By Tiffany Wight

The Cold

My dad caught a cold in may. It was late May, and temperatures were higher than usual, so he wanted it to go away. My mom was getting ready to go out to Osoyoos for the summer, and everything was boring and normal.

My dad’s cold did not improve, and as May gave way to June, it worsened. On June 1st, dad tried to make breakfast, and he fainted in the kitchen. He went to the doctor, who checked his vitals and urged him to go to the hospital. He was there for a full month, in the pulmonary ward at the Rockyview.

His cold was not a cold. Stage IV Metastatic Adenocarcinoma. Even six months later, the words hold a certain shock value, and catch in my throat.

Clarke, who was hiking the highlands of Scotland less than a year before, who doesn’t smoke and barely drinks, had no business carrying this disease. I was angry. Angry at smokers for being alive. Angry at his cells for growing irregularly. Angry at myself for taking my own health for granted.

I asked him why he wasn’t furious, and he said only that it is by mere chance and luck that any of us are here in the first place, so why should we be angry when it comes to an end?

Assiniboine Anniversary

June spilled into summer. I bought and moved into my first home, work was busy, and dad started a newly available and experimental cancer treatment that seems to have saved his life. To celebrate our five year wedding anniversary, my wife and I planned a 4 day backpacking trip into Mt. Assiniboine Provincial Park.

We wanted to get away from everything. No electricity, no cars, no phones, no cancer. Just her and me in the backcountry of the Canadian Rockies.

The hike in was hard. 26.7 kilometres culminating in 3 challenging switchback climbs over a mountain pass. There were moments when we thought we might end up sleeping in the woods. In the end, we limped into camp a little worse for wear but enjoying the high of arriving. We set up our tent and Ashley went to the cooking shelter to get dinner started.

The cooking shelter was bustling with the activity of our fellow hikers. In backpacker culture, examining and discussing gear is a popular pass time. As I ambled into the cookhouse, Ashley was happily engaged in one of these conversations.

Doctors Hike, Too.

I looked across the table at the woman she was talking to, and my summer came undeniably, and very unexpectedly, full circle. Sitting across from my wife was my dad’s palliative care doctor, engaged in a carefree conversation about camp stoves and water filters.

The doctor and I laughed uncomfortably at the realization of how we recognized each other. We left most of our feelings unspoken. I’m sure she was as unenthusiastic as I was about walking all this way, only to be confronted with the reality of home in a place that should have been an escape from all of that.

Gratitude

The palliative care doctor is a woman whose very presence in my life reveals the mortality of those I love the most. But I also hold a deep appreciation for how she treated my dad and my family during the most difficult times we have lived together.

I don’t know that we became friends on that trip. In fact, I think we very intentionally did not. But, it was a happy happenstance that caused our paths to cross. I am happy to have shared some laughter, an unforgettable weekend, and a very bizarre story with her.

After all, it is by mere chance and luck that any of us are here in the first place.