by june 2020, the growth was pushing my rib cage out so far that i could no longer move my left arm well. the answer: surgery. instead of the planned laparoscopic procedure, i woke up with a large incision in my abdomen through which doctors pulled out the now-grapefruit-sized object that had grown inside of me.
when i was discharged, i couldn’t do anything. i had to cancel a planned motorcycle trip and return to work, but this time, lying on my couch. it was from there that i took the call from my doctor. he had my pathology report, and the news was less than great. i had cancer.
my diagnosis came a few years after my older sister had lost her battle against a more aggressive version of the same cancer. so, the conversations i had avoided with my family were as hard as they were now unavoidable.
i pulled together two excellent doctors, and by including my sister’s experience in the conversation, we built a plan.
from that spring until a week before my second surgery in november, i kept working. i didn’t tell my colleagues. selfishly, i didn’t want to have to deal with their questions or be a burden. i wish i had spoken to them sooner because when i eventually did, all i found was empathy and support.
today, i am healthy. i’m still working through the enormous impacts this has had on me, physically and mentally. i left the media world and entered the charitable sector where i help run the
canadian men’s health foundation. our team is continually building our network of doctors, researchers and partners, developing programs, and changing lives for men and their families. as difficult as it seems, you can say, “i need help,” or “i don’t know what i need, but at least i’m talking.”
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