The Background
I first noticed some pain while chewing in October 2025, or so. I honestly don't remember when the first symptoms appeared, but I seemed to have a little difficulty swallowing and after chewing for a while, the right side of my jaw started to hurt. Only by stopping for a few minutes, until the pain subsided, could I continue my meal.
Honestly, I didn't think too much about it and eventually mentioned it to my doctor when I was in getting a prescription refill. He prescribed antibiotics and I went away and dutifully took my pills.
A couple of weeks later, it wasn't any better so I returned. I was prescribed another round of antibiotics and sent for x-rays.
As there was no change and the x-rays didn't show anything, I was sent for an Ultrasound which showed an infection.
It was at this point my doctor took on a bit of different tone. The word biopsy was used.
Then things got really interesting.
A few days later, I suddenly started to see "floaters" in my right eye. I went to an optometrist and he told me I may have a detached retina and needed to see an ophthalmologist. He set up a referral and I was to wait for the call.
Fast forward one week and no call. I was literally getting ready to call the optometrist back to see what the delay was when the phone rang. It was him calling me to follow up. I told him I hadn't heard anything and he told me he wanted me to come to his office immediately.
I was about to walk out the door when the phone rang again. It was my optometrist telling me he had a referral for me in 20 minutes at the Rockeyview Eye center and I needed to get my ass there immediately.
So I did.
I should pause to say eye people absolutely love to dilate your eyes. I understand it probably has some probative value but it's simply fucking annoying.
Anyway, I arrived for my appointment and met with several eye specialists and yes, the dilatated my eyes, the bastards.
Finally I saw the surgeon who confirmed I had a detached retina and was informed it required immediate surgery... immediate being really early the next day.
They went on to tell me that I would also need to stay face down for 12 days. That is sleeping face down and keeping my head down as much as possible during the day.
To facilitate this, I would need to rent special equipment to support my head at night and a chair (similar to a massage chair) whereby I could utilize a mirror to watch TV.
The chair where I spent the majority of 12 days.
To be clear, I do not recommend this as a way to live your life.
Suffice it to say, I survived this ordeal and went back for a check and was told I was allowed to drive again.
While good news, This really pissed me off as it was the one day in January I could have taken the bike out. But since I was not allowed to drive and my appointment wasn't until about 4:30 in the afternoon, that opportunity passed me by.
I'm not bitter. At all.
Fast forward almost a week.
Biopsy time.
I go to the clinic and they inform me that they will numb my throat with a spray.
OK. Numb is good.
I should preface this by saying how much I dislike dentists and their ilk and that I have a rather serious gag reflex.
They spray away and I feel like my throat is closing up. Minor panic ensues.
There is no way in hell we are continuing with this procedure. No problem they say. They can partially sedate me but I will have to go to a different clinic.
OK, we set that up for the follow day.
I arrive, get the IV, they do the biopsy (which was still not a particularly pleasant experience regardless of the sedation), and I Uber my ass home.
By this point It is almost a forgone conclusion what the result will be. It's just the severity we are trying to determine.
2 days later. A Sunday morning. I start to get a belly ache. It refused to abate and by mid-late afternoon, I am quite uncomfortable and starting to get a little concerned. I am assuming it's gall bladder related as it feels similar to some pain I had a year or two back when I had a brief episode. It ended up being nothing.
I call 811 and speak with a lovely nurse who asks me all sorts of questions. She decides it might actually be something and strongly suggests I go to an ER within 4 hours.
OK, I hang out for a bit, feed the dogs at suppertime and call an Uber. I learned from the eye thing when I had to get my good friend and son to tag team to retrieve my car from the hospital parkade.
I was ushered into the ER without an obscene wait (I believe I was made a priority), again hooked up to an IV and eventually seen by a rather cool, long-haired ER doc. He ran a buncha tests and eventually came back and told me I was going to be admitted. He informed me my diagnostics skills were shit as it had nothing to do with my gall bladder but rather my the hernia (that I had had repaired 3 years prior.
I ended up being moved to a room about 2:30 in the morning with the threat of surgery in the morning. I was more concerned about ensuring someone would feed my dogs.
Morning came after being woken up repeatedly for blood pressure checks, and blood taken for various tests.
I met the surgeon first thing and she informed my that not only did I need a hernia repair, A piece of my intestine had managed to get itself tied up in the mesh that was used in the original repair and would now need to be resected.
Keep in mind that I was ignorant of the fact just how serious this actually was. Had it not been treated when it did, it was potentially life-threatening.
I'm actually happy I was unaware of this at the time.
I had posted a selfie in my hospital bed on social media with the tag line "This sucks," that morning. However, I have neglected to actually inform anyone that I was having surgery. Including my daughter. Who was my emergency contact. Who found out when the doctor called her after the surgery to tell her I would live.
Sorry, baby-girl.
Anyway, I spent the next 3 days in hospital being prodded and asked if I'd farted.
I will say this... I am a big fan of IV pain killers.
When I awoke, I had an IV, an NG tube, oxygen, and a Foley catheter (look it up). Suffice it to say, modesty is not required when it's time to remove the Foley.
Various tubes. Be happy you don't get to see the Foley.
Post-surgery. I have saved you the embarrassment of seeing the Foley catheter. You're welcome.
I was tethered to a metal hat stand on wheels that followed me whenever I dared to get out of bed, which to begin with, was not frequent. Once freed of the majority of my tubes, I was allowed to wander around the floor, get my own water (which was all I was allowed to ingest), and (yay) take an actual leak, albeit, the term leak is really more suited to the feeling you continuously have with the Foley catheter. Have you googled it yet?
When it was decided I was actually allowed to eat something, I was greeted with some seriously bland-ass hospital food. And for lunch, the day I was released, they gave me a salmon sandwich. Now those of you who know me, know I despise salmon. But that tinned cat food can fuck right off. Apparently they wanted rid of me.
I will digress and say the treatment I had by the staff, be it doctors, nurses, or support staff, was exemplary. Regardless what out fine provincial government is trying to do wo our healthcare, the quality of care I received was top notch. If you have had an experience that is different, I don't care nor do I wish to hear about it. Maybe it was because you were being a prick.
I would be remiss if I failed to acknowledge Johnny, my dear friend who ran back and forth to help with my dogs and bring me all the stuff I ended up needing while institutionalized.
Moving along...
With March came the series of appointments and consultations with everyone who wasn't nailed down.
By this point, there was no question of it being cancer so I was dispatched to meet with an Oncologist, a Radiation Oncologist, a Chemotherapy Oncologist, an Audiologist, a Speech Therapist, a Dentist, and coming up, a Nutritionist.
I have been fitted for a mask (more on this later), scheduled for dental work, had my hearing tested, and had CT scans. The majority of this is to establish a baseline prior to treatment.
I guess I should say the cancer is a mass at the back of my tongue to the right side. Surgery is not really an option as it would be so invasive it would at the very least affect my speech and possibly make it virtually impossible for me to speak at all.
Yeah, yeah, make your jokes but fuck you. I'm still going to be able to talk, assholes.
The mask. This was done at the same time as the CT simulation. They take this quite warm, plastic mesh mat (not unlike something you'd put dishes on) and place it on your face. It wasn't hot enough to burn, but it was quite warm.
Next you are expected to lie perfectly still (have we met???) for 13 minutes while it cools and hardens, all the while they are shaping it to closely conform to your face. They are placing stickers on it and marking it up with sharpies and taking photos (I'm hoping to get my hands on some of those).
The point of this is so that you are in the exact same position for every radiation treatment for the next 7 or so weeks. 15 minutes each day, excluding weekends and holidays.
I also, apparently, have a new tattoo. On my chest. Just a pin prick sized dot, also for calibration. I kept forgetting to look for it. I did this morning.
As I head to treatment this morning, I am sobered by the death of an acquaintance, a fellow rider, a brother. Jerry Sabo died of cancer this past weekend. We were not close but we always shared a laugh when we bumped into each other at a bar or a rally.
I was introduced to Jerry about 35 years ago in the Alex Arms in Lethbridge by another friend. You always knew where Jerry was by the Bumblebee parked outside.
He always had a smile on his face and a beer in his hand.
Ride free, bother.
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