Tales from the Lung Void

This morning, I spotted a sign on the board about a fascinating new unit at BC Cancer Vancouver: 'Planetary Health.' 🌍 My immediate reaction was, 'I need to volunteer for that immediately!' Though, let's be honest, it doesn't quite have the same ring as 'Intergalactic Health Force.' 🚀 But after reading the fine print, I realized it's actually an environmental initiative. They've been going paperless with exam tables since 2022! Turns out, my dream volunteer role—being the person who expertly lays down the table paper—was eliminated years ago. On the way from BC Cancer to the nearby Bayshore Clinic, we spotted this inviting sign right in front of a cannabis store. It really made me wonder if they have a secret post-treatment breakfast menu. I'll be holding out for the organic green marijuana omelettes and a special side of 'hash' browns.

For my Sunday Art project, I used 3D Slicer to process my February 20 CT scans and reconstruct them in 3D. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is definitely missing from the left side. The cavity located under the crumpled paper bag could be useful for storage, like the “frunk” found in some electric vehicles. I am scheduled for a chest catheter installation in ten days, but I might see if the respirologist will agree to a small chest door instead. A fairy door would be preferable; it would allow me to access the frunk and keep my painkillers within reach at all times.

I just came across a piece in People magazine —quoting the prestigious journal Science—claiming that cats are officially "a vital partner in the fight against cancer." Apparently, we share the same cancer-causing mutations. This discovery complicates things. 1. My Strata vs. My Survival I live in a Vancouver building where the no-pets bylaw is enforced like a border crossing. But this discovery changes the math: How can a Strata Council justify depriving a resident of a "vital partner" in their recovery? I’m reminded of a general pro-tip regarding the legal optics of these things: “Prosecuting a cancer patient is the kind of file that lawyers' nightmares are made of.” Choosing to go to war with a feline co-therapist is certainly a bold PR move. I hope they’re prepared to cross-examine a whiskered defendant. 2. Upgrading the Lab Specimen Does this mean cats are about to become more "popular" in research than mice, hamsters, or pigs? Scientifically, the ...

During last week's visit, my palliative doctor noted a touch of oral thrush on my tongue - courtesy of the steroids in my nasal rinse. She prescribed Nystatin, which turned out to be an unexpected delight. It has the scent of vanilla almond custard and a glossy, sunshine-yellow hue. It’s a shame the dose is capped at 5 ml four times a day for 7 days; it’s the first time I’ve ever looked forward to a mouthwash.

Along English Bay, the yellow daffodils are out. They signal spring, and to almost everyone walking by, they are a bright touch of joy. But for me, this flower has lost its beauty. It has become a persistent reminder of a heavy medical reality. Every time I visit the BC Cancer complex, those cheerful yellow blooms decorate the buildings and line the hallways—a permanent fixture of the clinical landscape. The daffodil is the official symbol of the Canadian Cancer Society, chosen for several traits that reflect the cancer experience: its winter resilience, spring renewal, and sturdy strength. I understand the rationale, but the association is now inseparable from the diagnosis. Instead, I’m opting for a personal preference. My friend Mary is an enthusiastic dahlia grower, tending to about 30 varieties in her small yard and another 100 at a community garden. I’ve taken a liking to a specific variety, and I’ll patiently wait for it to bloom: “Mustard and Ketchup.” . It’s my new cancer-fre...

I’ve always felt that BC Cancer sets the gold standard for kindness in healthcare; it takes a special kind of person to work in oncology. But today, during my appointment at the Pain and Symptom Management Clinic, that bar was raised even higher. The palliative doctor and her resident gave me over two hours of their time—a rare and generous luxury. Their focus isn't just on the disease, but on me . We spoke candidly about the road ahead, navigating the complex choices between longevity and quality of life. Knowing they are in our corner provides a massive sense of relief for both Sheryl and myself. As a starting point, I’m moving from Tylenol 3 to morphine to better manage the side pain and coughing. They are, quite simply, the loveliest people I’ve encountered in the system. I told them I might just move into the clinic permanently, just like Tom Hanks in The Terminal , when he decided the airport was his new home.

One perk of not running: the daily shower is now optional. Instead, I’m using forest bathing ( Shinrin-yoku ) to purify myself. The photo was taken yesterday, on a sunny day. Today it’s raining, so ironically, I’ll have to shower to recover from the bath.