“Your ultrasound shows a significant mass in your pancreas. I will refer you to a rush CT scan.”
That was mid-May 2017. The CT scan was a week later, and it showed a six-centimetre tumour in my pancreas. My doctor referred me to a rush appointment with the gastrosurgeon. He met me at the end of May and explained that I could have surgery and possibly remove the tumour. However, if that failed, the only backup was to provide comfort care and slow the cancer. Typical survival is 18 months with a diagnosis of 3rd-stage pancreatic cancer. He booked my surgery for June 12, 2017.
The Whipple Procedure for the removal of a pancreatic tumour is only an option for a cancer in the tail of the pancreas. It is also the longest and most involved surgery offered in Red Deer. As I recall, the other longer surgeries are major heart surgeries, which are only available in Calgary and Edmonton. My surgery took 12 hours, although I knew nothing about any of that until I woke in the ward and was well medicated on morphine. That was my first ever experience with morphine, and I did not enjoy it. The sensation struck me that it is not a fun medication. It makes you fuzzy-headed and numb, but it does work on the pain.
Finding the cancer began when I was homeless and couch surfing. I’d moved about from a friend’s camper for the summer of 2016, then another friend’s garage loft until winter. At the time of starting diagnosis, I was with a third friend and living on a futon in her basement with her husband and another roommate. I began to lose weight at a rate of about 10 pounds per month, and this was not planned. I was eating well, although I started to have bloating, severe cramps, and great pain. I went to the doctor, and we began the process of elimination. He treated me for acid reflux, ulcers, irritable bowel, and different foods like avoiding lactose, and so on. It did not appear to be a rush, but I was going regularly as things made no change and the symptoms got worse. This is a key factor with pancreatic cancer. The symptoms mimic many other common diseases.
After I woke in the recovery ward dedicated to gastrointestinal surgeries, I got up as soon as possible to start walking. Pre-surgery preparation explained that the faster you got up and walked, the sooner your bowels would wake up from the paralysis caused by the anesthetic. I got up as soon as I woke, very slowly shuffling to the bathroom, walking down the hall a bit, and eventually to the nursing station, pushing my IV stand ahead. When I arrived at the lounge, the conversation was the same. “Have you farted yet?” “Man, no. But I sure want to.” The worst of the pain was the air trapped in the belly from the closure of the surgery, and no bowel muscles were moving to push it out. Late that night, as I sat in the lounge watching TV, I had a sudden, horrific burst of pain. I couldn’t talk, get up, or move, but I managed to wave and finally call a nurse over. They tried to get me up out of the chair and could not, so they rushed a stretcher and wheeled me to an immediate CT scan along with my surgeon. An infection pocket at one of the reconnections of the bowels had burst into my belly. My surgeon chose not to do any more surgery and simply monitor my condition. I started walking again in a few hours.
The pancreatic episode ended with my release back to my futon at my friend’s in two days, and a long recovery to rebuild the 50 pounds of muscle I lost to starvation when my pancreas was not producing digestive enzymes for months. For four years, I slowly regained my mental clarity from brain fog, regained my walking strength, and returned to regular dog walks with my mom’s friend, Winston. However, in 2022, I started slowing down my walks, and my doctor and I could not find any cause.
This brings us to the recent past and the present day. In March 2024, my doctor found I had low iron and began a series of diagnostics. A quick test found blood in my stool. I had been booked for a regular colonoscopy in May, so I kept that booking, and the surgeon could not get all the way in as a tumour blocked it. This initiated a series of further diagnostics, including another colonoscopy, endoscopy, and a CT scan with biopsy. There were three tumours in my colon, and some risk that there was spread to my liver. My liver is inoperable due to the prior Whipple. That would have meant palliative care, so I began my paperwork for will, personal directive, and application for MAID. By the end of August, things were still looking like no treatment was possible. In late August, my surgeon called for a rush booking. “We can take out your colon! Get ready.”
I went for surgery prep for 8:00 am, got undressed, and went down to the surgery on September 8, 2024. While waiting on the gurney, warmed by the hot air blanket, wearing booties, the anesthesiologist came by and gave me his spiel. Then my surgeon came in and patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Don. There is still something showing on your liver. I’m sending you upstairs for an emergency MRI.” And they wheeled me upstairs to wait. Finally, at 9:00 pm, it was done, and I got to go home for the weekend and wait… and wait… and wait.
Monday morning, my surgeon called. “Come back! We will do surgery tomorrow.” And he did it! He got all the tumours and all the lymph nodes and all my colon. All my scans since then, including CT and blood tests, are clean. Chemotherapy in December 2024 was cut short due to severe side effects, but it was only prophylactic. Right after that, I started coming to Wellspring, and here I am! I am rebuilding so fast that I decided to return to full-time college in May, and I’m still going.
Common Ground at Wellspring
I found a pamphlet for Wellspring when I was doing chemotherapy at the Central Alberta Cancer Centre in December 2024. Soon after, I started going to the Cancer Connect meetings in Red Deer. I have not had a chance to get to Calgary or Edmonton to take advantage of the in-person programs, but I’d sure be keen on more programs being offered in Red Deer. I go regularly, although there have been some conflicts now with college.
I think the most important part of Cancer Connect is the chance to share stories and find a place where people are not scared by stories of near-death or end-of-life times. I often find friends and family struggling to deal with the mortality issue and not particularly wanting to talk about it. People at a cancer support group have all come close or to the edge of mortality.