Tales from the Lung Void

In October 2025—just six months after being diagnosed with terminal Stage IV lung cancer—I crossed the finish line of the Royal Victoria Marathon. It was my 18th marathon—and my last. Crossing that final finish line was my 18th marathon. In mystical Judaism, numbers and letters are connected through Gematria, where 18 represents Chai—the word for "life." Completing this race was my own quiet way of saying L’Chaim to a community that has sustained me for 15 years. The Victoria Marathon has always held a special place in my heart; it’s where I ran my first marathon back in 2013, and I’ve always appreciated the warm community support there. This past October, it was about finding a sense of quiet closure. My only goal was to end my marathoning journey exactly where it began. A wave of fatigue hit me around the halfway mark, and I ended up walking the last 10K.  I ended up near the back of the pack, and for the first time in 15 years, I didn't care about the clock. I wasn...

It bears no comparison to natural beauty. However, the 15 mg morphine capsule I commenced yesterday is oddly cheerful. So pretty. How does one resist such a specimen?. The pellets remain perfectly still within their yellow and transparent housing, appearing to patiently await a human brain to cuddle. I find myself speculating on the visual upgrades for higher concentrations. Does the 20 mg variant adopt a spaceship silhouette? Is the 50 mg shaped as a diamond and come standard in a blue Tiffany box? One expects the design to improve as the risk increases.

This morning, I spotted a sign on the board about a fascinating new unit at BC Cancer Vancouver: 'Planetary Health.' 🌍 My immediate reaction was, 'I need to volunteer for that immediately!' Though, let's be honest, it doesn't quite have the same ring as 'Intergalactic Health Force.' 🚀 But after reading the fine print, I realized it's actually an environmental initiative. They've been going paperless with exam tables since 2022! Turns out, my dream volunteer role—being the person who expertly lays down the table paper—was eliminated years ago. On the way from BC Cancer to the nearby Bayshore Clinic, we spotted this inviting sign right in front of a cannabis store. It really made me wonder if they have a secret post-treatment breakfast menu. I'll be holding out for the organic green marijuana omelettes and a special side of 'hash' browns.

For my Sunday Art project, I used 3D Slicer to process my February 20 CT scans and reconstruct them in 3D. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is definitely missing from the left side. The cavity located under the crumpled paper bag could be useful for storage, like the “frunk” found in some electric vehicles. I am scheduled for a chest catheter installation in ten days, but I might see if the respirologist will agree to a small chest door instead. A fairy door would be preferable; it would allow me to access the frunk and keep my painkillers within reach at all times.

I just came across a piece in People magazine —quoting the prestigious journal Science—claiming that cats are officially "a vital partner in the fight against cancer." Apparently, we share the same cancer-causing mutations. This discovery complicates things. 1. My Strata vs. My Survival I live in a Vancouver building where the no-pets bylaw is enforced like a border crossing. But this discovery changes the math: How can a Strata Council justify depriving a resident of a "vital partner" in their recovery? I’m reminded of a general pro-tip regarding the legal optics of these things: “Prosecuting a cancer patient is the kind of file that lawyers' nightmares are made of.” Choosing to go to war with a feline co-therapist is certainly a bold PR move. I hope they’re prepared to cross-examine a whiskered defendant. 2. Upgrading the Lab Specimen Does this mean cats are about to become more "popular" in research than mice, hamsters, or pigs? Scientifically, the ...

During last week's visit, my palliative doctor noted a touch of oral thrush on my tongue - courtesy of the steroids in my nasal rinse. She prescribed Nystatin, which turned out to be an unexpected delight. It has the scent of vanilla almond custard and a glossy, sunshine-yellow hue. It’s a shame the dose is capped at 5 ml four times a day for 7 days; it’s the first time I’ve ever looked forward to a mouthwash.

Along English Bay, the yellow daffodils are out. They signal spring, and to almost everyone walking by, they are a bright touch of joy. But for me, this flower has lost its beauty. It has become a persistent reminder of a heavy medical reality. Every time I visit the BC Cancer complex, those cheerful yellow blooms decorate the buildings and line the hallways—a permanent fixture of the clinical landscape. The daffodil is the official symbol of the Canadian Cancer Society, chosen for several traits that reflect the cancer experience: its winter resilience, spring renewal, and sturdy strength. I understand the rationale, but the association is now inseparable from the diagnosis. Instead, I’m opting for a personal preference. My friend Mary is an enthusiastic dahlia grower, tending to about 30 varieties in her small yard and another 100 at a community garden. I’ve taken a liking to a specific variety, and I’ll patiently wait for it to bloom: “Mustard and Ketchup.” . It’s my new cancer-fre...