never alone. He did not have a drink or a bite of food for the next five days.

He left us quietly around midnight on January 12th, 2008. I miss him terribly. I miss chatting with him. I miss his big laugh. It is still so raw. I think it always will be. I just hope that he knows how much I love him. I hope and pray that Donnie is at peace and that he is smiling down on us. We love him so much. The one thing that I take from this experience is that I will never wait for a doctor to order a test for me or someone in my family. I will be an advocate for private health care clinics, as they fill a void in our health care system. I have lost faith in the heath care that we are provided with and will be forever skeptical of doctors. This is a piece of writing that we found on Donnie's desk and I am going to share it with you.

"This is the darkest time of my life. The suffering is beyond. God bless me, Thy will be done. Let your angels help you. Help me my friends, please help me. Oh, Lord, take pity on this sad boy and help him."

Donnie

Lovingly remembered forever, Your Sister,

Lynn (Driscoll) Butler

Bart Goodes

My father was always a person you could count on and trust. My name is Lisa and I was, like so many others, Daddy’s little girl. An only child and brought into what I have come to know as the most amazing family possible. Till the day that he died, he still claimed his best birthday present was when they brought me home.

Like many others, my father had no symptoms. It was one day when I noticed that his glasses didn’t look right. There appeared to be a yellow film on them. When taking them off we realized it was his eyes that had the colour. From that day, it was always something that I knew deep in my gut would take my father from me.

The next day we started our roller coaster ride that led me to today. February 20th, 2008. Six days with out my dad.

The day after I noticed dad’s eyes, he was admitted to the hospital for some tests. That was Tuesday. Wednesday he was released and scheduled to come back on Thursday for a test. The doctor’s appointment was for Thursday at 3:00 pm. That was when Dad was told he had pancreatic cancer. There was a tumour attached to the pancreas and sitting on the bile duct. But, with dad’s health and age, he was a prime candidate for the Whipple surgery. What a relief. We waited over weekend to see a surgeon on Tuesday. He was then scheduled for a stint to be put in to take the jaundice out of his body. That all happened on the Friday. To this day I am amazed at how quickly our health care had taken care of Dad.

Surgery was set for Sept. 26th, 2007. The surgery was a success from all reports, which gave us all a sigh of relief. Mom and I were talking to Dad and the surgeon by 2:00 in the afternoon. We felt so good thinking that Dad was one of the 5 percent. After a few days he was taken out of CCU and put on a regular floor. From there he contracted some type of infection and was then moved back to CCU. We almost lost him that night. They did many tests on Dad in October and kept comparing them. All still looked well. Then, we finally received the news that they had tested nine of the lymph nodes. Six came back with cancerous cells. But again, we still seemed optimistic with all. Dad would receive chemo to kill/slow down any cells in his body. He is healthy and active. We had a good shot at beating this thing.

Chemo was scheduled and done and relatively he made out well. Not to bad, all in all. When the nurse came to the house one day to do the routine checks on Dad, she noticed that he had a fever. So, Mom took him to the hospital. They thought they would do a ct scan and an MRI. From there we learned that it was all through Dad’s liver. The doctors were amazed at how fast it had grown on his liver. From the first scan in October until December, it had taken over. Dad’s cancer was now terminal. Man those words hurt.

They still were going to do chemo. Gentle, palliative chemo but, still chemo. It was six weeks ago Thursday when he had his last chemo session. That was his last trip into the hospital. Dad never came back home after that. It was also January 30th when they told us that Dad’s liver had shut down. I spent as much time with him as I could. I have 2 children and a business to run along with a husband that works full time; my time with my father was limited. But, I can say, it was still time that I would never trade, or regret.

My father, through it all, always kept a stiff upper lip, a smile and, a thank you for every nurse, doctor or patient that he met.

I did meet one man who was brought into the same room as Dad and the words that he said that night to my Mom, Dad and I. I will never forget. His honesty and sincerity will stay with me forever like the love for my father. After telling this gentleman that it was pancreatic cancer, he broke down into tears and revealed that his best friend died of the same disease. He then knew the inevitable for Dad.

He said “Sir I can not pray for your health, but I can pray for you to have the strength to go through death.” His eyes then turned to mine and he stuttered in between his tears, “I pray for your family to have the strength to carry on without you.”

I hope that I can grant that man his prayers. I know that Dad had the strength to face his death, with Mom and I by his side.

I really hope that we can understand and bring some more awareness to this type of cancer. The numbers are mind shattering. And they don’t seem to be getting any better.

Lisa Goodes

Gary Martin

Gary Martin and his wife Darlene in front of city hall in Halifax in 2006. Mr. Martin died Sunday. (Ted Pritchard Staff)

TWO THIN ARMS reach up to me.

"C’mere" he commands gruffly, "give me a hug!"

Awkwardly, I lean over him, trying my best to comply but failing miserably. Gary Martin, 53, is so wasted with cancer, he can’t lever himself up from the hospital bed to allow me to get at him. Instead, I give his shoulders a quick squeeze and try to make a joke of my clumsiness.

"You’ll have to excuse me, Gary," I croak, "I’m a Brit and we just don’t do hugs properly."

Gary chuckles. "You did just fine," he assures me, fumbling with the tube that’s dripping the morphine into his arm.

Four years ago, this once bull of a man with a passion for life, in general, and his community, in particular, learned he had pancreatic cancer. Gary knew it was his death sentence but he and his doctors confronted it with everything they had, refusing to yield an inch without a fight. Sadly, it was a battle they couldn’t win. The disease spread to his lungs, his abdomen and, eventually, his brain. Now here he lies in the Victoria general hospital’s palliative care unit, his days ebbing.

Throughout it all, Gary has been buttressed by Darlene, his wife of 32 years, and their three grown daughters. Not to mention countless others.

When the story of his illness broke in late 2006, the family was overwhelmed by the support of those he’d touched during his 26 years as a policeman, including a spell as the force’s media relations officer, which is when our paths first crossed. There was also an outpouring of concern from all the residents he’d helped during his four years leading a special response team tasked with resolving community problems. Not to mention his all-too-brief spell on regional council.

"I’ve seen so much go on in this city," he reflects. "Oh, if this city only knew some of the things that have held people back and that aren’t really the way things are portrayed." He pauses, deep in thought for a moment, then changes tack. "I’ve had a very, very good life," he allows, "a very fortunate life with Halifax Regional Municipality and I’m very proud of our city."

Which doesn’t mean, however, that there haven’t been some aspects associated with public service that didn’t start getting to him. "It’s a fact," he marvels, "that our citizens don’t realize exactly what we have here, they really don’t!"

He tells me he’s visited places like Cuba and the U.S. and he knows just how bad things can be elsewhere. "I’m listening to people getting mugged in Disneyland, the kidnappings, accidents and hostage takings and I’m saying, ‘I’m getting calls on a daily basis about grass not being cut!’ " Or people calling, complaining about not having flower baskets hung along their street in summer.

"What a beautiful place we have," he exclaims. "Why in God’s name do people always look to the bad?"

As a councillor, he recalls, he felt driven to try and come up with ways to make life that little bit better and happier for residents. "I thought I could really make a difference in that field," he murmurs. "In some cases, I could, and in some cases, there was just no way, absolutely no way. Boy-oh-boy, that’s frustrating!"

His frustrations extend to the way the game of municipal politics is sometimes played in Halifax. He likens it to a cartoon, one in which councillors have one face for the media, playing hardball and demanding this and that for their districts, and then behaving completely the opposite, when the cameras are shut off. According to Gary, when councillors are out of the public eye, having a coffee or a meal together, the partisan tough talk disappears and they’re co-operating as a team. Once they return to the public spotlight, however, the factionalism resumes.

I ask Gary if he was ever guilty of this kind of behaviour. He shakes his head. "Not so much," he replies. "Normally, I just stay out of it. If you hear me say something, it’s usually something I’ve got my heart into."

Game-playing notwithstanding, Gary is extremely fond of his council colleagues. "Gloria McCluskey is the most heart-warming person I’ve ever met," he says. "She loves the people and hates seeing injustices. She’ll put on a tough front — no one messes with Gloria McCluskey— yet Gloria is the heart and soul of HRM."

He also has kind words for the mayor. "Peter Kelly puts on a strong front with things but, my gosh, when I talk with him, one-on-one for advice, it’s, ‘How are you going to do this for the people, that for the people?’ People don’t see it. It’s not reported that way. These are things the public doesn’t see."

He has little patience with people who feel his constituency of Bedford has been overly-favoured by council. "Show me what we’ve got," he challenges. "We don’t have a recreation centre; the one we had is gone. We’re closing the youth centre; one rink has closed (and) . . . we have less parks."

Gary was born in Halifax and his one big disappointment as a councillor has been the disappearance of his city as a corporate identity. "Why are we called HRM?" he asks, pulling a face. "What is HRM? We’re not even a city! Why aren’t we a city?"

Just check any of the media, he urges me. More often than not, HRM is referred to simply as Halifax. "Halifax, Halifax, Halifax!" he cries.

In Gary’s opinion, the cumbersome HRM appellation exists to pacify those people who’re still unhappy with losing their own identities through the 1996 amalgamation. "This is something we should be working on. How can we build ourselves as a community, as a strong community, when we can’t even figure out a name?"

Let’s become a city again, he urges, a strong city. It won’t mean Bedford, Dartmouth and the other communities will lose their names or identities. They’d still be very much part of the whole, as they are now. "Just give us back Halifax," he pleads. "That’s going to be my last kick of the cat."

Sadly, it wasn’t to be. A push to resurrect Halifax as a corporate entity was voted down by council, late last year. It was the only major battle Gary Martin, the plain-speaking people’s champion, ever lost. Until Sunday.

(pduffy@herald.ca)

’What a beautiful place we have. Why in God’s name do people always look to the bad?’ GARY MARTIN

Peter Duffy appears Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday.

Remembering Daniel Ivey

I am writing this story for my dad, Daniel Ivey. My name is Michelle and I was a daddy’s girl that’s for sure. Being an only child, I got to spend a lot of time with my dad growing up. I have fond memories of going for drives with my dad to just about anywhere, my favourite memory being the time we drove from Calgary to Vancouver through the Rockies in 1986 on our way to Expo’86. My dad loved going for drives. We ate a lot of cherries on that trip and every time I eat them, I think of us sharing a big bag of cherries on our venture.

In April of this year (2007), my dad developed a sudden pain in his abdomen. He waited a few days to see if it would pass but it didn’t, it only got worst. He must off gone to the Emergency Room about 10 times between April and August and also a trip to his Doctor. The pain was so bad and my dad was losing weight and looking paler everyday. They started off with the obvious tests… X-rays, colonoscopy, endoscope, ultrasound etc. and everything came back fine. Every time he came home, he would come with another prescription for another painkiller but still no diagnosis. Finally, one day in July he went to the hospital once again with excruciating abdominal pain. The doctor working that day mentioned a possible tumour on his pancreas. Until that day, I had never really heard or new much about Pancreatic Cancer. Little did I know how much my world was about to change. A few days later he was at the hospital having a CAT scan and later that afternoon, the Doctor who he had seen in the Emergency Room phoned him and told him to come to the office and he could bring someone if he wanted to. My dad being my dad didn’t want to bother me at work so he went alone and waited for me to get home to tell me the news. There was a tumour on his pancreas and they had diagnosed him with Pancreatic Cancer. They booked him for an MRI for staging of the tumour. I prayed like you wouldn’t believe in those days leading up to his MRI. After my dad’s MRI, the Doctor who ordered it phoned him at home to say the radiologist could find nothing on his pancreas. They said that there was some fluid in his abdomen but his pancreas appeared to be fine and it was most likely not pancreatic cancer. The Doctor said that he would have to go for more tests, and have a biopsy of the fluid to determine the cause of his pain. We were so relieved! By this time, we had both been online reading about pancreatic cancer and didn’t like what we had read. I actually said to him that it was so good that it was not his pancreas and that we could handle anything as long as it wasn’t pancreatic cancer. He agreed.

A few more weeks went by as we waited for his appointment for his biopsy. As time went by, dad got worst and worst and could no longer go to work. His stomach filled with fluid (called Ascites) and the Emergency Room even sent him home one day saying it was only “Gas”. I am not a doctor but I knew enough to know that his belly wasn’t swollen due to gas. The following week, I took dad to see his own Doctor. Before we left, he packed his bags because we both knew that his Doctor would have to admit him. He was so swollen; he could barely move and was in so much pain. Sure enough, he was admitted to the hospital and one week later we had the results of the biopsy. Dad had pancreatic cancer. What a blow it was. First thinking he did have it, then being relieved that he didn’t have it and now, it is confirmed – My dad had pancreatic cancer.

In the next 6 weeks, dad went through a lot. It took a lot to get his pain under control and he had to be drained several times due to the build up of fluid in his abdomen. He tried Chemo but it made him too sick. We all knew it was not good, but we chose to stay positive and not give up. I spent a lot of time with my dad in those 6 weeks. I took a leave from work so I could be there with him. I was there for every meal and we had some great chats during his time he had left, although we never talked about him dying.

On October 14th 2007, my dad passed away. He had had a real good week the week before and he was doing so well, I actually thought maybe he was going to live longer than anticipated. It was a Wednesday afternoon that my dad suddenly fell real ill. I remember being at home for a rest and the phone rang and it was the hospital calling to tell me how sick he was. I thought this can’t be right; I just left there a few hours ago. 3 days later he lost his battle with Pancreatic Cancer. I was with him until the end and I never gave up hope.

My father was a great dad. He loved going for drives, he loved listening to music, he loved cooking different foods, he was a dedicated employee never missing anytime from work until his illness. He was a very intelligent man. He could watch the game show “Jeopardy” and would know every answer to every question. He was full of knowledge and in those final days, I really appreciated everything my dad had taught me.

Anytime I had a question or didn’t believe what someone had told me about some fact…I would call on my dad because he always had the answers. It is so unfortunate that he will not be here to enjoy grandchildren and teach them everything he taught me. There will always be something missing in my life. He would want more awareness and attention given to this horrible disease so I vow to educate as many people as possible about Pancreatic Cancer.

Dale Zwicker

A Husband and Father Remembered

My Dad Dale Zwicker was my hero. He worked at Dalhousie where he made a lot of things for the university and he made parts for special buildings. Some things he made are the Dalhousie eagle crest, he helped design and make the rock climbing wall at Dalhousie, he made the roof on one of the dollar stores, and if you ever go to Dalhousie you'll see a lot of my dad's work. Dalhousie put his name on some of the things he made and probably in 100 years you'll still see his name in Dalhousie. My dad showed me how to do lots of things. He showed me how to use a pocket knife and he showed me how to fish. The third time I went fishing with him I caught a trout and I wanted to name it floppy. Every summer we went to the same campground because my dad's cousins lived by the campground so his brothers and sisters and himself went to the campground. My dad had a lot of brothers and sisters. My dad made a tree house in our front yard, he helped us make a camp in our woods, and he made houses and he told me there were flies as big as your thumb nail. He helped make a lot of people happy because of the houses he made. My dad told me a lot of things about when he was a kid. When he was a kid he made skateboards for himself and would make bows and arrows with his brothers, and he went fishing. When he was a teenager he was tall and skinny. He went fishing with his dad and caught a three foot trout. When he was is high school a bully kept on bullying everyone but when he tried to pick on my dad he stuck up for himself. My dad made rafts with his friends and took them out on ponds and lakes. One time when they were out on a private pond a ranger started coming so the had to jump off. Luckily they made it to shore and they didn't stop running until they were home. Since my dad taught me a lot of things I can use a pocket knife by myself and I can fish. He was the best dad ever.

This was my sons assignment for school in grade 4

My husband Dale Zwicker passed away Sept. 20, 2005 at age 47 with pancreas cancer. Suffering with bad stomach pain we made our way to the emergency room never crossing our minds what we were going to hear. I will never forget those words, you have cancer is what the doctor told us that night. They ran some more test and the next day we were told the cancer was spread from the pancreas to the liver, both kidneys and both lungs and his whole chest wall cavity. The Jan before he had a cat scan on his back because it had been bothering him and the cat scan showed nothing. My first reaction was we can fight this together but then our hope was faded when he was told there was no treatment option and he should go home and spend time with his children (11 and 9 at the time) and family. The next big thing was how do you tell the children so they understand when you cant understand it all yourself. The weeks following were difficult. Dale passed away peacefully 10 weeks Sept 20, 2005 after first being diagnosed. Since his death I have heard of so many others being touch by this type of cancer and it is hitting younger and younger people all the time. Research for this type of caner is very essential especially early diagnoses.

My Mother, Virginia Parkman Burns, was one of those "Medical Miracles" until PC. Prior to her diagnosis in December 04, she had successfully lived through: Rheumatic Fever, 3 C-sections, Adenocarcinoma of the colon in 1980, Hydrocephalus with resultant craniotomies X4 for placement of shunts and evacuation of subdural hematoma, FX R. Hip with subsequent pinning, three weeks later, a Total Right Hip Replacement and then PC. I went home for Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving Day, 2004 ( November for us) to find my Mother as yellow as a pumpkin, c/o'g "shoulder pain". Being the good nurse that I am, I assumed that it was Gall Bladder disease. Nope, she was diagnosed on December 4, 2004 and fought bravely for the three months that she had left. Her diagnosis was Stage IV-B with mets to the liver, omentum, lymphnodes and pelvic bones. She was unable to do any chemo because she was so debilitate and now, looking back, the shunt for the hydrocephalus probably was a contraindication, also. Tarceva was not approved at that time for PC, but was given to her "off-label". My Dad and brother were convinced that Tarceva was going to be the "Magic Bullet", but unfortunately, that was not to be true. She was an avid gardener, a fantastic wife, housekeeper, cook, Mother, Grandmother and Great Grandmother, Sister, Aunt and a devout Christian.

She left us on 03-04-05 and will be missed greatly til that time that we all get to see her again. The void is one that will be very hard to fill.

Our Precious Decie

Written By Decie’s Eldest Daughter Cheryl

Anyone who knew Decie would tell you she was a very special person. An incredibly caring woman with a soft heart and a quick smile, Decie was always ready to help others. She was a Brownie leader, a school volunteer, a basketball and softball coach, a hockey grandma, an incredible babysitter, and without question, the world’s greatest mom! Older people in the community knew they could rely on Decie to drive them to doctor’s appointments, to take them to get their groceries, or fill in their tax returns. Decie’s kindness and generosity made her community a better place in which to live. She did so much for others, never expecting anything in return.

Decie loved sports, a passion she shared with her husband, Danny. She was an avid Montreal Canadiens fan. I remember her telling me how she cried the first time she saw Guy Lafleur on the ice at the Montreal Forum (she was in the “nosebleed section”, but it didn’t matter to Decie because she had made it to the home of her childhood sports heroes). Decie was very proud of her daughter Susan, who had so many sporting accomplishments from playing basketball in the Caper Games to being on the N.S. Junior Ladies Golf Team.

Decie was a simple person with simple tastes. Few people knew she actually had a genius IQ. I believe Decie could have done anything she wanted with her life and it is to her everlasting credit that she chose to be a homemaker and stay-at-home mom, two jobs so desperately underrated, but so essential to the fabric of our community. Decie always put her family first and was willing to sacrifice her own dreams to make sure those of her children could come true. Decie was particularly fond of her daughter Sandra, who did Decie the proud honour of providing her with two grandsons, Christopher and Matthew. They were certainly the apple of Decie’s eye and she unabashedly adored them.

When Decie started to feel unwell in mid-December 1998, she was sure it was just a flu she had contracted while she was on one of the many hockey road trips she made with her grandson. When her skin started to turn yellow, she went to the doctor. After a series of tests and other investigations, she was told by her doctor that they suspected pancreatic cancer. The decision was made to operate and in February, 1999, Decie underwent a lengthy surgery. A couple of days after the surgery, she seemed to be doing well and everyone was hopeful. Unfortunately, within days, her kidneys failed and she died on February 6, 1999.

Pancreatic cancer robbed us of our precious Decie and robbed Decie of her precious life. Danny lost his wife and friend of 32 years. Sandra lost her mom, best friend and next door neighbour. Decie never got to meet her son-in-law Brian and she wasn’t there to watch her baby daughter, Susan, walk down the aisle. When Decie’s third grandson, Mark, was born to Sandra and Mike in October, 2003, there was no Decie there to hold him and beam with pride. When Decie’s first granddaughter Julia arrived on a plane from China with her parents Cheryl and Trevor, Decie wasn’t there to smile at her and play the proud grandma role. When her grandson Chris graduated from high school, Decie wasn’t there to shed her customary tears of joy. When Matthew got his first base hit, Decie wasn’t there to cheer him on from the bleachers. There have been so many moments over the last 7 years, of which Decie should have been a part, but they were stolen away from her by cancer. When Decie died, she was a mere 54 years old. She still had so much to do and so much to give. Our only consolation is that we know she has returned home to her heavenly Father and that there, she waits for us. We’ll all be together again someday, but for now, we miss you so very much.

Anne Bernice “Decie” LeBlanc (September 7, 1944 - February 6, 1999)

It is amazing how many lives are changed from this terrible disease. I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to the smartest and gentlest soul that I was fortunate to spend over 30 years of my life with, my father Hobart “Duke” Pierce.

When my wife Colleen first told me about Craig’s story, I realized that this disease does not discriminate. No matter your, sex, race, or age you can be a victim. My father was diagnosed just before Christmas 2002, and took his last breath the morning of January 15th, 2003.

I hope by sharing my personal tragedy it will help with Craig’s Cause.

Here is a brief summery of the life of Duke - and how he loved and was loved by so many. This was taken from his eulogy, written by my brother Kevin.

Our Dad, Our Hero

Most people know our dad as Duke, the mill employee, tow truck driver, the motor repairman, the Mason, the Worthy Patron, and other professional titles. I want to tell you about Duke, the Husband, the Father, and the Grandfather.

As far back as I can remember he was always there for us. Whether it was illness or bumps and scratches, dad was there. To this day he always kept a band-aid in his wallet, one of us always needed it.

Every hobby or interest we had he tried his best to get involved, Cubs, Scouts, and Cadets, he was there. How many men in there early 50’s learn to ski to be with their kids on the slopes.

He provided a summer haven in Dundee for us, and thousands of visitors we entertained. Dad provided and endless amount of activities for us. He was always up for a game of golf, a fishing trip, a run on the water skis, or just searching for golf balls. I bet a hundred people learned to water ski under Dad’s direction.

As we got older he was still there to tend to things like thumb amputations and broken ankles. This proved you are never too old for a fathers care.

As a husband he sat up many nights through Mom’s dialysis and cared for her during her kidney transplant as well he was there for her heart surgery and cared for her to a full recovery.

Dad also cherished his time with his grandchildren. He would not hesitate to drop what he was doing to play a game, read a story, or just sit and chat.

Dad knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew him, but no one knew him like we did. He was always there for us; we knew no matter what we did, we knew he loved us. He was always the pillar we could lean on. Susan (my sister) summed it up best, simply, he was Superman……….

Rest in peace Duke.

I would like to write this story in memory of my Dad, Wayne MacNeil, who was taken from us far too early by pancreatic cancer. He was 54 years old and the “picture of health”, a former marathon runner, a nationally certified softball umpire, a bicycling enthusiast and a dedicated gym go-er. Not to mention a brand new retiree from the same job he had held for over 30 years…life was looking good. It was on a run one day about 6 months prior to his diagnosis that he told me afterwards he felt something “pop” in his upper stomach…just under his ribcage and it took his breath for a bit, but he carried on. It was many months later that he decided he wanted some relief from the constant upset stomach he was feeling. Keep in mind, my dad was a real whimp when he had a head cold, but I don’t think I had ever known him to go to a Doctor.

I remember the first call - I was living in Ontario, Dad and Mom in Nova Scotia and I was deliriously happy to be enjoying my pregnant state. On this call from mom, I was informed that dad was in the hospital, they were running tests, they were thinking it was a problem with his adrenal glands. To make a long story short, he was sent home, knowing nothing, but still enduring stomach pain and discomfort…he was to go have blood drawn and see his family Doctor. It was awhile later that mom received a phone call telling her to get dad to the hospital, his electrolytes were in very bad shape and he could end up unconscious without medical treatment. That being said, the trip to the hospital, more questions, more tests and a trip home for me in my VERY pregnant state…we then found out that dad had a “spot on his pancreas”…that was going to be removed and he would resume his happy retirement. Dad and I had some time to talk, he knew his body very well and he also knew this was not going to be this easy. We had several long talks about the worst outcomes….and after the surgery dad called me long distance to tell me he had stage 4 pancreatic cancer, the hospital staff had sent him home to die. Him and mom boarded a plane and were with me when their first and only grand daughter was born.

What a time of mixed emotions…to this day when I look at my daughter I see my dad and I also feel so bad for her that he was taken from her when she was only 3 months old. My dad and I were given 4 months to deal with his impending death, we covered a lot of bases in those 4 months…I promised him I would be there for my mom, he promised to wait for her and I on the “other side”. He wondered if he would see his mom and dad, two people whom he believed he would finally get the chance to say sorry to for not being all that he thought he should have been to them.

Pancreatic cancer was my first real cancer experience and it was a fast and severe one. On that robbed me of my kind hearted (though not often enough to himself) dad; one that robbed my now 8 year old daughter of a man who would have been every little girl’s “dream grandpa”. I wish I had a happy ending to share, that my dad fought this battle and won, but I do not. He died at the age of 54, with so much life left ahead of him. However, in his illness and death, he taught me an important lesson: Life is short, live it well.

I’m Lydia

My Pancreas cancer story started in August 2003. At our annual family summer vacation.

I had been having discomfort for a few months on my left side just under my breast.

It was an annoying, constant pain. In causal conversation I mentioned to my sisters about the weird pain. They suggested, better have that checked.

By mid August, I was in my G.P.’s office; he examined me and arranged for a specialist appointment.

Within weeks I was at the specialist office. The doctor walked in, took one look at me and said “you look much too healthy to have anything wrong with you.” A cat scan was ordered.

Mid October, I had another appointment with the specialist. He told me, “You have an infection in your pancreas, the good news is, the infection is draining from the 2 small cysts on the tail and this is a good sign”. (Wow when I type these words I am stunned, how was I so stupid to accept that!)

March 30/04 the results from a second scan were received. The specialist writes the results to my family doctor: As you will have seen from the latest CT of the pancreas there are persistent changes in the tail with a couple of small cystic areas as well with some persistent changes consistent with inflammation in the adjacent mesentery.

Mrs. Stobbe has no abdominal pain: in fact she has been asyptomatic since Nov. last. I have ordered a further follow-up cat scan and will recheck some blood work including another CA 19-9. The cause of her pancreatitis is at present uncertain.”

A very sad day April 17/04 when a young work colleague from my Real Estate office passes away within 24 days of PC diagnosis. My shock and fear grew, I have a pancreas problem, could this happen to me?

But, my fears were quickly dowsed when I received a call from the hospital saying my scheduled biopsy had been cancelled. The radiologists and the specialist had determined it was not necessary! Even though the fear of my colleague’s passing stayed with me, I was naïve! I sent a fax to my GP saying this is good news they have cancelled my biopsy! He obviously did not share my joy, a biopsy was order quickly – I believe he took it into his own hands. I owe my survival to him.

Biopsy report: final diagnosis: Needle biopsy of cyst in pancreas – Cytological features of mucinous cystadenoma. Even if carcinoma is not present at this time, there appears to be a substantial risk that it may occur shortly. At my request – now they got through to me – a second opinion was ordered – result, surgery ASAP.

Surgery was June 28/04 – Distal pancreatectomy/spleen and left adrenal gland. Well-differentiated mucinous ductal adenocarcinoma. 2 out of 19 lymph nods were effected. No other spread to organs, but narrow margins.

I cannot express the fear factor that goes alone with cancer; the word itself carries such a stigma! Having experienced a death of a friend with PC heighten my fears beyond comprehension. I was inconsolable, could not eat or sleep. Was God punishing me, had He forsaken me? I tried to hang on to my faith; I was so overwrought it was a tremendous struggle between my God and the devil.

I cried day and night and could only see the worst picture, I was going to die, I did not want to die – I made everyone’s life hell! I wanted them all to hear me loud and clear!

My first oncologist visit I was hysterical, she would not stop reading the worst stat’s concerning my surgery. I was scared before the visit, now I was convinced, I was right; death is around the corner.

Chemo, 5-fluorouracil was started about 6 weeks post surgery; my body tolerated it well, only a few little side effects, fatigue, sores in my mouth.

I finally found the JH board and was “hand picked” by my awesome friend and angel, Linda C. She told me her story, of all the survivors out there, and guided me day by day!

The absolute best way to live with PC is to talk to someone who has walked the walk! And that is my goal, to help others with my story.

On June 28, 2007 I will be a 3-year SURVIVOR! I thank God every day for my health; I thank my husband Johnny, our 2 children Charlene and Glen. Our 4 grandchildren, Chris, Jonathan, Katlin and Travis. My son-in-law Barry who stands by me as I travel this journey. He attends all my doctor appts, making sure I receive more then one opinion, he does not trust me anymore lol. To my 4 sisters and my brother who heard all my ranting and raving about “poor me”. I am so thankful to my amazing friends and for all the unwavering support and prayers.

I have been back at work selling Real Estate for the past 2 years. I have tons on energy, and feel extremely well. My weight is consistent at 123 – 125 lbs.

Second opinions - you bet! A total of 4 oncologist, a lung specialist who did a Bronchial wash to obtain specimens from the tiny nodules, the result: negative no malignant cells are identified. All agreed, it is a “wait and see”, I am being watched very carefully with regular scans and blood work. Is this tough, YES! Can I make it? Absolutely!

Never give up! Statistics are just numbers; we are all individuals our days are numbers by God.

________________

My daughter Charlene Friesen writes the following view of Mom’s cancer journey.

“I have such pain,” Mom said, motioning to her left side. Having suffered from Ulcerative Colitis for years, Mom was usually able to keep a stiff upper lip. If she was in pain, this could be serious.

Initially, I was not shocked with the diagnosis of Pancreatic Cancer. There are so many cancer survivors and I assumed Mom would be one of them. However, after reading the stat’s, I was taken aback. This cancer was swift and deadly.

Miraculously, I and I don’t say that lightly, Mom not only survived her surgery but also recovered well. Surely God had unfinished business for this remarkable woman.

Mom continues to walk through peaks of improved health and valley of possible metastases to the lungs. I am not only encouraged by her remarkable physical recover, but also by her ever-strengthening spirit. She’s carrying on God’s business, with gusto.

Lydia Stobbe, Abbotsford, BC Canada

Here's My Story...... .

I am a single parent of two lovely daughters who are now about to turn 24 and 21. They are still at university and still need their Mommy.

In 2005 a number of things were going on in my life. I was working two positions at my place of work (Two very different jobs) and in February my mother had a vertebrae break from osteoporosis. In addition, we had to finally make the decision to put my Dad (Who had dementia) in a home. I continued with these 2 jobs until May. I was also volunteering with the local theater. In July my mother had another fall and broke her leg. At this point it was decided that she would have to go to a home when she healed.

All through the summer I had trouble sleeping. I would sleep for a couple of hours then wake up with a terrible feeling of dread. I thought about seeing the Dr. but didn't want to start sleeping pills. I put it down to stress and just kept slogging away.

In September, my girls went to back to school and my brothers arrived to help me clean out my Mothers apt. That day I had terrible heartburn so drank the best part of a bottle of Diavol. Still blaming it all on stress.

By the following week I was having some nausea ( a little ) and knew I was due for a Pap test. So on Thursday I called my Doctor. The receptionist asked if I could come the next day but I couldn't so I made the appointment for Monday. (Who ever gets in that fast?)

On Monday, after a little discussion with my Doctor he stated that he thought it was probably my gall bladder. Then he took me to the examining room. "Do you know you are jaundiced?" he asked. Nope-didn't know.

So blood work and an ultrasound was set up for Tuesday. That day I went for the blood work and ate breakfast while waiting for ultrasound. Guess what-I wasn't supposed to eat!! The technician was really ticked but managed to arrange it for the next day, Wednesday.

Meanwhile I met my Doctor in the parking lot that evening and was informed that apparently my liver counts were way out of whack. This meant nothing to me.

After the ultra sound Wednesday morning I met with my Doctor Wednesday afternoon. It was at this time that my Doctor explained that the report said I had something on my pancreas. This still meant nothing to me. So I asked "are you talking about cancer?" It is at this point that my Doctor can't even look at me. "Yes," he replied. "But it could be benign right?" I questions. His answer was "A tumor on the pancreas is almost never not malignant".

He immediately got in touch with Dr. Vair in Halifax at the QEII Health Sciences Center. By the end of that day I had an appt. for CT scan on Thursday and and appt with Dr. Vair in Halifax on Friday. Please don't ever tell me that our health system doesn't work when it has too.

On Monday I had a friend go to Halifax with me for my appointments and on the way there I picked up my oldest daughter, who came with us to the appt. I still did not believe I was in any particular trouble.

Dr Vair sent in his resident who explained everything about what would be done if it could be done. Then Dr Vair came in. He was so positive and kind. He stated that they were barely able to detect the tumor and continued to explain that it just showed as a slight thickening of the bile duct. Anyways, he suggested that the "Whipple Procedure" was the recommended form of treatment and with my agreement he was going to set me up for the first available space. I was "on call".

I got back to my home town of Yarmouth on Friday evening and received word that I had to be back in Halifax on Monday for my youngest daughter's tonsillectomy. Let me tell you it helps to be in a small town sometimes. I was able to get a will and power of attorney written up Monday morning, before I left for the city!!.

I stayed at my brother's house while my daughter recovered from her surgery and while I waited for my call which came on the 28th September, 2005.

My Whipple Surgery was unremarkable. I got home 14 days after after the surgery and then walked to the theater, the day I returned for a visit. From the time of my return home I just continued to get stronger. I was back to work within 6 weeks. My Chemo started (Gemzar) just before Christmas and I completed these treatments at the end of May, 2006, missing 4 treatments for low blood counts. During this period I had at least 4 bouts with cellulitis and lost about half my hair, but other then some fatigue I was feeling pretty normal.

It is now January 2007 and everything still seems OK. Everything went along so smoothly. I didn't ask any questions particularly, I just trusted that the Doctor's knew what they were doing. I don't take any enzymes. I don't have any fatigue problems. I have no digestion problems and I never had a battery of tests to diagnose. I was so lucky. That is my story.

Flo

Written January 2007