BLOOD. SWEAT. TEARS.

Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island

I dedicate this post and today’s victory to Dr. Michelle Strovski, my urologist and surgeon. BLOOD. SWEAT. TEARS.

Mar. 21, 2019 BLOOD. I hiked the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. I’m a lucky guy.  However, that afternoon, I peed almost a litre of blood.  And not some blood to colour urine cherry red.  Rather thick viscous blood, the consistency of treacle, the type that it takes two flushes to remove it completely from the porcelain.

Less than two weeks later I would be in the office of Doctor Strovski.  Over the next three years I would have two cystoscopies and two Transurethral Resection of the Prostate.  Then I enjoyed the post-op catheters. Many a man will have one of these procedures in his life. I was blessed with two.

Feb. 3 2025 SWEAT.  I started a workout routine the end of December and was progressing really well.  However, I had a set back that required me to return to see Dr. Strovski. (I swear my kidneys, bladder, or prostrate will be the cause of my demise.)

Instead I meet with her associate Dr. Wright.  Afterwards, I asked about Dr. Strovski. I thought maybe she was on maternity leave.  Or she was on a sabbatical, maybe to teach at the university.  Possibly she had taken a position somewhere else, as I imagine a doctor of her caliber would be highly sought. I was told she has STAGE 4 Cancer.  I took this news really hard.  Too young, too talented; it doesn’t seem just.

So I decided if she was in the fight of her life, I would go all in on my training. Half hearted attempts at anything important make one seem feeble and immature. Since I made a streak of 60 weight sessions, watched my diet and lost over 50 pounds, rode 1500 kilometres, and averaged over 7.5 miles of walking everyday.

Jun. 22, 2025 TEARS. My legs muscles feel shredded today! Ha! But I cried some too.  For five full years I utterly believed I would never run distance again. Too overweight and too fearful of seeing more blood in my urine.

Now, as they are mostly internal I picture my physical scars like an old Viking would; each a record of battles won, and lost, and evidence that I wasn’t afraid to face fate nor pain. I’m not afraid of the needles, of the scalpel, the catheters, and I don’t shrink at the sight of my own blood.

Until recently, my mind hadn’t fully recovered from the indignities to my masculinity, the feeling of being emasculated, of being diminished. But the mental scar has transmuted into a B.D.E. superpower.  I have renewed my confidence, and added a wallop of boldness.

Call today Jamie’s Anastasis. My new chapter starts tomorrow. Thank you Dr. Strovski.  I wouldn’t be where I will be tomorrow without you. You’re in my thoughts.  Godspeed.

June 22, 2025