Andrew and I were talking about the new normal which I have mentioned in the past. The concept of moving upper and lower bars of moderation came up in the same breath. Ah yes, he says, moving the calculus zero. Yeah, right. Think about it. Stop thinking as soon as your eyes glaze over.

I have mentioned many times that I look forward to being visited by everyone. It is one of the few pleasures left. All we have after all is said and done is the pleasure of each others company. I still hear that people are reticent to come forward. They are afraid of invading my privacy, of inconveniencing me. At the root of it all, I am guessing, is that people are unsure of what will happen if they do visit. What to say? How to behave? What is appropriate?

I wrote Andrew to tell him to get his scrawny ass over here. I wrote Richard to let him know that he has not seen me in too long while. He is also in possession of Season 5 and 6 of my Buffy CDs and I want them back. I can get away with this kind of talk with them. These are long standing friendships. No surprise when both came through.

To the rest of you I say this. Write or call the morning you want to visit to make sure I am up to it. I am not shy (have I ever been?) to let you know if it is not a good day. Things change sometimes between the phone call and the drop in. Kali was here the other day. She called ahead, is it OK? Yep, I says, come on over. I was asleep by the time she got here. Things were not so good. Could not open my eyes. I would hear snippets of conversation when I mustered up the strength to wake up a bit. And that is also fine. I lost my strength. Normal these days.

The conversation gets easier with more visits. I look great. Really do. Everyone is always surprised when they see me. This who see me more regularly discern between the better and not so better days. Others look at me with a bit of a puzzled look. You can almost hear the unasked question, really dying? You just don’t look it.

The situation is surreal. Say it, and say it again. We do all day. Often followed by it sucks. And so it does. We know it, you know it. Let us not waste time with political correctness and the usual decorum that accompanies visits and such activities.

Do not worry about bringing anything. Tea is always ready.

Visit, or I may have to subject you to a scrawny ass eMail.

Spirituality is the single most important component of the answer. Our society has a quiet rebellion at the word religion which conjures up images of child and native abuse, control, extreme riches while the poor remain hungry all around, wars and extreme prejudices fought in its name. We are unable to separate religion in many of its current forms from the purity of the original teachings.

There are also a number of questions arising as the the accuracy of the holly works since these were translated and transcribed by humans who are prone to so many errors. Assurances of the purity of the works as protected by the Manifestations of God or God himself are of no avail. No one really believes that is a possibility. Studies of the Bible particularly have highlighted the number of errors that have crept into the works that we are reading today. The first Bible was published 1000 years after the crucifixion of Christ.

The subject of spirituality itself is fraught with issues. Is it possible to have spirituality without religion? Is not the basis of spirituality the same as that of religion that we take for granted now as good vs bad rules. Thou shalt not kill was introduced by religion and has become assimilated in society. Could that rule have evolved naturally or would we continue to believe that killing is a natural process of mankind. The wild west of the 19th Century in the U.S. would support the issue that killing was considered a normal part of life for many years, in spite of religion or spirituality.

Defining the latter is effusive at best and left to the individual. Spirituality appears to live in people’s lives according to their set of principles and guidelines. I would surmise though, that all aspects of it engender some sort of feelings of good will to all men. The prospect of doing good as opposed to evil, to advance society to the next level of accomplishment. Defining good and evil, accomplishments and the like opens its own set of issues and definitions that become very personal very quickly in any discussion. To make matters worse, there are few answers.

I would add two additional principles to spirituality. The Baha’i Faith goes to great lengths espousing the benefits of detachment and moderation. I have mentioned these in the past. I am coming to the conclusion that these three could easily form the bastion of human consciousness. All are difficult to achieve, nearing on the impossible. Mainly because we tend to attempt to define things in black and white. Where it only so. All definitions defie tight descriptions of any kind. Matters are made worse by advancing age as we see ambiguity all around us.

Detachment is the process of detaching yourself from material goods. I say this as I sit in a house full of beautiful art collected over the years. I always considered detachment also meant not having material goods, shying away from purchasing them. As time has gone by, I have come to the conclusion that far not acquiring material goods, the art of detachment includes the process of acquiring stuff but recognising the transient nature f what we acquire. The accumulation of wealth for the sake of it has never seemed like a good idea, or even a recommended path to happiness. On the other hand, you have a Warren Buffet who makes a fortune and gives most of away to benefit mankind. That is certainly a level of detachment. For the record, he gave away $35 billion of his $40 billion fortune to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Detachment is hard to achieve since it is hard to define accurately, and again means different things to different people. At its most fundamental, I believe it includes the appreciation of one’s belongings without being unduly attached to them. Would I miss my art if it were stolen? Or burned in a fire? Undoubtedly. Life goes on at that point. We can always start purchasing again. Maybe go in a new direction. The silver lining that allows us to chart new ways as a direct result of the loss we have suffered.

Moderation is equally complicated. At first glance, it would appear that moderation encourages us to tow the middle line. How boring that would be. No excesses. On the other hand, would moderation allow the occasional excess as long as it is tempered afterwards? I am sure it does. We would not know what moderation was if we are always being moderate. That brings us to the mind bender of moderation within moderation.

Can the boundaries of moderation be moved? The answer is an obvious yes. A person participating in Xtreme sports will have different upper and lower boundaries associated with their level of activities. Their state of moderation, or what they would consider to be moderate would a totally different of values than mine. Same would apply to such mundae tasks as driving a car where we set different standards for ourselves.

We drove from Germany to Iran in 1962. My father had purchased a brand new Opel Caravan. The laws regarding importing foreign new vehicles into Iran had relaxed and my father decided to take advantage of the situation. He went to the Automobile Association in Germany to get a map and an idea of what route to take. It was an interesting drive of which I remember parts. He was told there two routes, easy and hard. Easy meant two weeks, hard was ten days over the grueling mountains of Yugoslavia and Turkey. We had lived in Ethiopia for ten years negotiating its mountainous terrain, mountains appeared to not be a problem for my father.

My father’s idea of a trip was to get from point A to point B with the minimum number of interventions. Bathroom breaks were non-existent. Leaving at 7:00AM meant just that. Be in there or incur his wrath. We made the trip to Iran in seven days much tot he shock of the Automobile Association Iran when we reported in. My dad’s idea of moderation while driving while slightly askew with the rest of the people in the car.

We are all very fast fast drivers in my family. Moderation means driving over the speed limit, not at the limit.

Moderation also applies to other aspects of life. Baha’is are told to take every opportunity to teach the Faith. Mention the name of our Manifestation of God, Baha’u'llah. Extol his teachings and so on. Even that has to be done in moderation. I have a cousin who is very active in the faith, in my opinion past the point of moderation by a large margin regardless of what upper and lower boundaries are set. She is in France right now, gone to spend time with her daughter. Her daughter works which means my cousin will have some free time on her hands. She will be organising some sort of Baha’i do there During her vacation.

I pointed out to her that this would no longer be a vacation. She should take some time out from teaching the Faith and become a tourist. I am not good at that, she says. Of course not. That requires practice.  You need to try it sometime. Go to the Museums, not the Louvre necessarily, but the Musee D’Orsay is fabulous and worth the visit. Go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Being a tourist requires you to practice being one to enjoy the process. In the meantime, go have a cup of coffee and talk to people. Incredible what you will learn from them. Recharge your batteries. It will make you a more effective teacher when you return. Moderation applies to everything we do.

If you are bored by how moderate you have become, move the boundaries. Being moderate does not mean boring.

Spirituality, detachment, moderation form the three pillars on which most lives can be lived fruitfully.

None can be achieved however, without first becoming conscious of what you are doing and how you are living you life. Stream of consciousness is vital. We are seeing this term appear more and more in all sorts of literature. Become aware. Consciousness allows you to heal yourself from some conditions. There are those who argue that I could heal my liver if only I was more conscious of its activities. Rewrite the genes that control it. It is possible. It has been proven with the new theories of Neuro Plasticity in which have rewired their brains to get rid of certain debilitating conditions including depression.

Another life long goal to be achieved. All of these are done simultaneously. It is not like you do one, than proceed to another. Every pillar is a support helping the others make sense out of everything.

Consciousness allows to become aware that the problem or issue you are labouring over is important or not. Helps balance  things out. Can you live like that every day of your life. I doubt it.

I am beginning to dissect and analyse what people say. This is fun and very educational. I have another post coming out on it. For now, I will mention one of them. Live every day like it is your last. Or take everything one day at a time. Both impossible to do. You have no idea when your last day is. And anyways, you will be dead on your last day. Not sure you want to live that way.

Given the prognosis that I have two months to live has creates a volcano of thoughts and feelings. None of which helps decide how to live every day like it is my last. Don’t have the energy for it. What if I want to sit and do nothing tomorrow? Is that a bad thing? Have I betrayed my last day objective? Would I not want to do something different? Not necessarily anything dramatic. Have dinner with my wife. Just the two of us. Hardly a last day activity people envision when they make the comment. You can have dinner anytime. Go do something else. But what?

The answer to your question, Iggy, is as old as the mountains we tread on. Achieving the balance that is required to live a full life, aware of the repercussions of one’s actions. I can tell you from my own experience over this journey, that the road to that awareness is long, will take unexpected twists and turns for which you are never totally prepared. It is worth taking the time every day to meditate. Probably toward the end of the day, on what actions you have taken, how this has affected you and your loved ones. How things can be fixed. The quicker you apply the fix the better. What the next steps are.

Baha’is have to say their prayers every day. A prayer consists of three equal parts. The first is reading the prayer, aloud or to yourself, the second is to meditate on what you have read, and the this is to take some action as a result of the prayer. Reading the prayer is the easy part. The rest require a stream of consciousness.

I hope this helps you in some way, Iggy. This has been a very difficult write. I would to hear not only your comments, but those of others. Please do not be shy, every comment carries a gem in it whether you think so or not. A lot of you write me eMails instead of commenting. I wish I could post those as comments. They are full of insight that you may not think are valuable, or downplay as simplistic. This blog has proven that there is no such thing. I have written posts that I have looked at later and thought I treated the subject too lightly, yet the comments make a liar out of me. Or the posts leave enough room for others to say something.

This is an important post tome. Please comment. Every word has value.

Our family and Fetneh stayed in a hotel, the Courtyard Marriott. It was a motel, very quiet once we changed rooms away from the exit doors. Silly idea to get rooms next to the exit doors. Fo’ad lent us one of his cars. Janet calls his yard the Dukes of Hazard for the number of cars that constantly populate it. We forgot to put gas in it before returning it. I am sure he will not invite us back as a result.

It was a very difficult weekend. The grand nieces showed us some of the gymnastic moves. They are so flexible. It should not be legal. Specially not showing it off that way. I lay on the couch mostly and watched. Truly a beautiful sight.

No one knew quite what to say or how to behave, specially the first day we were there. Khandan appeared to be the hardest hit of all. We spent quite a bit of time holding hands. Not saying anything. There is nothing to say. Just sitting holding hands. More than enough love in that action. Her husband, Scott kept disparaging himself. That is usually my job, he kept beating me to the punch. What a hoot. He is a very nice man, full of life and totally devoted to his kids.

My grand nieces and nephew are home schooled. Not through any sense of political or feelings that barriers need to be broken. Khandan felt that sending her children to a school system that was rated second last in the U.S. would probably do them an injustice. Khandan, herself has grown as a result of the experience. She was not really equipped to do home schooling and had to learn the ropes as she did things. Reminds me a bit of the philosophy behind the Warldorf Schools that Devin attended. Very organic. Her efforts have paid off in spades. Thigh I am not sure she wants to paid in spades.

We ate lots and lots of rice. Green rice and fish on the first night, kebab on the second, and jeweled rice on the third. We also had a turkey on the third day just to add a sense of balance to the meal. I ate very little. The appetite is healthy, the stomach, not so much. I have had two bouts now of severe stomach cramps and averted a third one the other night. Small plate of rice for me. I had yogurt with my rice, which is not usually a good thing when you are susceptible to cramps. But I could not help indulging. Imagine, yogurt being considered as an indulgent.

Everyone left on Monday. Copious tears all around. Specially me. It is strange and disturbing to have to say goodbye to everyone. The English do not have the equivalent of Adios or Adieu, which is too bad. Good Speed just does not have the same effect. So Adios it is. My brother is coming up for a visit, so his was a good bye.

The trip was pretty uneventful. We requested wheelchairs everywhere we could. The systems in the U.S. and Canada handle things differently. The one in the U.S. works a lot better where all special assistance is handled by the airport and not the airlines. They have a speciually trained crew that comes and looks after you. Very efficient.

We went to New York, you will recall in August and ran onto the same issues we ran into this time around. The Air Canada staff process your tickets then make you sit in the lobby while you wait for an agent to look after you. They always seem to have three people ahead of you so you have to wait in the grand lobby that is Terminal 1. Nothing to do but sit.  We asked for a time frame on our trip to New York as to when we would be taken in. There was no rush they said, lots of time. Same story this time. It occurred to me that they did mind us sitting there till we had to board the plane.

Lots of time? For whom? I suggested to them that I would rather spend the time in the Air Canada Lounge than in the great ballroom. Busted. There was no comeback.  An Agent appeared within minutes to look after the elderly lady sitting behind me. We have a chair. Are you alone? Yes says the lady. Well you will have to hire a porter to take your suitcase because I am not taking it, says the agent. I am not compensated in case of injury. But the suitcase has wheels. Nothing doing. Hire a porter or think of something else. The agent was quite rough and very rude. There was no room to bargain. There was also some question as to whether the porter could go through security, which meant she was on her own past that point. She decided to walk. Upset to say the least. Gives the words Special Assistance a whole new meaning.

Our turn next. Same agent. Same rudeness. Wrong target. She asked how I was. I am in a wheelchair, I said, how do you expect me to be. You don’t have to be rude about it she says. I lowered the foot supports before getting into the chair which sent her into a tail spin. I must not do that because I might trip over them. Oh my God! I exclaim. She decided that she will get another agent to look after me if I am going to use that uppity voice. Go, baby, go. get another agent. Could not possibly be worse than you. The second agent was truly wonderful. I regret not getting her name to send in a commendation.

No troubles in security. The U.S. customs agent did not even ask me about Iran. A first in 42 years of travels back and forth. No questions, no opening of bags to check the camera. Go on in, have a nice trip.

Janet and I spent a bit of time in the lounge. We ate and drank, then made our way to the gate to join Fetneh.

The trip back was the same. Uneventful. No questions, have a nice trip. See you later. Except for one incident. We were being cleared to go through security. They have a gate at which they check your passport and boarding pass so the security people do not have to do it. I got into a discussion about my imminent demise with the guy. A refrain I have heard often came up. People do not decide when they die, God does. I suggested that God has had his say and I am probably in line waiting my turn. Your are pessimistic, he said. You never know. I will pray for you through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Janet does not have any time for any of this stuff. I, on the other hand, relish every second of it. One of the tenets of Christianity is the belief that a goal of life is to die and attain the Kingdom of God. Yet faced with the possibility of my death, the man says I am being pessimistic. Surely the opposite is true, and he should be jealous of my good fortune.

We got off the plane where a chair was waiting, but without a cushion. Two shards of metal jabbing into my ass. The Air Canada Agent was unrepentant. This is the way they all are. I regret not letting her go and making her get me one with a cushion. We braved the soulless chair. Customs was a breeze.

Finally home.

I have come to the conclusion that Air Canada goes out of its way to hire Agents that are belligerent and rude. I can see them in the interview process. Oh, I am sorry, you appear to have a sense of humour. Here is the number for West Jet or Porter. You could never work for us. The ruder the agent, the less helpful, the better the interview process.

I am glad to be home. Unfortunately, this was the last trip we will take. I cannot risk being away from my hospital. Everyone was very kind and considerate as I lay on the couch and was waited on hand and foot by all. I do not like those circumstances, but there is little I can do about it.

More posts on their way.

Baha’is are not allowed to be cremated. We end life by returning to the earth, completing the circle. Our ceremonies are short, except for this one prayer for the dead. It consists of 19 verses that are recited 19 times. Though not considered a holly number, the numbers 9 and 19 appear frequently in the Baha’i faith.

We are exhorted to be detached from all material things. They have such little intrinsic value that we should put our efforts in improving our spirituality as opposed to massing huge amounts of wealths and possessions. Is that Van Gogh really worth millions?

Another virtue we are told to exercise is that of moderation. We are told to use moderation in all things. Including moderation in using moderation. There is a mind bender. There is an issue at this point. Maybe that Van Gogh is worth the millions as opposed to something else I have in my art collection. A moderate price indeed.

I was back in hospital last Wednesday evening with a temperature of 38.5. My temperature was down to normal by the time we got to the emergency room. I knew the answer to the question about whether I was there to see a doctor or not, this time around. I think I also looked a bit sicker than last time we went in. The emergency room was quite busy. I was eventually ushered in. Blood tests were done, cultures raised. I was held in the unit all night. They had to draw more blood at three in the morning for more cultures. All to prove that I was the picture of health, except for the amazing number of metastasized tumours in my lungs.

And therein lies the issue. The lungs are being infected at an alarming rate, with the tumours frolicking hither and tither having the time of their life. I was sent home from the hospital and told to control my temperature fluctuations with Tylenols. Not much the system can do for me at this point.

The trials had failed. I was referred back to Dr. Hedley who is on sick leave waiting for his knee to heal. EMails were sent and an appointment was made to see Dr Hedley on Friday afternoon. Decision time.

I was optimistic. I had assumed that the inflamed liver was due to it fighting the tumours and winning the battle. The hospital visit appeared to make a mockery of that thought, but I held on to my optimism. Dr. Hedley came in on Friday afternoon specially to see me. He gave Janet and I a gigantic hug and we went into a consulting room. Shahnaz, my wonderful nurse was there, as was a student nurse. We had a 90 minute consultation. The decision to be made was the following:

1. Do more Chemo. This is the FULLFOX treatment. Side effects include numbness of the fingers and toes, extreme sensitivity to cold, to the point where you cannot open the fridge door. Ideal for a climate such as Canada’s. There would be a 30% chance of success, which in my case would mean slowing down the growth rate. We would know within three months if it was working and would have to stop the treatments in six months. We would then be back to where we are now.

2. Do nothing and let nature take its course.

The obvious question that came up is what does the status quo mean. How much time do we have. I had to ask since that was the only way we could come to some decision. The answer was quick and shocking. I have two months.

Dr. Hedley was quicker to add that the number is not written in stone, specially given my record. Regardless of its accuracy, the amount of time left is counted in months. What were we expecting. A year, Janet and I said. He shook his head sadly.

There it stands, two to four months.

We are numb. What is there to say. My sense of humour fails me. I have nothing to say. Janet says she does not accept the verdict. She is defiant. But there is little left to say.

I have spent the last few days letting people know. Tears have flooded involuntarily. We are all sad, living in a surreal existence trying to make sense of this. Two months is such a short time. This is October, then November, then December and the end. Maybe. Still too close for any level of comfort.

We are about to start doing the practical stuff. Transfer all the accounts to Janet’s name. Complete a power of attorney.  Put together a living will? Make sure we have people to look after the house for Janet. The furnace repair man, the contractor, the computer technicians. We are making a list tomorrow. Janet is taking time off work so we can spend more time together. It is all so mundane, and yet I feel fortunate that we have the time to do these things.

I have stopped day dreaming. Seems little point to it after all. What will my kitchen look like? My garden?  The thoughts are barely in my head before the streaming stops. Almost as if my computer has frozen requiring a reboot. I have trouble sleeping at night. I lay awake often to two in the morning until exhaustion takes its toll. Is that becomes dreams are now harder to come by? What is there to dream about? I have no idea what the after life looks like.

Will I see my parents again? Will there be a welcoming committee? Bunch of girls in hula dresses dancing and draping flowers around my neck? OK, so I watch too many movies. Will I see old friends, like Judy Elder? I imagine the after life as a continuum into eternity. A progression of the soul as it moves through the ether. The evil ones start lower while the saintly ones have the advantage o starting on a higher plane. I figure I am somewhere in the middle. I will be happy as long as I can Gandhi and not Hitler.

We have also started planning for the final days. We have an appointment with palliative for November 9. An appointment with the funeral home on Tuesday. The strangest part of all this is that I am basically healthy and sound in great spirits. I called the funeral home. Has the person died yet? No, I am working on it. Everyone is amazed that I am still laughing and joking. I figure these are my final days. I would like people to remember me with joy on my face rather than sadness.

My mother spent the last three weeks of her life in hospital. She was not in very good shape. I spent a couple of hours with her on what turned out to be her last night. We had always been very close, except during her cancer period. She turned to Fetneh to look after her. The last night was very precious to me. I showed up at hospital around midnight. Those were the days of lax security. We talked a lot. She had made sure that no one would be allowed to see her in the last three weeks. She said the way she looks is not the way she wanted to be remembered. She died the next morning. I remember looking art her body lying in peace, finally and thinking she is indeed dead. The soul has left.  That last memory has remained with me for the past 31 years. She was right. Remember us with the passion we had when were in good shape, not as we lie in pain in hospital.

We are going to Atlanta next weekend. Leaving on Friday, returning on Monday. It has to be short. We cannot take the chance of something going wrong while in the U.S..  We have been told that things could go from right to wrong in seconds. I believe it. I wake up sometimes, not feeling quite up to snuff. I return to bed to recover my strength. This morning was one of those mornings. I seem to be fine now. Nothing like a bunch of steroids and Tylenols to perk you up. The steroids open the lung channels, and the Tylenol deals with the pain. Miracle workers between them.

We are staying in a hotel in Atlanta. More privacy. Devin is coming down from New York, and Fetneh is joining us from Montreal. My family is planning on spending a lot of time with me over the next little while. Fo’ad has cleared his schedule and intends on coming up to Toronto to spend a week at my place. Our hotel is opening its doors again.

The whole situation is surreal. I will keep saying that. There is not other way of looking at it. You talk about your own imminent death. What kind of conversation is that to have? Defies sanity. Everyone keeps asking what they can do for me. The only thing left is to enjoy each other’s company. Talk, laugh, have a good time. Nothing else matters.

I am planning to have a plain casket, made from pine. I am told that these are available. I would like a stamp placed on top that says: Property of God. The style will be along the type that was used in raiders of the Lost Ark. I am not going to have a guest book. We will instead have markers of different colours available so people can sign the casket. I can have your names with me for the next part of my journey. That will also save Janet from having to send thank you notes to everyone. Consider yourselves thanked.

This has been a very difficult entry to make.  We received the news last Friday. I have had this open on my computer for a week now trying to find the right words and cadence.

I thank you for being there. For listening, crying and laughing. Hopefully more of the latter.

I started spending more and more time in bed. Wake up in the morning, have breakfast, maybe drive Janet to work. Shop for food a bit, then come home and collapse in bed. Sleep from ten in the morning to around two in the afternoon. I thought at times I was not eating enough, or drinking enough water. Increased both those. Got hit by bouts of nausea. Took pills for that.

Fetneh kept insisting I go for acupuncture to increase my energy levels. I kept promising to go, then forget the promise made. Almost as if I did not have the energy to go for the one thing that might just increase my energy.

No one was very happy about this. Janet had to almost accept reality. She could not do anything about it. Kept encouraging them to get on with things. Make a plan, everyone said. Set up a routine and do it. It does not have to be complicated. Just start doing things. I am doing things, I am sleeping. You can bet that put a smile on their faces.

I took my daily sleep last Friday. I had the shivers while lying under the winter comforter. We are in fall mode, nowhere near winter. I should not be cold. I closed all the windows. Still had the shivers. They kept waking me up. I finally roused myself around three in the afternoon. I was hungry. A man has to have his priorities. I was also in pain.

Oh yeah the pain. I have started having these pains along the bottom of my rib cage. It turns out they are due to an inflamed liver. Could be a good thing or not depending on whether the tumours are getting bigger (bad) or smaller (good!). Tylenol 1s take care of the pain rather nicely thank you very much. I pop a couple of those, get dressed and make my way tot he kitchen. I am still shivering.

I am out of breath by the time I get down there. I may have neglected that part of the narrative. I have running out breath a lot as well. Say a couple of words and take a few breaths. It comes and goes. There does not appear to be rhyme or reason for the effects.

I get myself something to eat and am still shivering. I am so dense these days. It suddenly occurs to me that I may have a temperature. I go back upstairs to get the thermometer. We have one of those units that you stick in the ear. It responds in seconds. I register 38.5C. I am supposed to go to hospital hen I hit 38. I decide this is an anomaly. The T1s will take care of it anyways. My temperature goes down as the day progresses, hitting almost 37, An anomaly it may have been.

Janet is in New York on business and to see Devin. She left n Thursday morning. She has arranged, or the friends arranged to come look after me. Diana is coming to feed me on Friday night, and Nancy is doing the honours on Saturday. I have been cooking up a storm of late and find this very amusing. Given my level of fatigue, breathlessness, and fever, the rescue is very welcome.

Diana, Andrew and Leona being dinner over. I love teasing her kids. They are extremely bright and rise to the occasion brilliantly, not shy to defend themselves under my relentless attacks. Diana does not have to step in to defend them. They do an admirable job. They also take the teasing in the spirit it is intended in. We have a good time. Andrew wants advice on what sort of computer to by. He wants something zippy, fast, a computer that will almost read his thoughts. Come on instantly. Oh Andrew, good luck with that. Speed is so relative to your experiences.

I am obviously done for, and they take their leave. Leslie has come home to keep me company. I feel bad, because I am headed straight to bed. She is not to be deterred from her objective and insists on staying home.

Saturday morning sees me with a temperature of 37.8. Sigh of relief. A couple of T1s will, and do take care of that. I go to the market but do have the energy to walk around. I come home, and go to bed. This is getting ridiculous. Wake up a lot later and start doing stuff. Pain, breathless, getting really frustrated. I have a telephone conversation with Janet. She is having a fine time. Devin is doing well, having a good time at The New School.

Nancy calls to confer about dinner. Pasta it is. I have cut down on my eating. Severely cut down to avoid stomach aches. She will cook it when she gets here. I take my temperature. Yikes, I am back at 38.5. Nancy will take me to hospital after dinner. Nothing worse than going to emergency on an empty stomach. They do not have decent food there. We eat, with Leslie coming home and joining us. She stays behind to clean up. Nancy and I drive to the hospital. She drives, I go along for the ride.

I bring all my pills with me. I have one Chemo pill that I have to take at 8AM and 8PM on Fridays and Saturdays. We arrive at the hospital at 8:00PM. Walk up to the triage nurse. She is a bit brusque. Are you here to see a doctor. I am a bit confused by the question. Not sure what my options are. Stammer something like, I guess, maybe, sure. She is getting impatient. Are you here to see doctor or a patient. Clarification. Oh a doctor for sure. I look at Nancy. I don’t look sick enough. She seems to think I am healthy.

I take a seat next tot he nurse and start answering her questions. She takes my vitals. My temperature has not budged. So I am sick. She is much calmer now and processes me. Nancy and I sit in the waiting room. We are barely settled when I get called in to register. I am also told it is safe to take my pills. I take the pills, register, get my wrist band to make sure everyone knows I am a genuine sick person. We settle again in the waiting room. There are maybe half a dozen people ahead of us. Not bad for a major downtown hospital on a Saturday night. Should not be that long of a wait. We are called in almost immediately. Nancy is impressed. I make sure she comes in with me. Nothing she has not seen or talked about.

We are ushered into a private room just beside the nurses station. I like hearing the action and conversations. There is nothing worse than being secluded while in emergency, you feel as if they have forgotten about you. They come and do blood work, request some urine. Nothing unusual. They are prompt and friendly and young, so young, and very pretty. As Judy said, I am not that sick. Dr. Quinn comes in to talk to us. They will do a CT-Scan of the lungs, ultrasound of the heart to make sure there is no water around it, more blood work. The original blood work has come in negative indicating there are no infections. They took blood from my Port-a-Cath. They want to take some more from my veins to make sure the Port-a-Cath is not infected.

Nurse comes in with two very large vials to get more blood from me. They assure me I have enough. She pokes me and takes her samples. They will be used to grow cultures in the lab to make sure I am truly free from infections. There are a lot of people with colds around us. The doctor comes back. The CT-Scan machine is not working. They will take a chest X-Ray instead, looking for signs of pneumonia or other items obstructing the lungs. They still want to do the Scan which will find things that the X-Ray machine cannot see, such as small blood clots that may have made their way into the lung. They do not think there are any since I am taking a blood thinner, but I am a critical case and they are not willing to take any chances.

Everything happens pretty quickly. By midnight, they have decided I should stay in the hospital for observations. The X-Rays show a number of metastasized cancer cells in both lungs. From what the doctor says, I am guessing more than before. I thinks her words were there are a lot of mets in your lungs. Nothing else though which is both good and bad. Good which means I am free from infections, bad because they have to keep me to do a Scan during the day.

Another doctor, Dr. Kimberly Bremmer comes to visit. Internal medicine. She will look after me during my hospital stay. The general consensus appears to be that the Scan will also reveal nothing. They feel that all the symptoms I am showing are a result of the cancer getting worse. The information leaves me a bit numb. Nancy and I hold hands.

I am in a room by 2:00AM. A semi-private room was all that was available, and no room mate. Time are tough. Leigh and Sascha are out on the town and decide to join me. Am I able to take visitors at that time of night. Sure says the nurse. They get there by 2:30 and spend an hour with me. I have to kick them out. This is just slightly past my bed time of 9:00PM.

Dr. Bremmer visits me in the morning. She is with a retinue of interns and a more senior Doctor. They are all very serious. VERY SERIOUS. No smiles from anyone, except Dr. Bremmer. They go over my situation.  Sunday will be a day of rest and observation. The Scan will take place on Monday. Cannot see the future beyond that.

Nancy and I spent the night texting with Janet, Leslie, Fetneh, and Judith. It was almost comical. Hospitals have given up trying to stop us from using our cell phones. Sunday morning saw more of the same, adding emails to the mix as everyone was kept in the loop about what is going on. My fingers were getting sore. Nancy came back to keep me company and also to bring me my phone charger. Janet was on her way back from New York and would be at the hospital around 2PM. Nancy had to leave by lunch time to take Lilly (her daughter) to her riding lessons.

David Jang dropped in to keep me company. Janet finally showed up, as did Diana, and Leslie of course. The traffic of eMails and texting finally came to a halt. It seemed so quiet all of a sudden. I sent Janet and Leslie home around 7. Janet is not feeling well and could use the rest. I was going to sleep anyways. David left around 6. None of us wanted to discuss the worse case scenario.

I had to stay awake till 9:PM. The nurses had to come around and make note of our vital signs.  No temperature, pressure OK. No surprises. My nurse is very charming and we have a long chat about things in general. She leaves, I close the door and try to sleep. Did not have to try very hard. The bed is very uncomfortable, but it matters little as I drift in and out of sleep.

Mount Sinai hospital where I was, is attached to the Princess Margaret Hospital. They all have access to patient files at each other’s establishments. The doctors at emergency and at the hospital were fully up to date with my condition. I was very impressed with their service, professionalism, and general conduct. I was disappointed by their food. Hospitals can surely do better. We are all told about the dangers of proceed foods, and yet are being fed stuff like Rice Krispies and 1% milk as part of a healthy diet. There is something seriously amiss here.

The Scan takes place on Monday morning. The results are in by 2PM. As I keep telling people, I would be a healthy person if it wasn’t for that small matter of having cancer. I am free of infection, blood is clean, lungs are clean, heart is healthy, all organs are functioning properly. Except for the mets. that are having a jolly party.

The title of this entry is Not Enough Words. We are all a bit numb at the news and are not sure what to make of it all. Do I have still have two years in me? More? Less? Janet and I have decided it is time to make some plans. Decide what we want to do and do it.

My father died in a rather ferocious car accident in 1999. The doctors at the hospital reassured us by saying that he did not suffer, that the brain shuts down in the face of huge adversity. So it is with us. There are no thoughts going through my head. The brain shuts down. Every once in a while you wake up and go, oh yeah, I have to think about this, and the brain shuts down again.

There are not enough words to describe what we are going through. Me, my family, my amazing friends who have rallied around me seemingly oblivious to my obvious shortcomings.

We read and talk about people not knowing what to say, or how to behave, but I think there is more to it than that. Not sure what it is, have not read any studies on the subject. Maybe I should. Or not. There appears to be some opportunism or reverse opportunism in all of this.

A bit of – I have no use for this person any more. They have stopped being fun. Turned into a downer. All they talk about it their chronic condition. Not interested in watching sports any more. Not interested in shopping and all the other things that made you fun to be with. Why is the chronic person so quick tempered and angry all the time? Time for new friends, or more to the point, renewed friendships.

People rising to the occasion, visiting, talking, making their presence felt one way or another. Everyone catering to their strengths. Some just dropping by for a visit, companionship. Others making conversation, others lending you their cottages, or places to while away your time. Whether one takes advantage of the occasion, the offers, is hardly germane. One appreciates the sentiment, the offer, the gesture, the sentiment.

People are constantly telling me they might die any time as well. Avoiding the crisis. Death is hardly ever a pleasant conversation, nor is the specter of imminent death, whether speculated as something that is about to happen tomorrow or in ten years, a very pleasant thought to live with. Yet, here we are. Are people attempting to defuse the subject? Is there a benefit to telling the chronic person that there is competition to dying?

We would surely leads our lives differently if we believed truly that we could die at any minute, negating the doomsday scenario that prevails the chronic person. We live our lives the way we should, planning ahead, looking forward to watching in horror as our children grow up. Waiting patiently for the grand children, the travels, the parties, the friends.

Only a crisis provokes serious concerns about imminent death. The concerns soon evaporate as reality set in. We do not know when we will be lining up at the pearly gates. Even my friend who is dying and is seeing the palliative doctors has really no idea when the day will come. We just know that we have to be prepared for it in a way others don’t.

The crisis that is my condition has subsided somewhat. People have returned to their daily lives. This just a footnote to keep track of. So it should be. It is enough that it has disrupted the lives of one family, let alone a need for it to disrupt those of so many more.

The other side is the amazing support of friends and relatives. The good side.

We spent last weekend visiting friends and taking full advantage of their hospitality. Saturday was spent on the shores of Lake Simcoe. Janet’s cousin Deena, rents a cottage on Lake Simcoe every year. We spend a day visiting. Her brother Bryan and family come up as well, as does Eva. All good making for a small family get together. I had a good chat with David Margolese whose company I always enjoy.

We spent Sunday and Monday at the Fraser farm taking full advantage of the company and space. The Frasers were all there, including the delectable and always charming Ceilidh.

Heather Fraser is doing some very interesting work in all kinds of places. We talked (again) about the work of one of her friends. A Dr. Robert Buckman. He, the Doctor, theorizes that we are better off treating cancer by slow doses of Chemo instead of the current methods of bombarding the body with a huge dose of the drugs. The theory is that the cancer cells start dying when bombarded, but soon retreat, in effect removing the threat. The magic happens once we stop treating the body to the cancer drugs. At this point the cancer cells return in full force attacking the body with renewed viguour.

The slow treatment allows the body to be treated with low doses of the Chemo drugs, in effect fooling the cancer cells into thinking nothing is happening, that they are not under attack. This treatment lulls the cancer cells allowing for a more prolonged attack. The current trials have been done on breast cancer patients. The treatments are called DalCM-P. Goolge it, or read this article. I have an appointment with Dr. Buckman this coming Thursday.

I have started my Chemo vacation in a very slow mode. I have been away from my computer for a few days, which is very unusual for me. I have a lot of projects on the go, but find myself in some sort of a limbo state. Still trying to come to terms with all the unsaid words about why we are on vacation. I am eternally positive in my outlook, yet cannot help but wonder about the future.

People insist on telling me that they could die early when they get hit by a bus. I finally found a link that talks about the possibilities of ending your life with said method. As my friend Stone remarked, it is not a competition. If people insist on getting hit by a bus, they are more than welcome to go before me.

I am also receiving information about alternative treatments. More specifically, two people have written me with information on Y-90, an isotope based treatment directed at liver cancer. It is also used for treating metastasized cancer that are now affecting the liver. Items for discussion with Dr. Buckman.

I have not been interested with the type of cancer that is afflicting me until now. The rare occasion when the question has come up has resulted in me answering with something to the effect that I have the type of cancer that eventually kills you. A lot of the remedies I am reading on the web refer to very specific types of cancer that are affected by the treatments. It might be beneficial for me to know what type of cancer I do have to make sense of the articles I am reading.

The amount of information is mind blowing and very confusing. Following the idea that each body is different and reacts differently to everything adds to the confusion. There are cases of people who have been removed from treatments that have survived. People given 6 months who have lived for a lot longer. The comments of people who have tried certain remedies and are waxing poetic about it can also be misleading. Are they genuine? What was their affliction? None of it is corroborated with statements from reputable hospitals or clinics or doctors. We will believe anything that we think will cure us, however absurd it may sound.

How to differentiate between the absurd and the items that make more sense. Does the guy who claims that eating hot peppers on bread with garlic for two weeks make sense? A pepper based diet will rid you of cancer in two weeks he says. That diet will also be rid of me in less time. He just might be right though. Do I throw caution to the wind and attempt his remedy? The temptation is there, going against all common sense.

The next few weeks will see me working on a few projects. I will attempt to make my camera bag. Finish at least one of the two web sites I am working on. Maybe render my new kitchen to paper, as well as the new design for the back yard. All these things take time and concentration. I ams till sleeping in the afternoons. For longer periods than before the vacation. These get in the way of the projects. Do as the body tells.

Time to see the psychologist.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for your thoughts, support, and prayers.

We are slowly realizing that a lot of decisions are ours to make. If we want to quit the Chemo Session, than quit it is. We are in charge of our treatments. The doctors are there to guide and advise us. The ultimate decision is ours. This is a bit freaky. We are never sure if we are making the right decisions or not. Do we have the right amount of information to make a decision? Is it the right decision? To make matters worse, the doctors themselves are not sure either.

Every body reacts differently to the drugs. We were at a small party celebrating Kali’s birthday the other day. One of the friends has a brother with very advanced lung cancer. The gave him one Chemo session to which he reacted very badly. All the stuff they keep expecting me to go through. So sorry to disappoint. They removed his brother from any further Chemo treatments. So are you still on Chemo, he asks me. Yes. How long have you been on Chemo. Almost a year now, since last October. He was dumbfounded. I do not look or behave like a Chemo patient. Except for the afternoon naps. We are all different.

My blood work showed more positive results than last time. My liver enzymes are closer to where they should be with one indicative being totally in the normal range.

Dr. Hedley brought up the fact that we have not had a break since this thing started. I started feeling the pains in June 2009. By August 1, the diagnosis was fairly complete and certain. Operation on September 2, Chemo in October. Yikes. A year without a break. The doctor saw no reason why we should not stop the treatments right now and take our vacation. A CT-Scan was planned for Friday (today) to set a baseline for the future. Next CT-Scan in two months. Chemo would only start again if my situation deteriorates. A steady condition will result in a longer vacation.

A two month Chemo Vacation is on the books. Cannot believe it. I am in a bit of a daze. Basically what happens when you receive bad news or terrifically good news. You cannot believe your ears and shut down. Two months with no Chemo.

Janet and I stared at each other. What do you say? How do you react?

Doctor Hedley wanted to feel my stomach to make sure all was right. I suggested that things were still a bit tender. I can lift heavier bags now, but feel some discomfort if I overdo things. I am sure the healing process will speed up without the Chemo getting in the way. He appeared to confirm this. Good news. I am looking into going to the pool on a regular basis to strengthen the stomach a bit. I get bored swimming. Back and forth, you go. I will have to do it nevertheless.

Can we start eating raw meats again? I miss my steak tartar, sushi, and oysters. I was given the green light for sushi. Say it ain’t so. We decided on the spot that we would have that for dinner to celebrate. Diana, Nancy and her daughter Lily are coming over. Makes for a grand celebration.

Dr Hedley mentioned that we are in really good hands with his nurse, Shahnaz. We truly are. She is magnificent. She mentioned how much the nurses in the Chemo daycare like me. I walk in with my big laugh and cheer them up. The doctor just shook his head. All the nurses love him he says. Then gives me a gigantic hug before leaving.

Janet and I were left alone for a few minutes in the consulting room. She high fived me. This is the first time in almost a year were I could a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She seemed ecstatic over the news. She had a bright smile and a glitter to her eyes. That was enough to make me happy.

I phoned Fetneh and Fo’ad that night. It is always good to talk to them after news like this. It helps air my thoughts, clear the cobwebs a bit, get some perspective. I eMailed them of course, but that was not clear enough for them. Fetneh was jumping for joy. She made me promise to not withdraw from life because of this. The are chances of withdrawal symptoms creeping in if you are not careful. The hospital has been a home away from home, as it were. A very safe place to spend time in. You get sort of attached to these things. The routine. However horrible the Chemo experience is, you get used to the routine. The people. The support.

I assure her that I will not regress. I will keep the blog going. I may have a bit of trouble adjusting to the new freedom. We will see.

Fo’ad was just as supportive, of course. How does this change life? I don’t know. My curly head of hair may even make a comeback. I see no negatives in any of this. I become so much stronger when I am off Chemo for even a week. This can only be good.

We have lots of plans. We have been invited to all sorts of places. Long trips are out of the question. One day excursions within the vicinity of Toronto can be done. We are going to see Anne and Frank in Pickering, John and Sharon have invited us to their horse farm, Heather and Neil want us to go their farm. Heather reminded me that it is almost a year to the day when we went to their farm to share the news. Their friend Beth was there, also a cancer patient. She had a long conversation with me about what to expect. Strange to think of that now.

Devin is leaving us to go pursue a master degree in Change Management at the New School in New York City. We should be flying down on August 21. Sadness and happiness combined. I am ever so proud of him.

September will see me visit Montreal again to spend some time with Hong Lan. Janet will be attending the film festival in Toronto. My visit to Montreal will take some pressure off her. I have to talk to Hong Lan a bit more about what her remedies are. Stuff that includes acupuncture to increase energy levels. She deluged with so much information that I had trouble absorbing it all. A revisit is a must. To say nothing of spending time with Fetneh, of course. I will try and stay in the same apartment as before, taking advantage of Steve Mykolyn’s generosity. It is good to have a space of your own, specially when you are in my condition.

I lay down when we got home. All this stuff is a bit overwhelming. We had dinner and I returned to bed and made my phone calls.

Yesterday was my very first day of this vacation. I slept for a couple of hours in the afternoon. I also wandered around the house a bit lost. I have so many things to do, so many projects on the go. Where to start? Sleep of course. I am having lunch with Kali today. Looking forward to that. Planning the trip to New York when I get home from that.

Tomorrow is a new day. Taking us back to another sense of normalcy. Can’t wait.

People left. Damn. I had to tell Janet. She would have figured it out anyways. We live in a 100 year old house. There is no insulation in the walls, except on the third floor which we renovated when we bought the house. The temperature started dropping slowly overnight. Winter decided to rear its ugly head with one of the coldest weeks of the season. Diana lent us a space heater which was moved from room to room. The fireplace helped a bit, though fireplaces tend to draw heat out of the house.

We found this guy name Amit who owns a company called NASA Heat and Air Conditioning. I have no idea what NASA has to do with it, and how he gets away with using that name. The furnace was installed within the week restoring heat to a very beleaguered family.

Janet decided that this was the year we would install air conditioning. I am not a big fan of these things. They suck power and give you colds. People tend to keep the temperatures way too low causing a shock the system when you go outdoors. We have promised ourselves to avoid those issues.

We have just had a heat wave in Toronto. Daily temperatures in the low C30′s. The problem has been though, that night temperatures have not dropped making the situation far worse than the daily highs would indicate. The city kept issuing heat alert advising anyone with a chronic condition to stay indoors. That is me this year. We sprung for the AC.

Amit tells us that we may be disappointed with the effect of the AC on the third floor where our bedroom is. Old house, old vents badly installed. We are lucky. The third floor is cooled down sufficiently for us to sleep in peace. We open the windows which might defeat the purpose of the AC. We like open windows in the summer. So much more pleasant to sleep that way. Heat rises, and we are on the third floor. The open windows should not affect the AC any.

We have set the thermostat at C25. We will monitor things and see what the best temperature is for our comfort.

Amit warned us to not react to the heat with a keen jerk reaction. The heat will pass. We have lived in this house for 11 years without AC, why now? The house tends to heat up toward the middle of July. We have fans everywhere to cool us down. We suffer through the months of July and August before things cool down in preparation for the coming winter. So why now, Amit wants to know.

We tell him about the cancer and the need to pacify the chronic sufferer. We have this conversation on Thursday afternoon. The AC is installed on Saturday. He would have installed it on Friday, except it rained making it impossible to do any work. He is a charming and accommodating man.

The installation is done in about four hours, as promised. We sit and chat for a short while. He tells me I should look up Swami Ram Dev who teaches people breathing exercises that have produced miracle results. Do I speak Hindi? The good Swami has a show on television. Among the many languages I speak, Hindi is not one of the preferred. Look him up on the web. He is amazing.

My car wash guy wants to know how I am. Now my furnace and AC guy is trying to help me as best he can. How amazing is this world and the people within it.

I have said this before, and I will say it again. The support from all sides has been amazing. The sources of the support have been amazing as well.

I went to get the car washed the other day. Let me know if I have told this story before. This is one of those drive though joints with surly men who dry your car at the exit. You have to get out of the car and the chain mechanism in the ground drags your car through the wash. Our Mazda 3 has windshield wipers that react to water on the windshield. They come when it starts to rain and turn off by themselves. Wonderful technology. I have to always remember to switch them off.

I got out of the car. Somehow the seatbelt caught my colostomy bag and ripped it off. Needless to say, a mess, on my hands, my shirt, my pants. Pretty much everywhere. There is guy who guides you to drive the car to the chains. He also sprays the car to loosen the grime in preparation for the wash. I am always amused that they only spray the drives side. The passenger side obviously does not get as dirty.

He did not even flinch at the sight of the mess. He immediately pointed his hose to the gutter and told me to wash my hands. No fuss no muss. Much appreciated. I went inside looking for a washroom. There were two reserved for the staff only. The girl at the counter was not much help. Sorry, staff only. I lifted my shirt to show her the damage. She did not hesitate and passed me the key to the washroom. I cleaned up and went back out to talk with her. She had reacted so quickly and again without appeared grossed out by what she had seen.

I thanked her for the keys and her lack of reaction. Oh, she say, I volunteer in an old people’s home, see this all the time. How are you, she continues, looking just a bit concerned.

As I said, support comes from the most unlikely sources.

Thanks to all.

Fetneh organised a lunch with a bunch of friends. I mentioned this before. We rented the Quartier Perse owned and operated by Mahin and her husband Siamack. They are friends of ours. Mahin barred Fetneh from making any decisions regarding the food.

We flew Porter from the Toronto island. What a Godsend that is. 15 minutes cab ride from our house is a small airport catering to short hauls. In this case Montreal. The Porter staff are very friendly and look after really well. We landed in Montreal and arrived at our apartment (courtesy Steve Mykolyn) at 3PM. This is more of a corporate apartment. Very sparse with the minimum amount of perks. Except for the abundance of magazines like Dwell, one of my all time favourites.

Fetneh joined us and I went to bed soon after she arrived.

This was very confusing. The flight was short and not tiring at all. Yet here I was exhausted and yearning fro a lie down. Janet and Fetneh went out for hamburgers which they brought back with them I was not hungry. Kept sleeping, waking up occasionally to the sound of the ladies enjoying their delectable dinner. Interrupted sleep is not an issue. My sleep is constantly interrupted by concerns of the colostomy bag coming off. I wake up regularly to check and make sure all is well. Waking up to the sound of people enjoying a meal is a whole other matter.

I was tired again on Friday. We went shopping int the morning. Had a cup of coffee and lousy apple turnover at this small coffee shop. Janet wanted to go to Simmons. Not sure why they do not open a store in Toronto. They would make a killing. Maybe Toronto is not fashionable enough for them.

I got tired very quickly. The nature of my fatigue appears to be changing. I cannot describe it very well. I seem to have energy until the batteries run out. I collapse and sleep off the fatigue only to start the process over again. Not much fun, and difficult to predict when the batteries are about to run out. I should talk with the Energizer people about this. I wanted to show Janet some stuff. No energy. I went down to the food court and sat down to see if that would help. It didn’t. I was not sure is If was noxious, or just tired. Was it fatigue or more than that. What more could there be. Janet wanted details which I could not supply. Working through the feelings.

I walked back to our apartment. Walking is often good for working things through the system. They would make us walk in the hospital. We had to walk three or four times a day. That was almost the first question the nurse would ask you. They made me walk a couple of days after surgery. I am not sure why walking has the effect it does. I often find myself burping a lot as the gases make their way out of your system. The stomach sometimes comes alive, which is a good thing. Walking is good. the walk back to the apartment was not long, just long enough. I slept until Janet came back. Still stayed in bed to rest for the evening.

We had dinner on Friday night with a few of our friends. Some of them would not be able to make it on Sunday afternoon. They wanted to see me, make sure I was OK. Don’t trust my entries in the blog. They want to hear it from me, see my face, make sure I am not lying. These are old time friends, since we first came to Canada some 42 years ago. We had a great time. Went to Chez Gauthier which has seen better days. The food was terrible, service went along with the food quality. No sense in rocking the boat. We were served an hour late. My brother went to see if he could speed things up to no avail. I went up to our waiter and told him flat out that I had cancer and needed to eat right away. Past my lack of food tolerance. Play the cards you have. They served our food within ten minutes, though I doubt it had to do with anything I said.

The company made up for the lack of quality elsewhere.

We spent Saturday having lunch with Ignacio at the very wonderful Hotel Saint Sulpice in Old Montreal Highly recommended. Good food and great service. I had a lobster club sandwich. Did not know club sandwiches came with lobster. On the other hand, why should they not? I have a soft spot for club sandwiches. Toasted brown bread, lots of mayonnaise, and more of it on the side. Mouth watering.

Fo’ad came by the apartment for a visit while I rested. Janet went, you guessed it, shopping. I rested and talked with my brother and eventually went to sleep. We had dinner at martin’s house. Great company and wonderful food made for a great evening. My main regret in all these things is that I have to leave early. Seems like I am cutting things short.

Brunch on Sunday at Fetneh’s apartment. Lunch at Mahin’s.

Fetneh tells me 56 people showed up, a lot of whom I do not know. A bit ironic that a lunch thrown in my honour attracted a bunch of people I do not know, who did not introduce themselves to me. It did not bother me any. Interesting to see all those friends and relatives. Interesting to see so many children. The next generation.

Mahin is an amazing cook. The food, all Persian was astounding. White rice, green rice, rice with fava beens, sour cherry rice (my mothers favourite). All of it complemented by kebab. Mouth watering, melt in your mouth, delicious Iranian kebab. I ate lots. No repercussions.

I sat outside and let people find me. I spent a lot of time talking with Barb Puky and her husband. Nushin and Mehran graced me with their time. Funny thing about friends of long standing. You do not need to get to know each other. You pick up where you left off. No conversation is taboo. We have gone through too much in our history to let small things get in the way.

Barb Puky has been friends with us since University. She was in the same dorm as Janet.

Nushin is related our family through one of my great uncles. My grandfather had two wives. The second after the first passed away. Nushin in related to us through this first marriage.

Mehran’s parents were friends with my parents. That is going back a long ways. Makes for easy conversations and a very relaxed afternoon.

The end of the afternoon was more emotional than the beginning. I had expected it to be the other way around. I was caught off guard. I did not cry when I met everyone. I did cry when we left. Everyone in Montreal has been very supportive. I cannot thank them enough.

Fetneh works for a lady called Hong Lan. The best description I have of her is that she is a Traditional Chinese Medicine Naturopath. Hong Lan asked to meet with me to discuss my situation. She appears impressed with the progress we have made and would like to contribute. I cannot tell you what we talked about. The conversation went on for over two hours including a deep breathing exercise. I was and still am overwhelmed by the amount of information she parted with. I will be back in Montreal in September for a second conversation.

I think that is all for now.