4 people showed up.

We had to do 2 paintings.

The first:

Love

Paint what your holding on to.  The first step was to write down what I felt I am holding on to. Not as easy as I thought it would be. Do you just think of the positive things, the negative things. Are you actually holding on to the negative things, or trying to get rid of them? I made a list, deciding that your are hopefully getting rid of the negatives, holding on to the positives.

Love, Relationships, Faith.

Now what? The final answer. The painting above. The relationship as evidenced by nature living together. The nourishing sun, the mighty tree strong of trunk, providing shade for the grass and the flowers that thrive in its shadow. A central strength protecting the more frail. Someone asked about the flowers on the right being different from the ones on the left. I got tired of painting individual blotches and took a wild fancy tot he easy way out. Nothing symbolic there. What about the open space on either side of the trunk. Unless you are talking about a willow tree, there is always white space on either side of a tree trunk. Nothing symbolic there either. The moderator loved this and saw all sorts of deep meanings in it. That felt kind of good.

The second:

Amulet of Light

We were asked to paint one last time and give the painting as a gift to the person on our right. This was the gift given me.

This represents one of those things that heroes in movies hurl at the enemy in the hopes of witnessing total annihilation. It is very pretty and quite cool.

This one was easy for me. I painted a big blue canvas with a green ribbon around it, and a touch of red on the ribbon. This went to my friend of the anxiety attacks. As I said, too easy.

We had a pot luck of sorts. Difficult to have a pot luck between the hours of 10 and 12. One person brought a salad. The rest of us brought sweets, shortbread cookies, brownies, lemon tarts, and my Iranian nuts and Baghlava.

Nothing deep was discussed. It was a light morning.

One person drew a bunch of boxes in various colours representing the pack rat that she is collecting all sorts of stuff. She is gradually learning to let go of things. Cleaning the basement. Throwing things out. What an effort that is.

Another painted a bunch of flowers each representing an emotion. Red rose for love, purple iris for hope, bluebells,  and daisies. I did not take notes, so I forget what those represented. The daisy was very bright. The bluebells sweet, fragile, and pretty. Finally, a large bush of thorns. An obvious one. The thorns were paler than the other flowers. A fading past, with the other flowers representing a more optimistic future.

The last person painted something very abstract which I cannot begin to describe. She went on at length about the colours fading into one another, but I was not clear what any of it represented, and no one else appeared to be very clear either. A big was made about the right side versus the left side of the painting. She said she is holding on to herself. Letting go of her anger.

That is about all there is to say.

Truth be told, the therapy sessions are as interesting as ever but have evolved into very personal disclosures.  The group has also dwindled to three people, the two ladies who read this blog and me. The tone of the conversation has changed quite a bit. Much calmer, and, as I said, much more personal. We have engaged Our moderator a lot more in the conversations, finding out about his past and how he got involved in Art Therapy. A bit about his childhood, and his current life. But nothing too deep or involved – yet.

I have not take notes, not that the current participants would have minded. The intimacy of the conversations would have made the notes useless anyways.

The paintings have been more of a free for all as opposed to anything specific.

Session 5:

Claustrophobia

All our negative feelings and emotions cram themselves into our bodies and minds creating a feeling of claustrophobia.  This is hopefully broken up by the better feelings that creep in gradually into our system. The negatives are far more powerful. The better feelings being of a meeker nature tend to hang around the periphery doing their job in a much more sedate way.The red and dark blue on top are the bad feelings, anxiety, despair, anger, depression, loneliness, exhaustion, self-pity, and any others you can think of. You cannot read them on the picture just because they are hard to read on the painting itself.

The painting did not come out as I had hoped. I may try my hand at a second version sometime.

Session 6:

Blood Cell Factory

This drawing was prompted by two events. The first is the effects of my low white blood cell count. The second was my doodling one night while talking with Leslie.  She thinks doodling is fun and should be done more often. So This is basically a giant doodle.

The sometimes heart shaped drops represent the dwindling white blood cell count. The factory is balanced precariously and is having difficulty creating enough white blood cells. There is little significance to the various shapes and objects. I was doodling after all. The participants thought the balancing act was interesting, as is the fact that all objects are tied to one another in some way. The double hoops created a bit of conversation. I put them there because I got bored of all the straight lines. They proved difficult to work with though. Where do you go from there? The image is slanted to the right, a sign of looking to the future?

One og the participants drew a circle – again! Much as I keep playing with words, she keeps playing with circles. A target perhaps? Life going in circles? She is a very positive person and is dealing with her life admirably well. At least from the perspective of a person who gets to spend two hours a week with her. She also drew a second piece. A fairy. A fairy princess maybe? The fairy was resting, dainty wings tucked to one side. Her face was very calm. The image was very resting, strangely positive. I hope to ba able to take a picture of it at some point. She may not be at the last session this week. She might go traveling somewhere. Just to have abreak.

The last painting dealt with the confusion in our lives, the swirls that we go through hoping to break though the wall that surrounds and contains the maze in a more straightforward path looking to the future. Cannot say much more about it than that.

I am perpetually amazed by the articulate nature of what people draw or paint.

We talked about a lot of stuff. How cold it will feel once my head is shaved. I have not done it yet. I have SO much hair, that few can tell I am losing any of it. I got a gift of a beautiful silk scarf from one of the ladies. I am so touched. We talked about chemo, and its effect on the brain and the body. The amazing doctors and nurses we deal with. How strong we have to be. What a strain it is on those around us. How life is worth living. How we grew up. What affected us. And so much more. The conversation was easy. All that was missing was tea and crumpets.

This week is out last session. We intend to have some sort of pot luck. I will take in some Iranian nuts and stuff. Pistachios, mulberries, and mixes. Should be fun.

Thank you for being there.

We received an eMail from  our Oncologist”s assistant, Shahnaz, that we should come in ad see Dr. Hedley on Wednesday, the day before our chemo. He needs to see the blood results and discuss us taking Neulasta, a drug designed to boost the white blood cell count. It appears to be standard release in the breast cancer clinics. That is as long as you can afford the $2,800 per month price tag. This drug is not covered by our delightful universal health care system. The cost is covered by Janet’s rivate health care plan courtesy of Ogilvy & Mather.

I did the required blood work on Wednesday morning. Went to the Art Therapy session, home for a bite, the to see the ever delightful Dr. Hedley. Have I mentioned how incredibly kind and gentle this man is? Well, that has not changed from our last visit. We discussed the benefits of Neulasta, and the inevitable side effects. My chemo starts on Thursday, I get disconnected from the baby bottle on Saturday. Neulasta is set for Monday. Would I care to self-administer? Think not! I will let Shahnaz do the honours.

The CEA blood results were positive in that the numbers are declining. Dr. Hedley did not make a fuss about them. I think we need a couple more counts to determine the trend. Two counts create an indicator. Four will start creating a trend of sorts.

My white blood cell count is low. We went from 0.8, to 3.9, back to 0.8, up to 6.7, down to 0.8. The last count from Wednesday morning showed a dramatic nothingness. Up to 0.9. Neulasta it is then. The good doctor says we cannot afford to iss these weeks.

I cannot pretend I understand what these number represent. All I know is that my chart has little asterisks whenever a number is too high or too low. I cannot understand why a number would  drop from 6.7 to 0.8 in one week. and no one appears to have an explanation. There appears o be lot of, this is just the way it is. I am as accepting as the next guy, but it would be nice to know.

I have been told to rest a lot. But that has not helped. I wrote an entry a while ago about the voice as a barometer. That has not changed My voice fluctuates with the state of my health. It is almost a whisper at the moment and has been for over a week. It made a comeback after the visit with Dr. Hedley which shows that the voice is affected by physical and psychological impulses. It went back to a whisper on Thursday in honour of chemo day.

Chemo Day

I was delighted that my appointment was for 8:30 in the morning. A couple of hours on the chair, home, hopefully before noon, great way to start the day. Better home around noon that at 7PM.

What a disaster. we got there at 8:30 and had to wait for them to get in touch with Dr. Hedley to make sure we could go ahead with he treatments. His office had not updated the files. They are all so over worked, it is not funny. We had waited an hour when Janet went to investigate. She located Shahnaz who works in the breast clinic on Thursdays. The clinic is located right next door to the Chemo Daycare. This was a no brainer. Shahnaz call it in.

My drugs had not been prepared, since they were not expecting me to get treated. We waited another half hour and I went in to investigate. They explained that they are waiting for the pharmacy but do not have a set time. I was pretty wasted by 10:30 and went to investigate again. The people at the front desk gave me a very hard time. Interrupting me. asking me why I was asking so often. They decided to have the nurses all me in to get rid of me. I refused to go and sit in the chair inside. What is the difference between waiting outside or inside if they do not know how long the wait is?

They gave me a pager and Janet and I decided to get get a bite. I had a chicken salad sandwich on brown with all the trimmings. That and a bottle of water, and I was back in shape. The pager went off almost as soon as I had finished my scrumptious meal.

We wnet in as instructed and made our way to our station. A very young nurse, as it turn out 23 years old would look after us. She said later that she thought I would be trouble. The best thing that happened is that one of the nurses with whom I get along particularly well came by and we joked around for a while. That helped ease any notions that I would be trouble.

This is a great department. Once you go through the doors to the clinic itself. The staff at the front desk have issues. They are in the wrong job. We appear to be in their way, and they are rarely prepared to help out.

We were finally out of there by 1:30. Ridiculous I say. Had a bite to eat, and straight to bed for a couple of hours of sleep.

The nurses in the Daycare do a lot of cross checking before giving you drugs. They check your tag, cross referencing your hospital number, last and first names, and finally ask your date of birth. The do this every time they connect you to a drug. They had misplaced my 5FU drug. This is the one in the baby bottle that I get to take home with me. They found it, but all the cross referencing prevents them from giving it to the wrong person.

Not much more to say about this. Looking forward to the Neulasta. Could use the energy boost.

Thank you for reading.

Some of us go from being full fledged contributing members of society to depending on everyone else for our daily needs. Suddenly rendered useless by the sudden waves of exhaustion that overwhelms our minds and bodies. Spending too much time in bed, with way too much time to think of our plight, which is supposed to make things easier, and often times does. Until you hear the vacuum going, that was my job. The cleaning. The cooking. All the mundane activities that you used to rue, you now want to take part of, oh so desperately.

It is all about you. Take advantage. Lie around and get better. Let others pitch in and do the work. It is probably good for them to see how much work it takes to run a house. How much work you did. Janet and I have reversed positions. She was in the main role, and I in the supporting one, making sure the laundry was done, so we never run out of underwear, and so on.

It is all about me.

I was given a present recently by a friend. Janet was not sure how I would react to it. It was a graphic novel published in 1994 called Our Cancer Year. The authors, Harvey Pekar, and Joyce Brabner, are a husband and wife team. She wrote, he was the victim, the afflicted one. He comes across as a real jerk. Why anyone would want themselves portrayed that way is beyond me. It is a bit like those shows, you know the ones, Canada’s Worst Drivers. Why would anyone in their right mind want to be on those. Hey look everyone, I am a bad driver, cheer for me.

I almost did not finish the book. The guy delayed his visit to the doctor until the tumour was very large. And he works in a hospital in the U.S., and is covered by insurance. He delays until the operation becomes more major that it should have been. A bit like not going for a regular colonoscopy when you turn 50. Not that we know ANYONE who has done that, now do we? He is then subjected to chemo treatments and all the usual stuff. He is a real jerk. At one point in the book, his wife mentions that she became an expert at crying in bed without shaking so as to wake him up.

We are so self absorbed in our own plight that we forget that others are suffering too. I remember when my mother was going through her cancer. It took her life within a year. She was always smiling making slight of her issues. We were all crying, losing sleep, wondering what the future held for her, for us. She was the matriarch. Nothing happened in the house without her say-so. She was the ruler. What would we do without her. She spent her last three weeks in the hospital. My Dad, brother and I made funeral arrangements. No sense in leaving things to the last minute. It was a bizarre experience to say the least. Baha’i rules and regulations require that the body be washed and wrapped in a certain amount of silk material in preparation for burial. Prayers are read during the process. My sisters had to do the honours. It was quite a to-do making those arrangements with the funeral parlour. We are talking about 30 years ago.

Here I am, 30 years later, going through some very similar issues as she did. Operation, a major one, followed by recuperation, then chemo. Oh that chemo. I am having a better time of it than she did. Still self-absorbed, effectively ignoring the feelings of those around me, or at the very least, paying scant attention. Asking the same questions over and over again, never remembering the answer. It is all about me after all. I am entitled to be self absorbed and forgetful.

The conversations in the Art Therapy sessions have reinforced these notions. Why do people not understand what we are going through? Why do we keep having to explain ourselves? Defend our plight? You have read about this in previous postings. Yet here we are totally oblivious to others. This appears perfectly normal and consistent with many dealing with chronic conditions. Does not make it right, just the way it is. The incessant questions for which we do not have answers, the constant struggles with our own emotions, the ups and downs that plague us daily.

People around us are suffering as well. In some ways more than us. We have a bit more control over what we are going through, believe it or not. I think it is always easier for the person with the chronic condition that for those around you. Hence the constant looks and questions from Janet whenever I make a move. The concerned look in my sister’s eyes when she is here and I make a move. The constant monitoring of my barometer like voice fluctuations. The phone calls and emails that come before and after chemo days, or oncologist visits. All are part of the new normal, the equation that will eventually pay dividends.

I have caught myself bringing the conversation back to my cancer when people dare talk about anything else while I am in the room. How could they be so insensitive? I did this several times, before noticing the trend. It disturbed me. The graphic novel added one more element to consider.

I asked Janet one night at 11PM whether she had cried a lot. She smiled and said of course. I could not talk about it any more. Just had to know before falling asleep. We talked about it the next day. She was home without me for 10 days. Lots and lots of time for crying. She cried with me in bed. She cried. I know how much my condition has affected those around me. Devin is always hanging around the house. As it turns out careful to say things that would not offend me or result in a heavy discussion. This has to end.

Judy dropped by for a visit. We talked about me for a while. I asked her what she was up to. To my great relief, she talked about herself, and her plans for the next while. It was wonderful to listen to her, to contribute in some minor ways to the conversation. The Art Therapy sessions always start with a taking of the pulse. Asking each of us how our week was. We started our assignment. I realised that through all these sessions, none of us had ever asked the moderator how his week had been. I asked him. We found out a lot about him. It helped that there were fewer people in the session. But still. No one had asked him. It is an exercise I have promised to follow through with.

Turn the conversation to others. Ask questions. Talk less about myself. There is something to be said about It is All About Me. But surely there also has to be a limit to it. It might be an evolutionary thing. You are dealing with your own issues, and at some point are more prepared to let the outside world intrude. Expand your field of vision. Take the blinders off. Bring a bit more noise in your life.

Cannot be anything but good for the soul.

The sessions are a safe place where people are encouraged to speak their mind. Someone taking notes might appear intrusive. I take notes to ensure accuracy in my posts and thoughts. The wording of what is said is so important. Did they say angry or upset? I have an excellent memory for these things. Is there a difference between taking notes inside the sessions, or jotting down similar notes after I walk out? There is a difference in how people feel as you are taking notes in front of them. I would have hoped that the openness which I showed would have been reassuring, but it appears not to be so.

No pictures either. I am allowed to take them outside the session but not inside. Not sure how that works. It doesn’t. So no pictures. I made a point of letting everyone know I was taking notes. I gave them the blog address. I asked before being allowed to take pictures. What happened between the second session where people were so open about letting me take pictures of their thoughts, and today?

I have made a major point of being discreet in my postings. This has not been difficult. Not an imposition by any means. A given under the circumstances. I have been very careful with the information I divulge. There has been nothing of a personal nature, for instance. The participants will recognise themselves, but no one outside the group will be able to tell who is who. The nature of the blog has also been positive. At least I hope it has. Am I surprised that people are uncomfortable? No. I was hoping for a bit of largess considering the huge amount of good this is doing to so many people.

The comfort of the group is of paramount importance. The nature of the post will change starting with this one. You will still benefit from the highly polished and amazing art that I paint, but there will no references to others, or a description of what they have painted. There will be comments, or more likely questions opened for discussion based on what was said. These will be of a more general nature. Human beings being what we are, there will also be cross fertilization going on. There is really no way of holding back a thought process that was provoked by what was said in the sessions. These might be used to start a fresh posting based on that thought. No offense intended to anyone. No judgments. No recrimination. No antagonism. The reactions of one and all are fully understandable and do not need either explaining or defending. It is what it is. A bit like having cancer. It is what it is.

The choice of colours in our paintings is interesting. Mine are pretty stark with a dash of colour. Others exhibit much more lively or darker colours. I have mentioned the liberal use of blue and green. The first dealing with water and its attributes, the second with new life, and freshness. Both dealing with coolness and calmness. Using darker or lighter colours reflecting our mood or state of mind. Even within a painting, starting with darker colours and somehow gravitating to lighter ones brings up a host of questions. Is your mood getting better from painting? From attending the sessions? From talking? From being around people you feel safe with? Why did you feel darker at the beginning?

A thought that crossed my mind at one point that had nothing to do with anything in particular has to do with interpretation. I have had a lot of trouble with art in general. How do you know if something is good or not? Does it matter? I often look at art and wonder if this is a piece that will be famous in 10, 15 or more years. And I missed the boat by not buying it now. I was talking with a friend about this, one day, oh so many years ago, and they said that I should stop torturing myself. Art is what I make of it. What I see. Nothing more or less. We bought a piece from a student at an art show a few years ago. It is a narrow piece painted on wood showing a clothesline from which hang a number of t-shirts that are a bit torn, with an inscription in Arabic. Second from the right is a perfect t-shirt with the Roots logo on it. I asked the girl about the political message behind it. Much to my surprise, she said there was none. She just painted it. She designed those t-shirts and like the look of it all strung together. I was shocked to say the least, and based on that premise alone, had to make the purchase.

All this to say, is there a possibility we are over-analyzing or paintings? Seeing convenient truths or perceived truths where there are none? I am not sure, but at some point, felt that sometimes, the message is pretty clear. Or we just painted for the fun of it. Let it be. Not sure.

My Painting

Cancer Thistle

The painting depicts a thistle growing inside the body of a person, well OK, a man. The thistle represents cancer with its amazing roots invading the body.The thistle has some medicinal purpose. I chose it because the thistle is full of thorns that hurt when touched or come into contact with. I played rugby while in boarding school in England. One of the fields we played in was full of thistles. It was so bad that you were careful to tackle someone only if there was no thistle around. Added a whole new dimension to the game. The person is balancing Anger and Tranquility on the two scales neither winning the battle but equalising each other. Anger wells up in our bodies and is quelled by tranquility. The person is standing on a bed that gives him strength. The list includes: Steadfast, Friends, Support, Hospital, Drugs, Food, Alternative, Meditation, Visualization, Safe Place, Prayers, Faith, Strength, Attitude, Perseverance, Humour, Depression, Self Pity, Exercise, Lies, Truths, Family, Insurance, Finances, Travel, Rest, Sleep, Guilt, Participate, Cook, Clean, Shop. There was little doubt that the moderator was moved by the piece and thought it was very powerful. But again, no discussion. We had run out of time. The eye is not red, contrary to what it looks like, but brown. No idea why it looks red.

The Real Thistle - with Bee

I am saddened by the events of the day. Love the people who attend. So it goes.

Three people from last week did not show up, two new people showed up. Except they are not new since the moderator and one of the participants know them. Hey, how are you, long time. And so on. This is a safe place after all. Five women and me. The ratio is right again.

Today’s challenge: represent your support network. Is it internal? External? Faith based? What does your armour look like? Armour? There is the battle cry again. A subject for a different day at the sessions. No armour here, though others do not appear to have any problems with the concept.

I had a lot of trouble with this one. Kept looking for the inner child to show itself. Damn child stayed well hidden. Probably behind its armour. No, no armour here, and none for the inner child.

I took a lot of notes again. The session started with people talking a bit about themselves and what they are feeling. I was quiet. Not sure if I am ready for that yet. Which, you have to admit is bizarre. Here I am laying myself bare in a very public blog, but have difficulty expressing myself in an atmosphere of trust and safety.

There is a lot of anger. Different people expressing it. Same discussion as last week. Anger at people who do not seem to understand. Anger at the inconsiderate nature of people. Anger at being abandoned by close friends who cannot handle the change.

There is also a certain amount of condescension. A safety blanket of sorts. It manifests itself in subtle ways. An interesting aspect of belonging to a private club. We are invited to go shopping, but we turn it down. We don’t need to go shopping, we are not materialistic. The same sentiments were expressed last week, by a different person. Again, no one objected to the sentiment, or even commented. There appeared to be tacit agreement. Some of us are more empathetic than others. People are mainly concerned about themselves. Life is too short for us to worry about others. Are we being patronizing to those who are unlucky enough to not have been enlightened by having cancer?

One person talked about losing long standing friendships. The relationship has changed. Shopping is of no interest. Life has changed, but the friends are still looking for the old relationship. They do not seem to come to terms with the changes and how they will affect things.

One friend wanted to talk about the view from the other side. It was not to be. I was disappointed. Wondering what that was. I will have to take it up with my friends and see what comes out. It should make for an interesting conversation. This participant did not have the energy to listen to the other side, or the patience, or anything else. She listens to her friends talk about things that are no longer important to her, but are still important to her friends. Frustrating.

How much accommodation should we accord our friends? How much should be accommodated by our friends?

People need to do some self-reflection without it being started by someone else. I am not sure I agree with that one. We all need prompting from something or someone to wake us up. Look at us, the enlightened ones. We are self-reflecting, but only because we have been forced into it. Life would have gone on as before otherwise.

Comparisons were made to the Wizard of Oz. We keep looking externally for confirmation that we have brains, hearts, courage. All are within us, if we were only to look. There are lots of parts in our insides which take a lifetime to know. I think that is way too optimistic.

The Paintings:

She used green in her painting, even though she does not like green. Never wears it. She radiates from the inside out, drawing a cell, or is it an amoeba, or  a jelly fish. She does not know why she drew what she drew. It looks like a vulnerable inside protected by a more hard core exterior. Green representing spring, rebirth, new life. After all the feedback, and there was lots all centered on the protective shell, which still allowed the inside to radiate outwards, the participant said that what it says to her is that “I am here for you”. It begged the question, who is you? Sorry, what she meant to say is, “I am here for me”. That is an interesting thought that goes back to the original discussion we had about it being about you, and how much accommodation should be given and so on.

Water makes a return appearance. In this case it represents the friends and relatives who are there to support you. Surrounding you with calm and serenity. The oyster is her protected by the shell that is open to accept the radiation that is coming from the sun and others. Allowing her to help others and give of herself. The oyster represents purity and happiness.

A connection between the oyster and having to look deep within yourself? The expression that was used, I think was diving deep. Probably the most interesting comment of the day was given by the oyster: Give yourself permission to ask for what you need.

Strength comes from within, while we are still nurturing others. Should we be more careful when communicating with others? Do we risk upsetting the equilibrium of relationships by being too open? This participant seems to think so. She painted her need to look inside for her support. Finds it exhausting to look outside. Energy sucking at ts best when you have to look outside for your strength. She painted herself as the centre radiating inner strength while protected from the outside by a thick wall. An internal light that needs protection from the  outside.

Six circles. She does not want to talk about her painting. Could not get into it.But she is pushed just a bit to tell more. She talks about the colours:

• Blue=loyalty
• Green=being grounded
• Purple=creativity
• Yellow=assertiveness
• Grey=reflectiveness

There was a lot of comment on this painting. Circles leaning into one another, the colours bleeding into each other. A relationship between all the characteristics that are important to her. This has less to do with strength and support, and more to do with expectations of others. The conversation turns to support for the participant. She has done well to express herself. better than she thought. She wanted to draw balloons, but did not feel she a good enough artist to pull that off. As it is, are these asteroids colliding, or flowers?

She has grown up with negative messages, struggling to find her voice. Railing against all the negative messages that are pointed in her direction, She sent an eMail to someone cutting off the relationship . Should we cut people off? At what point? For what reason?

One participant did not wish to participate She drew three pages, participated in the conversations, but nothing abut her paintings. I hope she comes around next week. She may be robing us from an experience.

Where does strength come from. I have written about this before. Inner strength, I feel, is fed from outside support and help. Faith is definitely a big player. As are conversations. this bog which gives me a venue for dealing with thoughts. I guess that means that comments from readers are also very valuable.

My painting represents me at the centre, fed by my Faith (the nine pointed star), and my friends and relatives surrounding me. How great an artist am I! The brown stuff at the bottom is me being grounded. There was a lot of conversation around this. Maybe because I went first. Does my Faith bring people in to support? It should make for an interesting conversation, the role of Faith in one’s life. Whether the Faith in you attracts others,  or others create the Faith in you. Another day.

I said  at the beginning that there is a lot of anger in the room. Not at each other. Another item that came up was the giving nature of some of the people in the room. I asked everyone in the room if they were givers. All saw themselves as being givers, a couple hesitated a bit saying only part of the time.

The book, AntiCancer talks about the C personality. Among other things, it mentions that one of its characteristics is that they are generally givers and not takers. I brought the book in. I had made reference to it the previous week. One of the participants was reading the section, which I had bookmarked, detailing our personalities. Interesting reaction,a s one person disagreed with this entirely. Not believable, she said My cousin Ruja said the same thing when I was first diagnosed. She says it makes us more vulnerable. In a room of six people who have cancer, 6 people are more or less givers.

One person said that people would probably not fess up to being takers. Does this make takers lesser people? No judgments here. I asked a free question, allowing people to answer any way they wished to. There is a negative connotation to being a taker, but really and truly, no judgments here.

I was discussing this with Leslie, who wondered if the giving is hiding those other emotions. Could it be hiding the anger that is already there? Is it masking some other feelings that are just waiting to get out and manifest themselves?

An interesting two hours.

I went to the blood clinic as usual last Wednesday after the Art Therapy session. Devin had to be at work by 3:00. We decided to give the clinic a try. We wold leave if they were too busy. The process from parking the car, giving blood, and getting back to the car was 20 minutes. This included a chat with the lovely nurse who, it turns out, has breast cancer. We had a long conversation. Very cool.

She left the pin and tubes in my Porta-Cath, just like the previous time. This is truly the best way to give blood.

I picked up Janet at her office the next day and we made our way to the PMH Chem Daycare. As lovely a name for this activity as any. We asked whether there would be a delay or not. Time enough for us to get a cup of something and do whatever else. The gentleman behind the counter let us know that we had about an hour because my drugs were not ready yet.

We went to Starbucks and had coffee (Janet), and tea (me). Took our time, talked and had a great rest. Finally made our way back. A nurse was waiting for us. Turns out my blood cell counts were too low for chemo. More specifically, my white cell count was low. Something to do with my Neutrophil count being too low. No one seemed particularly alarmed in any way. Not a big deal. Happens all the time. Nothing to be done but wait for the count to go back up. Could happen any time. I have been given a reprieve until next week, which is this week since I am writing this on Monday morning.

The chemo schedule had to be changed since we are now out a week. My last session will take place on December 23. Merry Christmas.

The complications that arise from this move are interesting. For starters, I have to take these pills an hour before going in to get the chemo. It really is not a big deal. The pills are tiny. There are seven of them. The pharmacy releases the pills the week of the chemo. I cannot purchase all the pills I need for the remaining chemo sessions. I guess they feel I might overdose on them or something. I have now taken the pills that were due for this session, so we have to get a new prescription.

Next week is going to be a busy week. Seeing the oncologist, and the surgeon, and getting a CT-Scan done to review the State of the Union. The surgeon will probably give the go-ahead for the Avastin treatment. I have to read up on its side effects.

My brother is coming for a visit this Thursday. My sister is coming for the day on Sunday. All good. Looking forward to seeing my brother. He gets to see the baby bottle. I am looking forward to the visits. I think it will help cope with the treatment. I had very few issues last time, mostly tired. But having my family here will help. Specially if Fetneh bakes me a banana cream pie!

I am keeping busy. Driving a lot more. The weekend was very tiring. I don’t think I ate enough, in fact I know I did not. We went to Ginger’s to look at showers fixtures. All the showers we saw have these huge round plates that cover the wall and hold the spigot that turns the water on and off. The ones that have a small discreet plate, done tastefully and with respect to the rest of the room are in the $7000 price range. You read right. Don’t get me wrong, I love a shower as much as the next person, but $7,000 for a shower fixture?

We next went to Elte to look at furniture. Janet wants to ge rid of all our furniture and start over. Elte is huge. They have carpets and furniture. No appliances or anything. They are way too good to carry that sort of pedestrian stuff. We saw a couple of pieces we like. The first was perfect for our living room until you sat on the couch. It has to be the most uncomfortable $11,000 couch on the world. Almost as if they went out of their way to make it so. Not that we are about to shell that sort of money for a couch, but why so uncomfortable?

Cut a long story short, we got home around four, and I was pretty much done in. Took a nap. Made some rice for dinner. Sharon Singer came by for a visit. We had a great time. One thing you have to understand about me is that I talk very fast. I loved watching Sharon as she cocked her head to one side and concentrated really hard to understand what I was saying. My brother says I would have to repeat everything when I was a child because no one understood a word I was saying. So little has changed.

I am getting out more these days. Driving. I am going to see Steve this morning to fix three computers. We cannot afford to be without them, so they have to be fixed and returned right away. He is good about that sort of stuff. Looking forward to seeing him again. This is the best. Life returning to some semblance of normalcy. May sound boring to you, but it is heaven in my books.

Devin and I drove Janet to work in the morning. We got to Wellspring about 30 minutes too early. We had a coffee and read the paper.

Art Therapy. I had no idea what to expect and decided to try really hard to keep an open mind. It was not difficult. Last time I had anything to do with painting or drawing was in boarding school in England. I had the dubious distinction of almost failing that class. I mean really, who “fails” at art class? There were too many other things going on in my life at the time, like surviving in an all-white school as the only coloured person. Minor issue.

The room was small with a large square boardroom table. The instructor was still setting things up after the 10AM start time. It really matters little. What else do we have to do? Places to be? The table was covered with a couple of pieces of rubber mats. The type that some people put on their dining room tables to protect the surface. I gather that it was the first time for everyone based on the reaction to the mat and the discussion regarding its fabric. This did not bode well. The mats were covered with dry paint from previous such classes. By the time the dust had settled, there were six women in the room and moi, the sole male. Perfect ratio.

About 35 years ago, in Montreal, I went out to dinner with a bunch of friends and my sister Fetneh. There were 8 of us, if I recall. The waiter kept giving me the hairy eyeball. I was starting to wonder if I knew the guy and had offended him somewhere. It suddenly occurred to me, as I looked around the table, that his look was more quizzical than hairy. He was wondering what a douche bag like me was doing with seven women. The harem, such as it was, consisted of my sister, my oldest friend Nahed Rushdy and a bunch of other platonically related people. Nahed and I grew up in Ethiopia. She pointed out to me the other day, that we have known each other since grade whatever in the 60′s. Just to say, I have been in this situation many times.

The assortment of people was varied. You have to understand that all the goings on at these sessions is strictly confidential. So you can’t just go and blab it out to everyone. You stand on notice. The lady sitting beside me also has colon cancer. Her surgery is done and she is mending. She was very sweet and gentle in her manners. She does not need chemo therapy, lucky her. We will talk more next week. I have to digress again.

I used to be a computer trainer.  I noticed at a particular point that people tend to sit in the same seats when they come back for more training. Does not matter if the training is at their location or ours. The person would come back for their second training day, be it a day, week, or month later, and make a bee-line for the seat they had occupied the last time they were there. They were also quite put out and almost disoriented if someone had beaten them to their seat. It is a very peculiar behaviour. Not sure what it means, or how you would go about studying it.

I am sure that we will all sit in the same seats next week. I might even go in a bit late to test this. The instructor set up the room. Lots of paper, bowls of paint of all the primary colours and a couple more, pails of crayons and chalk, markers of all colours. Once settled, we were given our instructions.

We are going to paint, and discuss our paintings with everyone else. No judgments, All positive. No matter that you cannot paint. Let the child within you rear its tempestuous head and take over. Relax. Cry. Put your hands in the paint if you want the tactile feel. Everything is confidential. No recriminations. We are all in the same boat. Cool.

Our first assignment: paint your name. Not necessarily literally, though that is what we all did, but what you feel your name represents. Are you happy with your name? Do you love or hate it? Does it evoke joy? Whatever. The lady next to me folded her sheet in half. These are large sheet measuring 24 by 18 inches. She was being practical since there was little room. I followed suit. I was also being practical. How could I possibly fill up that amount of space?

Some of us sat there looking pensive, trying to not look concerned over the fact that we really did not understand how you could paint your name. Most went ahead and wrote their names down in BIG letters and started to colour them in, adding more and more detail. I decided to draw my name in Persian, just to be a bit different. I can neither read nor write the Farsi language, but I can write my name. It is a complicated language, beautiful, lyrical, but complicated. I painted some grass at the bottom of the page, a tree on the right, and a giant sun above and to the left. My name was front and centre. The sun is shining on me. So many interpretations!

People revealed a bit of themselves in the paintings, which made for a very interesting session. One person drew a heart in which she drew the faces of her family. She cried when she told us what that was about, specially when she said she wants to live. Very poignant. Others added some elements of what they like to do around their names. Statements of fashion design, traveling (planes), and water. Lots of water all around. Seems water has a very calming effect on people.

One person had splotches of purple, and brown and various other colours all over the paper. It was all covered and looked a bit peculiar. Turns out it was her garden of lilac trees. Made perfect sense. You could see the garden come to life in all the splotches and stains covering the wrinkling paper.

Another drew a house with a path leading up to it. Her name was written inside in all its blazing glory.  She craved the safety of the roof over her head. She said she had no idea why she drew what she did, just came to her.

There was a fair bit of chatter, but nothing of any consequence. Strangely no one asked for an explanation of my choice of language. Devin thinks I should take up calligraphy. So I went out and bout some pens, paper and a book to see where it takes me.

The next assignment was to paint our safe place. This smacked a of of the meadow exercise in the relaxations and visualization session. Devin said I should have painted a swarm of mosquitoes. Not very safe. This one took a while. I have never really thought of a safe place. My bed? That is where I go when I am tired, or need to get away from everyone. But I would hardly call it a safe place. Specially when one of the cats decides that any time is good to lie on my stomach. What or where is a safe place? This one took a while. I watched as the others threw themselves into the project with great gusto. The person to my left, of the roof over her head fame, was also deep in thought. Another participant had closed her eyes and deep in thought. It turns out she was doing a deep breathing exercise and centering herself. Interesting concept.

So I sat there. The person to my left requested pencils to draw with. And so we sat, contemplating the safe place conundrum. My colon cancer partner had found a safe place of sorts. She watching the birds swooping in to their nests in the building across the driveway. They felt safe. She felt she had found something. I finally found mine.

Ramone Alones

The text which you can barely read says:
Nothing like a great Cuban cigar on a warm evening surrounded by friends and family enjoying the times, dinner, conversation.

My painting generated far more conversation than I expected. They wanted to know about cigars, do you inhale? What makes a cigar good? How much does a cigar cost? Do women smoke? The caption under the title: Ramon Alones reads: The ultimate Cuban cigar. 45 minutes of bliss. 45 minutes? Are you kidding me. Hence the safe place. Sit, smoke, enjoy the company and the moment.

One person drew a church, and her house, her garden, and family. Another her time at a cottage that she found peaceful under the radiant sun surrounded by water. Another drew reference to her cottage that always brings solace and peace. My colon cancer partner gave up on drawing the building across the way. Her drawing was the most moving for me. Her thinking evolved into drawing a bunch of rectangular boxes in a bit of a pelle mele from the top of the page to the bottom. Somewhere in the middle of the page, two of the boxes leaned against one another. She drew herself in the triangle that was created by the joining of the boxes. There was great emphasis on the person. She surrounded herself with more protection, dark lines that enclosed her in the space. She equated her safe place with somewhere to feel comfortable and warm, a place to make peace with yourself. I will have to spend a bit more time with her. She is proving vulnerable and terribly interesting.

This is a long post. There is more.

These paintings generated a lot of conversation. Not sure how much of it was intended or not. The instructor was content to let people speak their mind and comment. He was quiet through most of the banter. There was a great deal of respect amongst the participants. No recriminations or judgments. All talked and participated. I took a lot of notes.

How do you define a safe place? Is it internal or external? Mention was made of the people who get caught in disasters losing their homes and belongings. How distraught they are. Have they lost their safe place? Should they consider the material belongings as safe? Is it not better to internalize the safe place? That way you have with you always, taking it with you through good times and bad. Radiating from the inside out.

How do you deal with the well meaning people who surround you with the best of intentions? You keep having to explain yourself and what you are going through. People just don’t get it. They ask the same questions, over and over again. We are dealing with the pain, both physical and emotional, why don’t people understand? We are trying to remain optimistic as we travel this long journey, trying to forge a new identity, a new reason for being. Why don’t people understand? Relatives and friends, all well meaning who criticize you for having a messy house instead of pitching in to help. Why don’t they understand? Should we expect them to understand?

What expectations should we have of others? How do we get support mechanisms in place that would ease the pain? What role does religion play? Is it a panacea? Or a placebo? Giving you false hope and expectations? How does God talk to us?

We talked about making a connection with life, with the earth, digging your hands in the garden and feeling the soil.

Water was in three or four of the drawings and paintings bringing peace and tranquility to people’s souls. Water, vast, in constant motion, calming, at peace with itself.

A couple of people cried, albeit briefly, stifling back the tears and immediately apologising for it. Everyone was quick to offer them tissues. Why apologise? Of all places, this is the one where no apology is required. Don’t they know that we all cry? All the time? We apologise for all sorts of things.

I had a surprisingly good time at this session. It lasted over 2 hours. The instructor had a difficult time bringing it to an end. The group was not willing to let things go. I am looking forward to next Wednesday. Look forward to your comments.