Endless Possibilities
One of the most moving stories I have read in more than twenty years of work in the cancer community.
Debbie Baylin

Debbie – I am amazed at the complexities involved in preparing and installing the ceiling. You exhibit great perseverance and determination to see a project through. Lucky for us that there are people like you and your organization that will expend the effort to add a fresh, special, and necessary dimension to patient care.

Please allow me to share with you some thoughts I have and have had during my journey with cancer. I will never forget that day I sat in the cold chair in my Doctors office waiting for the results from a MRI which was called for to determine why there was blood in my urine. The Doctor knocked softly at the door and slowly entered the room and before he sat down he said,

“Ed, I have bad news for you. We have discovered a 3.5 cm tumour in your left kidney. You will need to have surgery and quite likely have it removed. This looks like cancer. You better get your things in order.”

Wow. Time seemed to stop and a dark vortex formed around my vision. Everything went quiet. I asked, “How could this be? I feel so good.” Kidney cancer is like that. There are no signs other than the usual small pains and quirks we feel as we get older. And so it is. I had the surgery, went through an uncomfortable recovery on the couch and now the cancer has moved into my lungs. They tell me that the drugs have stopped the growth, but for how long. How long does anyone have? I feel great, and I am back to work. To keep it short, my experience with cancer has caused much depression at times. Sometimes I wonder if there is a future for me. Is it going to grow? Can they stop it?

There are many wonderful doctors, nurses, and medical staff at the Tom Baker and at our hospitals. I am grateful to have had such good care and a chance to get old. I see life now as something very special. We must cherish every day and make it count. Every six weeks or so I have a visit with my oncologist at the Tom Baker. As I walk through the halls and down into the basement, I take special notice of the people I pass along the way. I notice young people, seniors, some from the east, some from the orient, some from Africa, all colors, all ages. I notice their faces. They all seem to be empty, sad, void of smiles, and I wonder when they got the news. Is today the day the cancer is confirmed, or maybe they were told it has spread. I understand and know these feelings well. It doesn't matter where you're from, you know life has changed. As I walk through the halls I feel a strange unspoken kinship with everyone else, for I know why they are there and they know why I am there. It feels like a special fraternity, like you have to go through something to join. We are special people. We have been told of, or we are prepared for the inevitable, possibly sooner than later. Our lives are planned pretty well. We grow, get married, have children, and plan for our retirement. We are continually reminded that there is a future and we must plan for it. Then one day...Wham. You get bad news, the stark reality hits home. That is the day when all the colors change, and life really matters.

When I first saw the SkyCeiling I was with a friend. She sat down in the waiting room while I sorted out my appointment for a CT Scan. I heard her say to me, “Ed, you gotta see this!” With an excited gesture, she pointed up to the ceiling. From the front counter all I could see was some blue color on the ceiling. As I entered the waiting room the grandeur of this work came into focus. “WOW,” I thought, What a wonderful way to brighten up a room. As I continued to discover this wonderful work I could hear birds singing and almost see the branches moving. How is this done? It gave me a feeling of newness, like Spring, my thoughts went wild and I wanted to get involved. This is too good not to be passed around and shared. I sat there for a while and enjoyed the view as I drank that yucky water they give you before a scan. When I got home I thought about the SkyCeiling for a long while. Two weeks later I had to see Dr. Heng, and after the appointment I went to the CT dept. to see the ceiling again, I asked the receptionists about the ceiling and they showed me a plaque dedicating this wonderful work to the Tom Baker, and I got your web address and shared my feelings with you.

Through the short paragraphs above I can only begin to express my thoughts on cancer and dealing with it. It is not my intention to reveal my personal story. Rather, I would like anyone who reads it to get the understanding that cancer and any illness comes with a psychological emptiness. A feeling that you are not the same anymore. And that you have a lesser worth and not much to give. That is the feeling I had for several months after surgery and during recovery. But as I progress through this obstacle, and begin the daily joy of living again, I can see all the special deeds and caring people doing things that really matter for each other. Like the Sky Ceiling, wow, what a nice place to sit and look up and wonder... And the girls that push the coffee cart around... And the pictures on the walls...These are the things that help us through the times of emptiness. I would like to thank all the medical staff for their tireless dedicated pursuit to find a cure for cancer and Art à la Carte for giving me/us that special feeling when we need it the most. A spark, something to think about, a fresh feeling, a thought for a new beginning. And everyone that is involved for the greater good.

I am praying for the day that we can walk down the halls of any cancer centre and see all the people with smiles on their faces and much joy in their hearts and know without asking, that they got the good news...their cancer is in remission. And yes, when we all work together and pray together, we can realize the “endless possibilities”. Thank you and keep up the wonderful work!