Wandergliding is on pause for the moment...

Unfortunately my father was diagnosed with lung cancer just before Christmas last year. Lung cancer is one of the more aggressive cancers but one thing in his favor was that they discovered it at an early stage due to him contracting Legionnaire's disease. Legionnaire's is caused by an airborne bacteria and it really did a number on him. He and my stepmom snowbird down to Phoenix every year to avoid the long Edmontonian winters and he either caught it from an air conditioner in a motel room on the drive down or from their swamp cooler at their place down there. After a few days in the hospital in Arizona, he was medi-vaced back to Edmonton. He was put through a battery of tests including CT and PET scans and this is when the small cell lung cancer was discovered but it was considered to be at an early stage. He underwent four sessions of chemotherapy (three days each session) along with radiation treatment to his chest. He was a trooper through all of this aggressive and borderline sadistic treatment. If you think about it, a patient's body is essentially attacked to the brink of death as the cancer is hopefully eradicated.

I went to visit him in December, around his birthday, and then again in March, just before I began this Wandergliding trip. He insisted that I continue with my plans of touring the world but I did find it tough to head off gallavanting without questioning my priorities...as of course, family comes first, everything else is second.

About three weeks ago, my father's breathing began to be laboured. Unfortunately he found out that he may have pulmonary fibrosis which is essentially irreversible scarring of the lungs which prevents the alveoli from doing their job. This condition was caused by the radiation therapy he received on his chest and it only affects about 5-15% of all patients who get this treatment. On Tuesday, May 11th, I skyped with my dad and found out that the doctor, Doctor Yee, thought that the fibrosis was severe enough that it may cause him respiratory arrest and that he may only have 7 days left to live. He asked whether he should tell his kids to return home and was told yes. You can imagine how tough those conversations were for him, especially in these days of skype where you not only hear the person, but see them. Within 24 hours, my sister Julie in Maryland, my sister Sarah, her husband Brad and two year old daughter Brenna from Phoenix, and I (coming from London, England) were back in Edmonton at the Cross Cancer Institute.

I have been writing this entry over a number of days as it's been difficult to find the time and right mind frame to work on it. As I type this now, we are actually on day 8 after the doctor stated that he might only have a week left! It has definitely been a roller coaster with good days and bad ones. He's had a couple of episodes, two mornings in a row, where his breathing has been really compromised and his heart raced to try and pump what little oxygen that was getting into his bloodstream around his body. My sister Sarah and I were there for the second and not as severe episode but it was still awfully scary. Watching a loved one, especially a parent, essentially slowly drown is not something I wish on anyone. Of course, it was even more scary for my father. He spiked a fever in both of these cases and that has led the doctors to suspect that he may have pneumonia or some other type of infection so he's been put on antibiotics and we're all hoping that they will do the trick.

Tomorrow my aunt and cousin (Shirley and Gemma) arrive from England to provide some additional support. It's times like these that one finds out the true type of family one has, and I can't say I'm disappointed with mine. My stepmom has been an incredible pillar of strength and the fact that she used to be a nurse (a head nurse at that) definitely helps. My stepsisters and their families have been incredibly supportive as well. Dad, we're all behind you, and we all love you.

So please send your positive thoughts and love in my father's direction. We're not out of the woods yet but every day is a minor victory.