Disclaimer: This story reflects one person’s personal experience with bladder cancer and is shared with the hope of raising awareness and offering different perspectives. It is not intended as medical advice, and does not necessarily reflect the views, policies, or positions of Bladder Cancer Canada. Everyone’s health journey is unique, and symptoms, diagnoses, and treatments can vary widely. If you are experiencing symptoms or have any concerns about your health, please speak to your doctor or a qualified healthcare professional.
The first signs
In May 2002, my tennis doubles partner and I were travelling around the Maritimes, playing amateur tournaments and doing our best to stay hydrated on the road. One day, we pulled over on a quiet rural road in Nova Scotia for a quick bathroom break. When you got to go, you got to go.
I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. But instead of clear urine, I saw a strong stream of red. I remember thinking, what the hell is this? Did I pull something reaching for a shot? Is this a one-off?
I didn’t say a word. I zipped up, got back in the car, and we kept going. I didn’t want to interrupt our trip or worry my partner. The next time I went, everything looked normal again. Clear. No smell. No problem. So, I convinced myself it was nothing.
Months later, back home in Nelson, BC, it happened again. This time, I didn’t ignore it. I called my doctor right away. That led to tests. Then more tests. Then biopsies. And then came the words no one wants to hear, cancer. Stage 3 bladder cancer.
Preparing for Surgery and a Triathlon
By August 2002, at 48 years old, I was preparing for surgery to remove my bladder. A month before, I found myself standing at the edge of Kootenay Lake, about to start my first sprint triathlon.
I had decided to get as fit as possible before surgery. A friend suggested a triathlon training group, and surprisingly, my doctor encouraged it. So, after six weeks of training, there I was, lining up at the very back of the pack, nervous not about the race, but about how my catheter would hold up.
I finished dead last. By the time I crossed the finish line, most people were already at the post-race BBQ. I had swum 750 meters, biked 22 kilometres, and shuffled through a 5-kilometre run. I was exhausted, sore, and emotional, but my wife, daughters, and a few others were there cheering me on. I needed hugs and a beer. But I finished.
Life After Surgery
In September, I woke up after surgery and saw my stoma for the first time. A bright red opening on my side connected to a drainage bag. I remember thinking, so this is my life now? It wasn’t easy to accept. Support was limited, and it took time to adjust. But eventually, I decided that life was going to go on, as good as or better than before.
I learned everything I could about living with a urostomy. I got back into swimming, biking, and even scuba diving. It wasn’t always smooth, but over time, it became my new normal.
Travel taught me a few lessons along the way. On a dive trip in Cuba, I slipped on a boat and landed right on my stoma, which sent me on an unexpected trip back to Canada in the middle of winter, wearing a t-shirt and shorts. That experience reinforced a few things for me:
- ALWAYS carry extra supplies.
- Carry a cauterizing pen.
- Take time to dress for landing anywhere in winter.
- Don’t fall on dive boats.
- Accept that crap will happen.
- Keep diving. And living. It is just a hole in your side and a bag.
Life is good! I’m alive, compared to the alternative! I live in Canada, where I never saw a bill for anything cancer related. I have a wonderful support system.And at 72, I’m looking forward to many more years of this.
Cheers!
