Giants writer battling cancer

Get well Steve!

http://www.theprovince.com/that+tumo...885/story.html



Hi there. The name is Steve Ewen. I've been a sports reporter at the Vancouver Province since 1994. A couple of weeks back, mere months after my 40th birthday, I was diagnosed with cancer.

The things I do to get a higher profile in this newspaper.

I am mortified and I more sore than I might admit. I'm often frustrated beyond belief, since the ping-pong ball-sized tumour currently putting pressure on my spinal chord is forcing me to use a walker or cane. I have cried more tears and guzzled more pills over the past month than I have in the rest of my life combined.

Our doctors say it's a Solitary Plasmacytoma, something of a cousin of your more marquee Lymphoma, and they say it's highly receptive to radiation. We're early on in a 25-session program. We've had doctors toss around the words like "curable," and phrases like, "in 40 years, you might have trouble with scarring on your lungs from the treatment."

We've also been warned about a massive rate of recurrence. And there's obviously some uncertainty about how much mobility I'll get back.

There is much to be done.

In the midst of all this madness, though, there have been these pocket miracles, these little moments that excite me, even inspire me.

It starts with my wife of three years, Carol-Ann. That can't be a surprise for anyone who has talked to her for more than 10 minutes. She's a battler. That's part of why I fell for her so hard. She sobbed a little when we first got wind of what was going on Oct. 9, but then immediately got to work at getting this going in the right direction. She got my charts and shipped them off to her uncle, Dr. Dan Froese, and then started researching so we could ask the right questions.


She is, flat-out, the coolest, most laid-back person I've ever met. Our wedding day, which coincided with the one-year anniversary of our first date, was centered around a slo-pitch game and BBQ, and I didn't plan a single second of it. Not a stitch. How's that for you?

She's also the bravest soul I know. She parked herself on a fold-out leather chair at VGH for our 11-night stay and refused to leave for all but a few seconds a time. (Please allow me here to thank her employer, Earl's Restaurants head office, and the Fuller family in particular, for giving her a chance to do that. We know many families aren't afforded that opportunity.)

She routinely propped me up and made me smile just before people would visit, knowing that I could make our guests happy and that would make me happy and that would in turn make her happy. There were times it felt like we were putting on a little two-person, off-Broadway production, but that circle of energy stayed in synch for much of our time there.

It was obvious that I was going to marry someone I adored. I didn't dream I would marry someone I admire so much. I married my hero.

I want to get creaky old and sneaky crazy with her. I want to be tag-team telling stories for years about some of the shenanigans that went on with our visitors there.


Many of the guests weren't sure what to expect - cancer has that ominous hook, that dark unknown - so they'd carefully poke their heads in the door before entering. Luckily, we were prepared.

I'm close friends with Vancouver Sun scribe Ian Walker. He's married to singer Bif Naked, who's been an avid spokesperson since being diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago, and the first thing she said was, "get ready to console people about your cancer."

So, Carol-Ann and I would start our schtick right away, busting out stuff like, "Is that a tumour on my vertebrae or am I just happy to see you?" or "It's a Solitary Plasmacytoma and, with it, I think I get Sportsnet One for free, a couple of music channels and maybe Bravo if I turn my head just right."

Before too long, the one-liners started rocketing back.

A couple of times I probably should have ducked. The best of the bunch, in my mind, came from my buddy Walker, who responded to me telling him how moved I was from the support Carol-Ann and I had received by replying, "Dudeyour funeral is going to be PACKED."

If you're offended by that, please don't be. He said with a mountain of a wink and the traditional cheesy Walker grin. I know he has my back, and he knows that there will be verbal retribution.


I'll always remember that line, just as I'll always remember Vancouver Giants owner Ron Toigo, who knows way too much about cancer unfortunately due to all the family and friends he's had battle it, being one of the first visitors in the hospital room.

He told me to not be a cowboy and take whatever medication the doctors prescribe, because "the last thing you need right now is stress, and pain is stress." Considering the who and the when and the what, that was an integral conversation for me.

We had some Giants players come by, too. Among them was winger Brendan Gallagher. He just lost his grandfather to cancer. The last place in the world he deserved to be was a hospital room, hearing about some tumour in some dude's neck. But there he was, this 18-year-old kid. How can I not be inspired to get better and help others?

That's just a small sample of the support we've received. Family, friends, people I had heard from the day before I got sick, people I hadn't heard from in years.

And I can't go on enough about the medical attention we have received so far. It feels like we landed on this all-star team.


There was VGH cleaning lady Erlinda (sorry, didn't get the last name), who bellowed "Shake your bum, shake your bum," while I tried to figure out why my knees had gone wonky and practised lumbering up and down the halls in my walker.

There was nurse Contessa Johnson, who tenderly wiped away tears from my face when it looked like at one point my biopsy was going to be postponed a week due to a scheduling snafu. "You cry, my big bear," she said. "You cry, my bear. You let it out. But please realize that we will fix this."

I obviously haven't seen her job description. I reckon, "Calm down the the big, goofy-looking guy in Room Whatever when he starts blubbering," wasn't on it.

There was also Dr. Robert Lee, a neurosurgeon who, by several accounts, went ballistic over the scheduling problems with before commandeering a team and shoehorning some time into an operating room to make it happen.

And there was Dr. Joseph Ip, who works in the emergency room at Royal Columbian in New Westminster. I had been feeling listless and lethargic for several weeks, and had actually just been for blood tests to see what the problem was. I had also banged up my shoulder, first playing Wii boxing (trying to get in better shape) and then working on a garage reno at my folks' house (trying to impress my dad). When the pain migrated into my chest, being out of shape and out of sorts, Carol-Ann and I worried about a heart attack.



I passed the EKG and the blood work didn't suggest anything with the heart, but one of the tests had Ip wondering about a clot on the lungs, prompting him to hold me over for another scan.

When he came back with results, I could see he was gutted. He said he saw two lesions. He said how sorry he was. He said he would pray for me. He composed himself immediately after that, and got the wheels in motion. He was scheduling tests, getting consults.

Every medical person we've talked to since says that Ip, in the midst of a busy Saturday night, could have easily misdiagnosed what was going on, and we would be in much more dire straits than we are in.

We're so lucky. We've gotten so much help. We know that. We want to thank all these people, by helping them or others on behalf of them. Part of me wants to start running marathons for charity right now. I have to remember that five years back I had a buddy run the Vancouver Marathon and call me afterwards to tell me about it and I was so winded hearing about the experience I had to lie down on the couch. And I was in better shape then.

For now, I'm trying to round up sports items for an auction down the road. I need to focus on getting healthy, so I won't be able to contribute to the paper, but I plan to set up a personal cancer blog and fill it when I feel up to it with my view of the process. We'll get that address out there somehow.

We're going to pay everyone back eventually. That's the goal. And Ian Walker especially.






Posted on Nov 9, 2010, 5:11 PM