Corinne and Edmund Melendez-Duke are grateful for the life they have shared for 47 years. And they have no intention of letting Edmund's battle with cancer overwhelm their gratitude.
Edmund tells his own story below on this page, but he and Corinne took time out recently to provide some context for their life before Edmund's diagnosis.
"It came as such a shock — wow!" Corinne said. "We've lived such a good, active life."
"We were totally at peace, though, with whichever way it went," Edmund added. "We had no control over the situation."
He speaks carefully, still learning to form his words clearly after a team of surgeons worked for eight hours to reconstruct his jaw, part of which was removed in an effort to rid his body of cancer. He walks with a slight limp, a reminder that bone and flesh were taken from his leg, providing the spare parts that were needed to replace pieces that were removed in the procedure.
A large scar on his throat is the most overt evidence of Edmund's remarkably quick odyssey, 40 days from diagnosis through major surgery. The gauze that covers a breathing passage lower on his throat is hardly noticeable.
Corinne and Edmund arrived in Creston less than three years ago, after spending most of their life together north of Edmonton.
Their story starts in Victoria, where they were married in the spring of 1967. Edmund was working for BF Goodrich, which operated vehicle service centres in Woolco (now Wal-Mart) stores. He had no previous retail experience, but he took to the job like a duck to water. Soon he and Corinne, in the midst of starting a family, were on the move. Transfers to Burnaby, Lethbridge, Edmonton and London, Ont., helped move Edmund up the corporate ladder. From his job as district manager in London he moved higher. The next stop was Toronto, where he became the head of personnel for the Canadian operations.
"But we had three boys by then, and I didn't see enough of them. I needed a change of plan," he said.
Soon the family was on the move again, back to Edmonton. There they decided to start a new life in the country. They purchased a 92-acre parcel northeast of Edmonton. It was 15 miles from the nearest village, Vilna (population: 260).
"We had never lived on a farm and I had never built anything," Edmund admitted.
The family commuted from Edmonton on weekends and holidays to build a house, living in a small trailer on the property. When they made the move a permanent one, it was a very different life, just what they wanted.
"Corinne cooked on a wood stove for years and years," he laughed.
"It was lovely," Corinne insisted.
Soon, Edmund took a job at a local seed-cleaning plant. After eight weeks, he was appointed manager. And then another opportunity presented itself.
"The Vilna grocery store went up for sale," Edmund said. Grocery stores in small prairie towns tend to fill demands for services and this small business was no exception. The tin-ceilinged, circa 1920 building even held a bakery, deli and movie rental department. They bought it.
"The store took off like you wouldn't believe," Corinne said.
"It went like gangbusters," Edmund agreed.
Business owners and farmers, the Melendez-Dukes found a way to balance family life with farm and business, and spent 32 happy years living in the house that Edmund built.
Wherever they looked, opportunities seemed to arise. In their spare time they visited a racetrack.
"Before we knew it we were owning racehorses that ran in Edmonton and Calgary," Edmund laughed.
They bought a 12-unit townhouse complex in St. Paul as an investment.
"We never had a vacancy in the 11 years we owned it," he said.
Eventually, though, retirement beckoned.
"We decided to move to an easier, warmer location," Corinne said. "We got to Creston on a trip from Lethbridge. Five thousand people — it was perfect for us. You can walk everywhere. We just love it to death — and our family loves to visit us here."
If Edmund's optimism took a hit from post-surgery test results, it doesn't show as he shares the news. Surgeons were optimistic that they had removed all the cancer, but turns out not to be the case. He now awaits a treatment schedule for radiation therapy, meaning many more weeks in and around Calgary's Foothills Hospital, much more reliance on countless medical personnel, all of whom are about to experience his endless optimism and positive attitude.
BY EDMUND MELENDEZ-DUKE
We raised our family in a small rural area with the premise that if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Maybe too many people use the health care system excessively, or when common sense would have sufficed. We thought, Eat right, stay active and all would be fine. Boy, was I wrong!
On Jan. 16, I went to the Creston Valley Hospital emergency room concerned about a growth on the inside of my mouth. The busy intern worked diligently and cheerfully, fitting in all the patients on an as-needed basis. Obviously, he saw my problem to be of a very serious nature. He used his smartphone to take pictures, then forwarded them to a specialist in Cranbrook, and came back saying he was required to take a biopsy immediately. In a few short hours, this intern was having my problem professionally assessed.
Unfortunately, on Jan. 31, the results came back — cancer. One of our local doctors phoned right away and had arranged for a rush appointment with the Cranbrook specialist for Feb. 1. This bright young man diagnosed instantly that the cancer had spread into my jawbone and possibly further. Under the circumstances, if care was available, it would be required in Calgary. Being on the ball, he urgently requested at CT scan and blood work to be done ASAP, in Cranbrook's East Kootenay Regional Hospital. Upon my arrival, I was notified that the bloodwork office was closed at this late hour. Who comes to the rescue? One of the many volunteers. Hearing my out-of-town story, he asked me to give him a few minutes. He went through back hallways, rang buzzers and knocked on doors, and soon came back, saying that a "Florence Nightingale" would sneak me through now. The CT scan was done, with results available by the end of the week.
On Feb. 10, I was in Calgary, with a CD copy of the CT scan in my possession. I waited to see two of the preeminent surgeons in the field at the Foothills Medical Centre and Richmond Road Diagnostic and Treatment Centre. Did I have a chance, or did the facts indicate terminal? My turn came, more tests were performed and the CT scan findings were reviewed. Bottom line: The cancer had not spread excessively, and if my general health was as good as indicated and if the blood flow to my legs was adequate, a procedure was doable. Subsequent tests over the next few days indicated that I was a suitable candidate.
My story started on Jan. 16 in the waiting room of the Creston ER, and about 40 days later I was in my hospital gown waiting for surgery in the Foothills Medical Centre (McCaig Tower). The admission desk attendant verified my wrist ID and asked me to take a seat against a wall. Someone then came and put a number on the wall behind me. Ten minutes later, a nurse came over and introduced herself, followed by an anesthesiologist who had a few questions. The nurse returned and said they were ready. I entered the operating room and there were at least a dozen people in scrubs. I looked questioningly at my nurse, and she said there were three surgeons and the rest were nurses and technicians. Over the next eight-plus hours they were going to do their all to give me back my best health possible. I was awed and stunned, but mostly humbled.
We all have read assorted stories of current conditions in our health care system. I can't comment. I can only tell my personal story. Could anything be more amazing or inspiring?
Some of you may say that the system can be improved. That people aren't perfect. And, of course, you are right. But it is these people, who through their actions make our care special.
Are all mechanics equally capable or all nurses equally talented? No, but in my 16 days in the in the hospital and my dealings with 100-plus caregivers I can admit to only one time that was less than ideal. The situation was verified by my family and the problem, I now know, was me. I was sleep-deprived and having a bad day. I apologize to anyone I may have offended.
To close, thank you to the hundreds of volunteers who give so much help and love to each visitor or patient they come in contact with.
Thank you to the nurses and caregivers who have precise and pressure-filled days. Their patients are often in discomfort, if not pain, and disoriented. Their words of support and care are treasured.
I am in awe of the doctors and surgeons who have crafted the talents of their profession into an art form. Thank you, thank you, thank you.