Lindsay's Tenth Birthday Celebration!!!

In September of 1999 a tiny, black nosed, waggy tailed, floppy eared, feisty little bundle of energy, love and voracious appetite came into our lives and transformed them.



It is hard to believe how that tiny bundle of fur would grow and the adventures she would take us on. We were to come to learn just how many burrs two doggy ears could extract from the local environment. We would also come to learn why most owners of English Springer Spaniels have their dog's tails bobbed. Any burrs not collected by her ears, as she sticks her curious black wet nose into any bushes she finds, are promptly swept up by her ever wagging tail.



That she has been part of our lives for ten years now is hard to believe. That there was a time when she wasn't part of our family is also hard to credit. So here's to you Lindsay, a whole decade of life now under your collar (that's 70 human years) yet still as feisty and energetic as ever, may life always be a glorious adventure for you, and may you always take us along for the ride!



Or, at least, the run. Here is a beautiful little video I shot on Saturday of Lindsay and I out for a run together. Yes, I said run. Still a little stiff and ungainly, but that is me running, not a stunt double. And, of course, that black blur going past me isn't the wind, that's Lindsay!

Happy Tenth Birthday to you girl!

The Clock Ticks But The Phone Doesn't Ring

This time the waiting is difficult.

I want, and do not want, the phone to ring.

But it will, likely today, but certainly before the week is out.

The doctor who did my CT guided biopsy last Wednesday was cheerfully certain what the results would show.

"Oh it will be a mat for sure," he told me.

"A mat?"

"Oh sorry," he looked confused for a second, as if having to remind himself that he was talking to a patient. "A metastasizing of your esophageal cancer to the bone in your spine."

"To the bone marrow," I corrected.

"No to the bone. To the bony lesion we discovered on your last CT scan. It wasn't there on the earlier scan and there it was on the last scan. Got to be a mat."

I'm puzzled and alarmed. "No one's mentioned the involvement of the bone before. That can't be a good thing."

"Nope, not good at all." He agreed. In fact, I thought, a pretty cruel twist of fate so deep into the game, with the goal line tantalizingly within reach.

"It couldn't be a second primary cancer? That's what the oncologist thought."

The doctor waved the idea away. "Oh no. impossible. We never see this form of cancer as a primary in anyone over thirty. Never. Can't happen. It will be a mat." He replied with breezy confidence in his diagnosis.

"How long before the biopsy results are back?" I ask.

"Shouldn't take more than a few days. A week at most." He smiled.

Today the week is up. No phone call so far, but then there was the long weekend in the middle to delay things.

I am feeling great. The best I've felt since last February. I can eat anything without pain, my energy level is as high as it ever was, I've regained 7 kilos. The chemo and radiation must have done a thorough job on the cancer in my esophagus. Perhaps even eliminating it. In fact I have no symptom that would indicate I have an illness of any sort.

But if the cancer escaped the confines of my throat, ignored the tasty nearby organs such as the kidneys, the liver or the lungs, and made the unlikely voyage down to the bones in my hip and then into my spine, I am no longer curable. Treatable sure. But not curable. They can try more radiation, although radiating the spine is very tricky and fraught with severe problems. But if they do it carefully, it will buy me some time. If it doesn't put me in a wheelchair.

Decisions will have to be made.

Once the phone rings. And my new future begins.


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Wednesday is Lindsay's tenth birthday. We will be putting aside all morbid thoughts, all mention of illness, and just party. Be sure to join us here tomorrow for a special celebration!

Even though it seems the party girl could care less.

The clock photo at the top of this post is courtesy of Photobucket.

Rwanda (Part 3)

Fast forward one, very eventful, year.

It is now July 2009 and Linda and I are attending the Alive With Culture festival at the Guild. There are dancers on the stage at the Greek Theatre, arts and crafts tents line the grounds, bands stroll, couples browse, the sun shines, organic vegetables beckon. Linda has paused in discussion with a potter who is answering questions about her glaze and I am left to roam aimlessly amid the delights that surround me.

Off to one side is a small table, its surface covered with books. Well, three books actually, but lots of copies. A man sits behind the table watching as families stream past him without a glance, their vision entranced by nearby booths filled with colourful paintings, sparkling jewelry or glistening pottery.

But books intrigue me. So I wander over.

The man seated behind the booth is Ashmead Ali and he is representing the Scarborough Writers Association. I hadn't known there was such a thing, but apparently aspiring writers in the Scarborough area of Toronto gather together for monthly meetings to discuss their work and support each other.

And Ashmead has published a book: "Don't Give Up On Us, A Rwandan Experience." The book is for sale for $16, but for $20 I can buy all three books and support the Writer's Association. So I do. I look his book over briefly, noticing sadly that it is self-published. And put all three books away in my bag and forget about them.

A month later, Linda and I are heading off for a weekend away in Peterborough and I am looking for something to take with me to read. I rediscover Ashmead's book and throw it in my travel bag. If I don't enjoy it, I can always find something in Peterborough to read instead.

That evening, Linda is deeply engrossed in Kathryn Magendie's novel,Tender Graces, emerging only now and then to mutter things like, "This is good. This is really good!"

I sigh and crack open Ashmead's book.

Within a few pages I discover a couple of things. Although this is a book in need of a good editing, I'm really enjoying the read. It is well written but with occasional annoyances that draw me out of the narrative and make my fingers itch for a pen so I can go back and revise a few paragraphs and excise words that appear with annoying regularity. The phrase "sub-Saharan Africa" appears way too frequently and is by far the worst offender. A good polishing from a professional publishing house and Ali's work could have been a best seller.

As it stands, I discover a book that is passionately written, intelligently written and has a drive and force that propels me on. And soon I find myself muttering to Linda, "This is good. This is really good!"

But more than that, I was beginning to sense that this is a book that is important.

Don't Give Up On Us tells the story of Ali's trip to Rwanda to market his company's plan to introduce a new sanitation system to the city of Kigali and Kigali Airport. He finds himself staying at the hotel Milles Collines made famous by the Hollywood movie, Hotel Rwanda, that retells the story of the hotel manager's efforts to save 1000 people during the 100 days of savage genocidal attacks that swept the country.

During his stay in Rwanda, Ali finds himself drawn into the country's current plight, its geographic problems, its political difficulties, its frightening treatment of women, its nightmare battle with HIV/AIDS and other diseases, its grinding poverty, its potential for violence (he has an armed guard from the army assigned to protect him during his stay), its political corruption, its dependence on relief organizations and, yes, its wretched and disease producing cesspit of a sanitation system that he hopes to modernize.

In many ways his book is a corollary to Romeo Dallaire's "Shake Hands With The Devil" that updates the story to the present time.

I may not have been able to shake hands with Dallaire, but I had with Ali. And he had autographed my copy of his book.

In his final chapter, Ali lays out his recommendations for countries like Rwanda to help them cope with and overcome many of the problems they face. His recommendations are straight forward and practical.

The world could do worse than to listen to him. Instead of streaming past his little book stand at the Guild's Art festival.

I'm left saddened that such an important book is getting so little attention and was unable to find a publisher, or the readership it deserves.

We need to do better than this.

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Several people have asked where copies of this book may be found. Mr. Ali has kindly permitted me to pass along his e-mail address: ashmeadaali@yahoo.ca where he would be more than happy to sell you a copy.

Rwanda (Part 2)

We're seated at table 53. It isn't the last table in the football field sized room, but it is the one closest to the exit and a stream of people rush past me all night on a desperate search for the washroom.

I'm at our company table at the NQI Corporate Excellence award gala at the Metro Toronto Conference Centre in September 2008, enjoying a delicious steak and shrimp dinner and making small talk with corporate executives from some of our premier client organizations. The bottles of wine on the table help the process along.

I had misunderstood the program and believed the featured speakers would be Senator Romeo Dollaire (author of Shake Hands With The Devil, his terrifying story of the Rwanda genocide) and Sir Richard Branson (who needs no introduction).

However, it turns out Dollaire had spoken at the luncheon earlier that day and, although he was seated in the room (somewhere), he would not be speaking tonight. Many of those at the table had been at the earlier luncheon and the talk at the table was all about an extremely moving experience I had missed.

Then again, it might have been more difficult to enjoy the dinner learning about poverty in Rwanda where the average income is around a dollar a day and where grinding poverty was one of the factors behind the genocide that had taken place there.

As for Branson, he was receiving an award from NQI, but not until tomorrow. I'm not certain he was even present at the dinner.

Of all the men who carry the title "Sir", Branson is the only one who fits my image of a knight. Sir Elton John, Sir Paul McCartney I'm sorry. If Branson was transported back in time and made the Sheriff of Nottingham, he would perfectly fit the part.

Instead, the purpose of tonight's dinner was the awarding of Certificates of Excellence to 37 corporate executives and corporate teams whose workplaces had been judged at the bronze, silver and gold levels in their quest for Excellence and Healthy Workplaces.

At the Silver and Gold Levels each company got to play a 30 second video of the changes they had made to qualify for the award, they each got their picture taken with an Executive from NQI and their President got another 30 seconds to express his/her pride in their workplace.

Although it sounded repetitious the stories actually proved to be fascinating and inspiring.

But I had been looking forward to hearing from Dollaire, whose book I loved even though it was gut wrenching, and was disappointed.

Arriving back home on the GO train at 10:45 I detrained to a cold drenching rain. With neither umbrella nor raincoat for protection as I trudged back to my car, I got soaked. My black suit, worn this once in the last six months, would have to go back to the cleaners.

It would be a year before Rwanda and Senator Dollaire's names would come my way again, this time at the festival of the Arts on the grounds of the Guild on a bright and sunny day.

I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

Friday My TownShoot Out--Windows and Doors

Patty and Reggie Girl pioneered the Friday Photo Shoot Out asking us to post photos of our local community every Friday. From a handful of participants it has grown into a world wide phenomenon with over 77 contributors and is now in the capable hands of Gordon, ChefE and GingerV.

This week's theme, chosen by Kerri in Canada, is WINDOWS AND DOORS.

For a comprehensive list and how to join instructions, just click on the camera at bottom of my side panel.

Next weeks theme, suggested by Pauline, is AGED AND WEATHERED.

I live in Toronto, in the Scarborough area of Toronto, in the West Hill area of Scarborough. So West Hill will be the focus of my photos.

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I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbor. Do you know your next door neighbor?
Mother Teresa



There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.
Deepak Chopra



Which painting in the National Gallery would I save if there was a fire? The one nearest the door of course.
George Bernard Shaw



It is for us to pray not for tasks equal to our powers, but for powers equal to our tasks, to go forward with a great desire forever beating at the door of our hearts as we travel toward our distant goal.
Helen Keller



A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.
Ogden Nash

Rwanda (Part One)

Almost exactly a year ago BC (before cancer), I arrived home from a visit to my daughter in Whitby to find a phone message from work. Usually that is not good news. Usually that means a major problem of some kind.

This time it was a problem of a different sort.

My company had brought a table at the National Quality Institute's Gala and we were hosting the Executives of several of our major corporate clients. At the last minute the Vice President of one of the organizations had backed out and we were one person short at our table (each table seats 10 people).

Could I fill in?

Sir Richard Branson, President of Virgin (everything) would be there and General Romeo Dallaire would be receiving an award. It was not a black tie event, but was definitely black suit.

What, I thought, drag me away from a night of watching TV for this?

Well okay, if you insist.

The National Quality Institute (NQI) an independent, not-for-profit organization is the leading authority in Canada on workplace excellence based on quality systems and healthy workplace criteria. A Board of Governors comprised of leaders from the private sector, public sector, health care and not-for profit sector governs NQI. NQI acts as a national partner with many organizations to advance the Excellence movement in Canada. The Governor-General of Canada is its honorary chair.

Lieutenant-General Roméo Alain Dallaire is a Canadian senator, humanitarian, author and retired general. Dallaire is widely known for having served as Force Commander of UNAMIR, the ill-fated United Nations peacekeeping force for Rwanda between 1993 and 1994, and for trying to stop a war of genocide that was being waged by Hutu extremists against Tutsis and Hutu moderates.

The following is one of my favourite quotes from his 2003 book, Shake Hands with the Devil--

"I know there is a God, because in Rwanda I shook hands with the devil. I have seen him, I have smelled him and I have touched him. I know the devil exists and therefore I know there is a God."

The genocide in Rwanda was brutally efficient, lasting for a total of 100 days and leading to the murder of between 800,000 and 1,171,000 Tutsi and Hutu moderates. Over two million people were displaced internally or in neighbouring countries. The Genocide ended when the Rwandan Patriotic Front gained control of Rwanda on July 18, 1994, though recrimination, retribution, and criminal prosecutions continue to the present day.

Dollaire and his small and ill equipped 5000 man force is credited with directly saving the lives of 20,000 Tutsis and Hutus.

I thought it would prove an interesting evening.

And it was.

In part two, I will tell you what brought this particular evening to mind.

Thinking About Life--And Lindsay

After the funeral of Linda's mother on Saturday we met our daughters and their families at Rosetta McLean park. Heather had returned my car with its new engine, so Linda and I drove to the park in separate vehicles and I was the last to arrive.

The funeral had left me in a philosophical mood and as I drove I could feel a shifting beginning to take place within me. I was starting to let old feelings go, reservations fall away, dreams topple, new hopes beginning to take root.

It was odd.

And as I drove, the gray clouds of the morning thinned and the sun began to peek through. The colours of the world, the colours of life, blossomed. As I drove, I smiled.

Rosetta McLean Park is a beautiful if somewhat formal park in Southern Scarborough. It is a park of groomed pathways, dramatic fountains, mature trees, colourful flower beds, water features and my family waiting for me.

It radiates life. Linda, Heather and Kathy sat on Park benches deep into humorous conversation, their laughter bubbling up like the water in the Park's central fountain that flowed from a giant granite boulder over ten feet in height. After being so quiet and respectful during the funeral service, my grandchildren had a lot of tension to burn off and ran and played and laughed around the fountain under the watchful gaze of their fathers.

A small red squirrel ducked under one of the benches in search of food. I was amazed. I had never seen a red squirrel before. It was a new life, unknown to me and I was fascinated.



The squirrel reminded me of the day we first brought Lindsay home as a young puppy. That was a time of loss for us as well. My daughter Kathy had recently married, my other daughter Heather was living in Guelph and my step father Al had just passed away.

And into our uncomfortably quiet life came this tiny black dog no larger than that red squirrel, a small black puppy who throbbed with new life and joy and excitement. Everything intrigued her, interested her, puzzled her, and the world as we came to see it through her eyes was a new a wondrous place.



I remember opening to that energy, to that new life with a feeling of joy. It was the kind of energy I had begun to sense earlier at the funeral without quite recognizing the feeling. But now I was coming to recall it, to know it for what it was.

The recognition of a future opening before me.

A huge future yawning before me, discovered first in that park full of beautiful flowers, bushes, trees, lawns of green grass, the first blue skies we had seen in days and fountains of pure water, and my family. And one small red squirrel.

Then, yesterday, Linda and I traveled once more to Princess Margaret Hospital for still another meeting with the medical Oncologist. When we got there the Staff oncologist was working alone, her residents and fellows all away and 25 patients for her to see. We were kept waiting for nearly three hours.

But the news was worth the wait. She had the results of my recent MRI. As she explained it to us, the specialist's report on an earlier CT scan, the one that had discovered a couple of new hot spots on my spine, had strongly suggested in his findings that it demonstrated a metastasizing of my esophageal cancer to my spine. The specialist was certain of his results. A horrible and deadly finding.

However, the Medical Oncologist had been unconvinced. She kept thinking about the anomalous readings they continued to get on my right hip. So she had requested the MRI as a kind of second opinion, and now she had the report in front of her. The specialist reviewing the MRI was equally convinced the hot spots in my spine were a diffusion of the problem in my hip to the bones of my spine. He was convinced the MRI showed, at worst, a low grade lymphoma or another relatively mild illness of the bone marrow.

Non fatal, in either case. Something to keep an eye on, certainly, but nothing to loose sleep over.

A problem to live with.

So two tests each reaching different conclusions. Each canceling out the other.

Tomorrow, Wednesday, at 10:00 AM I go for a CT guided biopsy, the actual extraction of a section of bone and marrow that can be directly analyzed and that will answer the question for good. Life, death or Mu. My future.

After the meeting with the Oncologist, Linda and I returned home and Lindsay greeted us at the door, alive with the same life and vitality she has always radiated.

And I realize, even without the test, what tomorrow's result will show.

Life has me in its grasp and it has no intention of letting go.

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For those Canadian readers of this blog who have access to the Canadian edition of Reader's Digest, I have a brief letter to the editor published in the September edition. It is a response to an earlier article about esophageal cancer that appeared in June of this year.