May 31, 2001
James Report

The image I choose to keep from today's kaleidoscope of events is that of James, pajama clad, tired and fragile, yet safe, secure and happy, cuddled up on the lap of his friend Dr Baruchel. An image to chase away the many dreadful images of the last few days. Together they were looking at the latest CT scans of the tumour growing in James' head, and discussing the the plan for radiation. The day had started poorly, with head pain, with James vomiting at 6am, then 6.30, and again, and then again, with veins bulging out on the top and side of his head as a consequence of the tumour pushing on an artery in his brain. Then there was the tingling sensation in his right hand, another ominous sign. A quick email to Sick Kids, a flurry of phone calls, and we were on our way. Thirty six hours earlier we had removed James' pain patch, thinking that five days of chemo might have done some good, and were rudely shaken by the speed and ferocity of the returning pain. At Princess Margaret Hospital James had an unscheduled consult with his friend the radiation doctor, then got fitted up with a custom head mask (no fun; they mold hot plastic to your face, and later use it to keep your head locked in position for the radiation), and then he had the first of five rounds of radiation to his head. We go back again tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. For 18 months we have been concerned about a lesion in the back of James' skull, and we have tried to keep it at bay, hoping it would not cross the blood brain barrier where most chemos don't work. But that has happened, and so to back up the radiation we will use an oral version of VP 16 as soon as James' platelet count has recovered. Needless to say, we talked about many other ideas for treatment, but none offered greater hope, small as it is.

Back to that image. Dr Baruchel and James. Two people hurting, two people desperately fighting the enemy, two people with a deep understanding of what is important in life, two people who make very hard decisions. But what gets me is the huge crowd of medical people represented by that image, who dare to work with James as he faces life threatening illness, who get real close to a dying child so as to best help him. There's Janet, and John, and Sandi, Heather and Rita, Freda, Rosie, Ray, Norma, Rafael, Mary Anne, Carolyn, Posie, Susan, Vince, Mary Catherine, Karen, Graham, I'm just scratching the surface. People seem to think that the Birrells are going through a terrible tragedy, but Pam and I are reminded daily that every step of this road is lined with people who love and care deeply for us. The cancer experience is one that shows you all that is best in God's creation, if you choose to look. So I'm going to bed early tonight with today's image, and I'm going to look forward to four more radiation trips to Toronto in the next four days, four more chances to rub shoulders with some of these remarkably compassionate people, and four more chances to visit the Bowmanville Zoo, or Cooper's Crane Rental, or the car crusher place, or the Toronto subway, or whatever other fun thing strikes our fancy.

Oh, I forgot to tell you the most important part of Dr Baruchel's new treatment plan, and that's the business of the Soap Box Derby. It turns out that he knows all about Soap Box Derbies, and he made racers for his own children, but they're called something else in French. Anyway, he takes the matter of cancer patients having specific goals in the future very seriously, and has instructed James to get to work on designing and building a racer with our new friend Brian for the September Derby in Peterborough. Surviving cancer is more than the strictly medical. Pam can tell you that.

Syd

P.S. Sorry about giving you the wrong date for the Star article. You probably figured out that I meant Wed May 31st. Next James TV slot will be Sunday night, Channel 9, about 6.30 pm.as part of the Sick Kids Miracle weekend.