9-time Cancer Survivor Gets Good News

In 2011, I wrote (and published) the book Never Leave Your Wingman: Dionne and Graham Warner's Story of Hope. Dionne is one of the most remarkable, inspiring, fun-loving, hope-filled people I know.

Author/publisher Deana J. Driver with Dionne and Graham Warner, June 2011 

When I met Dionne in June 2010 to begin interviewing her and Graham for the book, Dionne was battling Stage IV liver, lung, and bone cancers - her fifth, sixth and seventh cancer diagnoses. She'd already beat breast cancer, brain cancer, and two bouts of liver cancer. With these latest cancers, she had been dressing in different costumes each week and dancing into her chemotherapy treatments, with her wingman (her husband Graham) similarly attired and dancing beside her. They brought hope and laughter - and occasional looks of confusion - to everyone they met during the 77 treatments and themes that occurred by the time the book was published in June 2011.

Some of the "themes" Dionne created for her chemotherapy treatments in 2009 to 2011

Dionne's story has inspired and helped thousands of people around the world and it has been my honour to write and publish book to share our mutual goal of spreading that hope.

And her story continues.

A few months after the book was published, Dionne went into remission. No more Stage IV cancer in any part of her body. To say that everyone was astounded and thrilled is an understatement.

How could this be, you might wonder. For starters, Dionne has a remarkably positive attitude - before, during and after cancer. She lives her life to the fullest in every moment of every day and encourages all of us to do the same - whether we are ill or not. Dionne also has a body that responds well to therapy treatments. She jokes that Heaven is not ready for her yet, but when it is her time, she will be bringing her own radiation-lit, disco-ball body with her! Dionne also received some unique treatment therapies in a hospital in Tijuana in 2010 and she changed her diet as part of that treatment too. (You'll have to read the book for more details.)

Unfortunately, in April 2012, cancer returned to Dionne's liver and she began treatment again. 

A few years later, Graham was diagnosed with cancer in his abdominal area. He successfully underwent surgery to remove the tumour and was cancer-free at his one-year checkup. As Dionne would say, "Woo Hoo!'

Still, how much more can a couple take? Well, these are the Warners ... so the answer - even though no one wants it to be this way - is "a lot".

Dionne had been taking various treatments since her Spring 2012 liver cancer diagnosis, but about two years ago, tumours appeared in her hips and other parts of her body. She has since had several different treatment regimens for these tumours, with differing amounts of success. Hundreds and hundreds of people - whom she calls her Earth Angels - continue to send best wishes, prayers and love to help her fight this evil disease.

And now for the latest news of her cancer journey...

Earlier this week, Dionne received a phone call from her oncologist to come in to his office to hear the results of the latest CT scan. She had not expected a call so soon after the test, so she was nervous. Not to mention having to take her immune-compromised body to the hospital again during these COVID-19 times.

"My oncologist wanted to share the news he had for me sooner rather than later," Dionne reported. "He shared with me that all of my tumours have shrunk.   I had him repeat it more than once as I was in complete and utter shock. Not just one tumour but all and trust me, ,there are a lot. The new chemo regime along with your love, support and continued prayers, Earth Angels, are working. Woo Hoo! "

When I asked Dionne if I could share her amazing, fantastic news, she replied in the affirmative.

"Let's continue to give others H💜PE, I say."

Absolutely, Dionne. And Woo Hoo a thousand times over!

Dionne and Graham Warner in April 2020. Bottom left, she's wearing a handmade mask to go to the hospital to hear from her oncologist.

And just in case you need another dose of happiness and laughter during these uncertain times, here's a video I took in 2011 of their amazing "flappers" theme. Enjoy.

** You can purchase the Never Leave Your Wingman book from SaskBooks and pay no shipping in April 2020. All sales from this bookstore of our provincial publishing group organization will go directly to the publisher members - in this case, my DriverWorks Ink publishing company.

Do they celebrate Valentine's Day in Heaven?

Today is Valentine's Day, a day we are supposed to celebrate the one person who loves us and whom we love. For many people, it's just another day. No big deal. And that is as it should be.

Why put pressure on ourselves if we happen to be single, without a partner, on February 14th?

Wait until tomorrow, buy yourself a box of chocolates on sale, and carry on.

My late husband Al and I rarely celebrated Valentine's Day. We preferred to tell each other "I love you" every day and we avoided the commercialism of Valentine's Day after our first few years of marriage.

February 14th was always special in another way, though, because it is my mom's birthday. She was a Valentine's Day baby, but she rarely celebrated it.

In our Ukrainian-Polish farm family, we didn't make a big deal about birthdays. If someone wished us a happy birthday or we received a gift of pyjamas or maybe a candy bar or - wow! - a cake, that was about it for a celebration. In fact, a celebration was unusual. As we got older, we sometimes were allowed to invite a friend to take the bus home from school and sleep over at our house. That's a celebration in itself to farm kids. 

In Al's English-Irish city family, birthdays were a HUGE deal! Your birthday day was "all about you" and you didn't even have to do dishes that day! What a shock to my system.

Poor Al. His farm-kid wife never really understood this concept. It took him most of our married life to convince me that I was worth fussing over on my birthday. My kids have since taken over that burden to make me feel special, and they're doing a fine job of it.

Today, I am alone but not alone. My beautiful daughter-in-law Kelli dropped by with a lemon loaf that she knows I like, and we shared hugs and a nice visit.

I'm going for a pedicure with my youngest daughter Dani after work. It will be the first pedicure for her and we are excited. I have also connected with our son, our oldest daughter, and the other in-laws. Everyone is fine.

And in honour of love today, I put on a new shirt covered with a dragonflies pattern - a fascinating creature that reminds me of my late mom and my dear departed husband.

I hope they are dancing together in Heaven. I'm sure Al is making sure that today is all about Mom. Do they do dishes in Heaven?

My parents, me and Al, Al's parents in the late 1990s

GRIEF AND LOVE ARE INTERTWINED

July 4, 2017 - A couple hours from now will mark 18 months since my wonderful husband, Al, left this earth to join the rest of the angels. (I can see some of you snickering right now because there were pieces of Al's personality that weren't exactly angelic ... and he would roll his eyes at that first sentence, I'm sure ... but none of us are perfect either and I believe his hug-filled, loving spirit is in a beautiful place right now, doing God's work.)

Anyway ... as I was saying...
​
Like the rose I planted in Al's memory, I and our children (and our closest family and friends) have had ups and downs these past 18 months. We've had moments of blossoming and beauty, and moments of wilting and falling apart. We are continuing to live our lives though, one moment at a time, one day at a time, one season at a time, and we thank you for standing by us and nurturing us, especially when we needed it most.

​We are healing. Grieving still, but healing a bit more every day. 

Our children and I have honoured Al in our own ways - with words both written and spoken, with plants and other memorials, with donations to charities he would love, and in trying to be the best people we can be. We will continue to keep his name on our lips and in our hearts as we move forward in our lives without him.

I've learned that grief is more about love than it is about loss. Yes, we miss the one who died, but we wouldn't grieve them if we didn't love them.

We grieve because we loved. They are intertwined and will always be so.

" 'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all," wrote Lord Alfred Tennyson. I agree.
​
I and many of you won't forget Al or our story together. I wouldn't have it any other way. He was a big, bold, rambunctious blessing to me and to so many others, including many of you who are reading this. Thank you for helping me, our children, and our closest family and friends get through these 18 months.

​We will be fine. He wouldn't want it any other way.

Let's carry on.

In full bloom, the Winnipeg Parks rose bush purchased and planted in our yard in memory of Al.

WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH, SIZE DOESN’T MATTER

It is one of the smallest plants in my garden, slightly bigger than my cellphone, but it is mighty.
 
This beautiful mini rose was a gift from a dear friend, in memory of a granddaughter that we lost at birth years ago. This little rose is an indoor plant. It was not meant to handle the harsh weather and severe winters of Western Canada. But it has survived and thrived in my garden for eight years, and I have loved it dearly.

Most years, it has been bountiful, producing a multitude of gorgeous flowers all summer long, filling that part of my garden with precious yellow petals. This year, I thought the rose bush was gone forever. There was no sign of it in June, July or the first two weeks of August. Suddenly, in mid-August, it appeared out of nowhere, shooting its tiny self out of the ground and up toward the sky.
 
A few leaves began to show and then a tiny bud came, followed soon by another bud. I was elated.
 
This little plant, you see, is a symbol of life to me. Although it marks the passing of a dear one, it also brings a sign of hope for the future. Its beauty shines into every new day and lifts me up with hope for happier times ahead.

​Sometimes life throws nasty curveballs at us. We can duck out of the way sometimes, but there are times when we are hit and badly bruised. Sometimes we are smacked right in the forehead and temporarily knocked out. But it’s important that we try hard to get back up - to regain our consciousness and shake off the cobwebs. Then we must stand up as tall as we can and keep on going. It’s not easy, but we have to try.

My granddaughter’s rose and other plants are a reminder of that for me. When the going gets tough, we need to find a safe place where we can carry on, do our best, and bring hope to others. ​

​It's what we were made to do.

LIVING MY LIFE AFTER MY HUSBAND’S DEATH – CHERISHING MY “BIG A”

(Months ago, my bereavement counsellor suggested that I write about this particular time in my grief journey. "It will help others," she said. I am now ready to share this story.)

Nine months was when it happened. When most people, aside from my family, lost interest in me talking about my pain and sadness over my husband’s death.

Some of my closest friends and supporters even struggled to feign interest and patience as I cried or poured out my broken soul to them. I couldn’t blame them. Their lives had only been mildly affected by the death of this outgoing, fun-loving, witty, gentle giant of a man, while my life had been utterly broken. After all, I spent almost 42 years with this man as a major part of my daily life. They did not. And after almost nine months of them caring for the newly widowed me, they had already said and done pretty much everything they could think of to try to help me through my grief. No, I couldn’t blame them.

To backtrack a bit, we learned in December 2015 that my husband, Al, was not going to survive the Stage IV colon cancer that hit him out of nowhere in August 2015. He died on January 4, 2016, a little more than two weeks after we were told his cancer could not be cured. His death was unexpected, shocking, and devastating for those of us who loved him.


His last wishes were that we, the people he loved, go on and live the best lives that we can. We are trying.

When it comes right down to it, no one can help you through ALL of the pieces of grieving the death of your spouse, the most important person in your life. Not your family. Not your friends. Not your pastor. Not your bereavement counsellor.

No one but you.

You have to do a big part of the work yourself. You have to figure out your new life without your beloved in it. And you have to try not to be offended or upset when people try to help you or, conversely, walk away or avoid you because they - and you - know they can't help.

At the end of September 2016, I realized that I had almost made it through nine months since my husband died. I was still sad, still broken. Although some people were trying hard not to suggest that I should “move on” or be more chipper, I saw that it was becoming more and more difficult for many people to visit with me and be dragged down into my puddle of grief.

So I decided to try to hold it in. To keep quieter. To talk less about him. To journal more and keep more of my pain, my thoughts, my sadness, and my loneliness to myself.

I had not been inside my own head so much in my life as I had been in those nine months. With no one to talk to every day, unless I picked up the phone or went away from my home-based business (which I used to share with my husband), my thoughts overwhelmed me, and I struggled to stay upright sometimes.

After he died, I had to rethink everything. Everything.

I soon chose not to come to many conclusions about my new life. I learned early that the best strategy when grieving such an excruciating loss is to take it easy. Take a deep breath. Take another breath. Keep going. Put one foot in front of the other. Get through this moment. Get through another moment. Don’t worry about the thoughts or advice or expectations of others. Do what you need to do in that moment. Rest. Cry. Yell. Grieve. But, most importantly, be gentle with yourself. (I wrote about this shortly after he passed away - What I've Learned About Grief) 

I still struggle at times to live out these helpful words.

What became very clear to me was that I had to work hard at staying positive. I needed to keep taking steps forward, as Al wanted for me and I wanted for myself.

I had moved my wedding rings to my middle finger a few months after Al died, but they were starting to look and feel wrong. I realized that they were making me sad, reminding me every day of what I had lost. Even if I was having a good moment or a good day, my wedding rings moved me toward sadness. It was not how I wanted to live the rest of my life.​

I tested a new look one weekend in September 2016 by not wearing my wedding rings. A few days later, on September 28, I took them off and did not put them back on.

In mid-September, I had heard a radio commercial for a local jewellery store that was closing at the end of the month because the owners were retiring. I had taken my wedding rings to that store for resizing a few years earlier, on the recommendation of Dionne Warner, the inspiring seven-time cancer survivor I wrote about in the Never Leave Your Wingman book. The owners knew Dionne and her amazing story, and the woman jeweller remembered and recognized me when I walked into the jewellery store two days before she and her husband retired from their business. I was impressed. 

I told her why I was there. “My husband passed away from cancer and I don't want to wear my wedding rings anymore,” I said. “I want something to remind me of him and our time together, but I don’t know what.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied. And she began to cry.

I was moved by her caring. We stood for a second, then wiped our tears and carried on. I asked about necklaces and she showed me options for melting down wedding bands and placing the diamond in the centre of the blob of gold. I laughed, and I imagined Al's laughter at that concept too.

“You wouldn’t be able to see the diamond from my ring if you did that!” I told her.


You see, Al and I became engaged in Calgary when we were impoverished students finishing up two years of journalism classes at SAIT. We went downtown one day in May 1975 to look for an engagement ring so we could get engaged before I left Alberta and moved to his home province of Saskatchewan to marry him and live happily ever after.


We found a ring that we liked and could afford. Since Al wasn’t getting paid from his part-time job as a pizza delivery guy for another few days, I wrote a cheque for the $30 down payment on my own engagement ring.​ That might seem silly to some, but it was reflective of our relationship – make the decision together, do what needs to be done, and move on.

Al paid me back after he got paid. No big deal.

So in September 2016, at the jewellery store in Regina, I decided that a blob of gold with my diamond set in a necklace was not for me. I also wanted to continue wearing other necklaces I own and I did not want to feel compelled to wear only one, so I decided to look to see what else was available.

The jeweller showed me some rings - starting at a very high price, of course, and then working down to a cost that was more to my liking. I asked to try on only two of the rings she suggested, but they were too bulky and ostentatious for me.

She then asked if I preferred gold or white gold. “My wedding rings are white gold, so that would be nice,” I told her.

She pulled out another ring from the display case and I knew this was my ring. It was beautiful. Perfect, in fact.​

This new ring is a combination of white gold and gold, and I immediately loved the design. Very unique and very personal. It fit my story exactly.

I bought the ring and asked for suggestions on where to take it for resizing since they were closing within 48 hours and could not do that work themselves. I wished the woman good luck in her retirement, then walked out of the store, pleased with myself and especially pleased with my purchase.

I wanted to show this ring to all three of our adult children in person over the next few days, so I kept the undersized ring inside its jewellery box and I carried it with me. That evening, I talked with our youngest daughter, Dani, after our yoga class. I told her about my decisions to stop wearing my wedding rings and to buy another ring in memory of her dad but also in recognition of my new life without him.

Dani was thrilled. “It’s an arrow pointing to your future!” she said of the design. She was proud of me, doing something just for myself (since I am not a me-oriented person) and moving forward with my life.

Her reaction surprised me. I had not seen an arrow in the design.

​The next night, I shared the story with our eldest child - our son Dave - and his wife, Kelli. Dave was shocked and speechless for a couple of hours, but that was my fault. I carelessly started the conversation by holding up my bare left hand and saying, “Look! No rings!” While I was excited by this, knowing the happy ending to my little story, imagine the grief that our son had to process in those seconds of recognizing that the band symbolizing his parents’ 40-year-marriage was now gone. I quickly apologized to Dave. I did not realize how that would look to him.

After I told Dave and Kelli the whole story and showed them my new ring, they were pleased for me. Kelli saw the design as a linking of two things. Dave told me later, “I really like it, Mom. It’s really cool and I hope it brings you some comfort.”

That weekend, I visited our oldest daughter, Lisa, and her family. Lisa was very excited by my purchase and loved the ring. “It’s two souls coming together!” she exclaimed about the ring’s design.

Friends who saw my new ring also thought the same – they saw the design as two lives joining or a clasp holding two people together.
​But that’s not what I saw in my ring.
​
​When the jeweller first held it up to me, I immediately saw an “A”. ​For “Al”. My Al.

​That’s why I bought the ring.

Weeks later, I laughed out loud when I remembered that my mom used to call my husband “Big A” – because he was almost a foot taller than everyone in my family and he was a lot larger than most of us too. His big personality matched his size as well. "Big A."

In my diary entry on September 30, 2016, the night that Dave told me he hoped the ring brings me comfort, I wrote:  “I know that it will. It already has and I’m not even wearing it yet. Al did not choose to get sick and die, but I have to choose to live and to live well. When I bought that ring, it was a big physical reminder of my decision to carry on without him here, but cherishing his memory and our love everyday when I look at my hand. He will always be with me, and now I will wear it on my finger as a visible symbol of our never-ending love.”

I cherish the many years I had with Al. I wish that everyone in the world would be blessed with such a great love. I miss him dearly every single moment of every single day, but I am so grateful that he was with me, that we were together.

I have been wearing my new "A" ring for eleven months now. For eleven months, I have felt love when I look at my left hand. Love instead of sadness.

​The never-ending love between me and my Big A.




​

Busing it to Medicine Hat to sell books and carry on while grieving

I travelled by bus to Medicine Hat, Alberta from my home in Regina, Saskatchewan on the weekend – to do some work, including a signing at the Coles bookstore in the Medicine Hat Mall. I also enjoyed a visit with my eldest daughter, Lisa (who is also an award-winning author), my son-in-law Kyle, and their five-month-old baby girl. It was the first time in decades that I had travelled on a Greyhound bus and it was quite the experience.

I chose to take the bus because road conditions on the Canadian Prairies can change quickly, especially in winter months. I didn't want the stress of having to drive for almost five hours during a snowstorm if the weather turned bad. I thought an experienced bus driver could do that for me and I could figure out how to close my eyes and pretend everything was alright if the weather changed for the worse. Which it did, of course.

The drive there was fine. 

There was very little snow along the drive on Thursday morning. It was surprising to be able to see the fields. I did some people-watching on the packed bus – which stopped at many different communities along the way, offering plenty of opportunities for new characters to board and attract my attention.

I saw travellers who had either little income or no desire to care for themselves clothing-wise or hygiene-wise. These were people of all ages. There were younger males who explained to others that they were travelling across the country because of the downturn in the economy. (It is close to impossible to not overhear others while waiting at a bus terminal, especially boisterous young males.) Some travellers were older and by themselves. I gravitated toward older women, as they seemed closest to my age and life story.

During our lunch stop in Swift Current on the way there, I sat at a table with an older woman who also turned out to be a widow. We had a lovely visit and discussed our grief and how it takes years to process it and learn to live with it. We also talked about how others who are not as affected by our loved one’s death have carried on with their lives within days or weeks. It is hard being a widow. It is hard being alone. Our conversation offered some healing moments for each of us and we were glad we’d found each other on this journey, among this bus full of strangers.

On the buses there and back, there were a handful of riders who had obvious mental health problems. One talked loudly and explained his illness to anyone in his path. He was obviously a nice guy, but definitely sick. I wondered about him and felt sad that his drug use caused more problems for his mental health and daily interactions with others. One young man had visible twitches and made many trips to the bathroom on the bus ride home. Another yelled out in his sleep. It was enough to make me uncomfortable and I thought about the bus drivers who meet these people daily and take them onto their buses, hoping everything goes well – which it did on my buses.

On arrival in The Hat, I was met by my daughter, son-in-law, granddaughter, and this terrific sign:

It was the start to a great weekend.

As always, Lisa and I spent many hours talking about our books, marketing ideas, book awards contests, future book sales and signings, and other strategies for our respective companies - her Above 540 and my DriverWorks Ink.

It began snowing on Friday night and continued for the rest of the weekend. We visited and worked, drove through the snow, and visited and worked some more. (And I got in plenty of Grandma cuddles!)

Oh ... and we got our toenails painted! Thanks, Lisa, for the early birthday gift!

On Saturday, we had a signing event at the Coles bookstore in the mall.  Lisa signed her award-winning spiritual book Opening Up: How To Develop Your Intuition And Work With Your Angels and her new book Leap! How To Overcome Doubt, Fear And Grief & Choose The Path Of Joy. I signed two non-fiction books that I have compiled, Cream Money: Stories of Prairie People and Fun on the Farm: True Tales of Farm Life.

My granddaughter is the cutest co-signer I've ever had!

At the signing, we held each other up emotionally and spiritually when people asked about Lisa's new book, Leap! In it, she shares details of her own story and how she felt when she heard the news in August 2015 that her dad (my husband, Al) had colon cancer. She shares what that diagnosis meant in her life and how she coped with that situation at what should have been the happiest time of her life – a time of expecting her first baby.

Our entire family lived with hope from the minute that Al got sick. He chose to fight with all he had and we chose to be there beside him, doing whatever we could to keep all our spirits up and LIVE in every moment we had together. Unfortunately, in December 2015, the doctors surprised us with news that they could do no more. Al passed away two weeks later, on January 4, 2016.

In her Leap book, Lisa talks about overcoming feelings of doubt and fear as well, but mostly her story is one of carrying on through grief. She shares meditations and exercises and strategies to help readers overcome these obstacles and events in their lives.

It was tough for me to read her story, hearing my own child's pain. It was emotional for me to edit it and publish it. But she did it and I did it.

The story is difficult but important.

We know it has already helped others. 

"I am reading your new book and cannot put it down! It is filling me with the inspiration and affirmations I require. Your opening of your soul so openly in this book has me examining every inch of my own soul and filling it with love and appreciation for the journey I too am on."

We know Lisa's new book will continue to help others. And we are confident that Leap, like her first book, Opening Up, will win a book award too. It’s very well written.

So every time Lisa and I get together – as happens with my other two children and their partners – we talk, we listen, we care for each other. We miss our dad, dad-in-law and husband. We talk about him. We love him and each other. We grieve. We cry. We laugh. We hug each other. And we carry on.

Al and Deana Driver, 2013

The little one's fingers on the window were a precious sight as she looked out at the snow.

The bus leaves Medicine Hat going east only once a day. At 3:15 a.m. 

As the bus depot's answering machine's voice message says, “You heard that right; 3:15 in the morning.” You cannot buy a ticket “at this ungodly hour” – a comment that made me laugh out loud – but if you buy your ticket ahead of time, as I did, you can get on a bus driven by an experienced driver who will head out onto the highway even though it’s been snowing for three days and is still snowing, and there are warnings to stay off the highway.

It's quiet on the streets of pretty much any Canadian town or city at 2:30 in the morning. Medicine Hat is no exception.

I tried really hard to sleep while the bus driver did his job. The one kind-of-open lane of highway caused me some stress.

And it got a little worse partway home.

I did not take photos during the worst parts. I closed my eyes and said a lot of prayers.

But we made it! And I wanted to express my appreciation to the driver.

As he handed me my suitcase, which he had just pulled out from the storage compartment under the bus, I handed him a $20 bill. "I haven't taken a bus for years and I wanted to thank you for getting us here safely."

He just looked at me, so I asked him to please take it. He lifted his arm up and out a bit and asked me to "put it there", under his armpit. Ummm... okay.

As I turned and started walking away, he followed and stopped me. "Do you know that this is only the second time in 26 years that this has happened?"

"That someone gave you a tip?" I asked.

"Yes." 

"Well, you deserve it." And I left. Perplexed. I understand that people who ride the bus may not have much money but ... really? Not even a dollar? Sad.

My daughter-in-law Kelli and my youngest grandson picked me up from the bus depot and drove me home. I cherished the hugs and the "Welcome Home" sign made by my four-year-old grandson.

As I shovelled snow, I thought about the weekend and all its experiences and interactions. 

I saw this mug in Lisa's and Kyle's cupboard and I used it all weekend.

Profound and appropriate. Exactly.

Happy Birthday, Never Leave Your Wingman book!

Five years ago, on June 10, 2011, at Relay for Life in Regina, Saskatchewan we unveiled the inspiring, life-changing book Never Leave Your Wingman: Dionne and Graham Warner’s Story of Hope. 

Since then, much has changed and nothing has changed.

I am Deana Driver, author and publisher of this amazing, laughter-filled true story. I continue to celebrate this book and the people I wrote about – seven-time cancer survivor Dionne Warner and her husband/wingman Graham Warner.

Left to right: Al Driver, Dionne Warner, Deana Driver, and Graham Warner - launching the Never Leave Your Wingman book at Relay for Life, Regina, Saskatchewan on June 10, 2011.

Never Leave Your Wingman has changed thousands of lives with its inspiring messages of hope, love, and living life to the fullest. Thousands of people have changed their outlook when diagnosed with cancer, using Dionne Warner’s first-24-hours approach of “Why Me?” and then shifting it after that first 24 hours to her remarkable “Why Not Me and What Am I Going To Do About It?”

Dionne is still here. In bold, beautiful, living colours! Since the book was launched, Dionne has beaten Stage IV liver, lung and bone cancers - with strength, laughter, courage, and costumes too! She is a walking miracle.

                     

In January 2012, she was pronounced in remission. In April 2012, Dionne went back to her volunteering at the Allan Blair Cancer Centre in Regina, to help give other cancer patients hope and encouragement. Unfortunately, in August 2012, cancer was detected in Dionne's liver. Again. This was the fourth liver cancer diagnosis for her. With typical Dionne feistiness, she was signing Never Leave Your Wingman books with me at the Pasqua Hospital gift shop the very next day. She had not even given herself a full 24 hours this time to let the diagnosis sink in. Her immediate reaction had been: “It’s only one cancer this time, not four. They did not say ‘Stage 4’, and it’s not in my brain – so bring it on!”

Dionne continues to fight this latest liver cancer while continuing to inspire others with her courage, strength, and her story. She celebrated her 50^th birthday last October! She’s been fighting cancer for much of the last 20 years! Dionne continues to inspire.

The book’s title comes from a phrase (and philosophy) spoken by Graham Warner, Dionne’s husband. Shortly after Graham wooed Dionne to Regina from Toronto in 2001, she was diagnosed with her third cancer – liver cancer. They were engaged to be married at that time, but Dionne told Graham he did not have to marry her now that she was sick again. She said she would return to her family and her oncologists in Ontario and he could carry on with his life. An experienced pilot, Graham quickly replied: “You never leave your wingman.”

They have soldiered on together since, through better and worse, beating her two liver cancers and her Stage IV liver, lung and bone cancers, and now fighting liver cancer again.

In August 2015, my husband and publishing business partner Al Driver was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer. On the evening of August 20, Al had an emergency operation for what we thought would be diagnosed as a ruptured appendix. It turned out to be a tumour. Al quickly adopted Dionne Warner’s 24-hour rule and he fought his cancer as long and as hard as his body would allow. Our family shared hope, laughter and much love with him for the next four and a half months. (See my December 2015 blog post about cancer, hope, and love.) Unfortunately, on January 4, 2016, Al passed away. His body could no longer fight. 

But the story and struggle and hope and love still go on.

Much has changed and nothing has changed.

This Never Leave Your Wingman book has been a blessing to many and will continue to be a blessing and a beacon of hope for as long as it exists.

I am proud to say that I wrote it. I am proud to say that I published it. I am proud that we launched it at Relay for Life. I wish everyone at Relay for Life celebrations everywhere the best event they could ever imagine!

Our family will not be participating in Relay for Life this year. It is too soon. Too raw. Instead, we will be gathering to scatter some of Al’s ashes in the Qu’Appelle Valley this Sunday, the day that would have been his 62^nd birthday, just a week before Father’s Day. We will celebrate our Al and we will hold dear to the principles in this book. Live life to the fullest, as Al did and as Dionne and Graham continue to do. No regrets.