Category Archives: Stories of a Life

Stories of a Life | Oct. 31st | Raymond’s Surgery Day

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Saturday, October 31 2025, Raymond is admitted to VGH for a radical prostatectomy

As I’ve written previously, on Friday, October 31 2025, I was admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital for a radical prostatectomy, in response to my Stage 4 prostate cancer. My prostate would be removed over the course of a 3½ hour surgery.

My friend Susan Walsh drove me to the hospital, leaving at 8:45am, arriving at VGH at 9am, where she dropped me off.

I climbed the stairs on the west side of the Jim Pattison Pavilion, just off Laurel Street, and upon entering the building walked down the long corridor towards the Admitting desk, where a woman behind a glass enclosure told me that my arrival was expected. Next, I was directed to an elevator leading to the third floor,  and ushered into a carrel, with curtains on three sides, and given a blue gown to wear, a new, softer gown construction less given to exposing a patient’s body. I then climbed into what I found to be a quite comfy bed, the back of the bed tilted up.

No sooner was I comfy in my bed than a young woman in her 30s approached the carrel, my bed and me, introducing herself as Jen, the lead nurse on my upcoming prostate cancer surgery, that was planned to start 75 minutes hence.

Staring directly at me, Jen said …

“Cholangeo, huh?” ‘Yep’, I replied. “You know, Raymond, every other patient I’ve worked with who had been diagnosed with cholangeo died, yet here you are, looking pretty darn fit, and in good shape and quite ready for your upcoming cancer surgery. Why is it that you are here, lying in your comfortable bed, full of vim and vigour, when all of the other cholangeo patients who suffered from your cholangeo diagnosis are long gone, expiring within weeks or months. Gone. Dead.”

“A miracle,” I said. After which I explained what had occurred in the year of my discontent in being diagnosed and treated for my Hilar cholangeocarinoma.

“Well, I’m glad you’re still with us,” Jen said. “I’ll see you in the operating room in about an hour. I’ll be the one keeping an eye on the doctors to make sure that all goes well. You can count on me.”

An Explanatory Digression

Hilar cholangeocarinoma. A bit of background. On October 7th, 2016 I was diagnosed with Hilar cholangiocarcinoma by Dr. Fergal Donnellan.

Weekly for the next six months I attended at VGH where Dr. Donnellan installed a stent in my bile duct. By Christmas, I was in palliative care at St. John’s Hospice at the University of British Columbia. Apparently, I was a goner, the tests definitive.

Problem was, I felt pretty great (October 2016 was the worst month of pain I had ever experienced), in January 2017 attending the Women’s March — with Gwen Giesbrecht, currently running with COPE for a position on the Vancouver School Board, and longtime DTES community activist Wendy Pedersen, and her then 11-year-old daughter — to protest the election of Donald Trump as U.S. President.

Long story short, my family physician, Dr. Brad Fritz, assigned me to meet with VGH urology specialist and surgeon Dr. Andrzej  Buczkowski to review my case.

In early January 2017, Dr. Buczkowski showed me the results of several MRIs, CT scans and PET scans, which showed from the neck down,  the lymph nodes in my body were a flaming red, the bile duct cancer having spread throughout my body. Dr. Buczkowski expressed surprise that I looked healthy, and fit, when given the surfeit of tests I had been subjected to for months indicated I should be dead.

Over the course of the next two months, I was tested and re-tested, ending up on an operating table at Vancouver General Hospital at 6am on Friday morning, March 7 2017, where from 6am to 3pm, Dr. Donnellan rooted around in my body looking for the cancer spread — the results of the tests conducted by Dr. Buczkowski indicated that my bile duct cancer had disappeared. At 3pm, I was wheeled to a ward, still fast asleep, and still under the effects of the anaesthetic I had been given.

At 4:30pm, standing at the foot of my bed, Dr. Donnellan voiced what he told me later were the three most difficult words he had ever expressed: “It’s a miracle!” My cancer was gone, there was absolutely no trace of my cancer anywhere, not in my liver, pancreas, gall bladder, lungs, or bile duct. And so it has remained until, and I expect beyond, this day.

My friend Margery Duda, a longtime community pools advocate (whom Kareem Allam must meet), picked me up from the hospital to ferry me home.

I’ll write about the entire journey of my Hilar cholangeocarinoma in days to come.

Jen and I spoke for about 10 minutes, after which she departed, where upon three of her nurse colleagues who would be attending at my surgery approached my carrel to introduce themselves. Next up, my surgeon, a cheerful Dr. Miles Mannas and three of his urologist colleagues dropped by my carrel, as well as two oncologists who had been supervising my case, three anesthesiologists and the two doctors who would be conducting my upcoming, precise, robotic surgery.

At 10:25am I was wheeled into the operating room for my radical prostatectomy that, unlike the “photo” above (created with Gemini AI), appeared to be the size of a football field. I was approached by the lead anesthesiologist, with whom I had met previously, in preparation for my prostate cancer surgery. “I am going to apply the anesthetic now,” he said. And I was out like a light.

The surgery lasted until late afternoon, after which I was wheeled to a recovery ward, where I was attended to for the next 12 hours by an absolutely tremendous nurse — with a wry and wicked sense of humour — and very well cared for.

Alasdair and Fergus walking down Waterloo Street towards Almond Park

At 10am on Saturday morning, my friend Alasdair and his son Fergus (about whom I wrote on Tuesday) arrived to pick me up and take me home, where I remained bed-ridden for the next three months, continuing the worst part of my recovery through early June, cared for by Nick Ellan, Alasdair, his bride Meaghan (and their two children, Fergus and Elliott), my neighbours Heather, Judi, Kevin and Laurie — and all other members of my housing co-op, for that matter, about which circumstance, I will write several times over the coming weeks and months — my good friend Kelly Ryan, and the dog we share, Teague the schnauzer wonder dog.

Teague the schnauzer wonder dog, my constant and much loved companion

VanRamblings Weighs In On Raymond’s Health. Pt. 3

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To access Part One of my 2025 health update click here.

Part Two of my three-part health update may be found here.

I left you hanging yesterday. Sorry.

March and the early part of April this year proved to be the most painful period I have experienced in my life since October 2016, with my first cancer.

In early March, upon arriving home from a week’s vacation in Halifax visiting her mother, Kelly texted me from the airport to ask how I was doing. I told her I was in a great deal of pain, but I was going to tough it out. Despite having been up since 4:30am that morning, flying across the country, arriving back in Vancouver at 4pm, rather than drive home to be with her children, Kelly drove directly to my home, telling me, “Get in the car. I’m going to take you to UBC Hospital,” which she did.

UBC Hospital Admitting considered my situation to be an emergency, proceeding to immediately wheel me onto an emergency room bed, where I was seen by a doctor, who ordered the first of many CT scans, diagnosing me with a particularly severe case of diverticultis — which had hospitalized me in the autumn of 2023.

Diverticulitis can be, and proved to be in my case, a particularly painful gastrointestinal disorder characterized by inflammation of abnormal pouches — diverticula — that develops in the wall of the large intestine, causing severe lower abdominal pain, and could and would in my case worsen in intensity over the next week.

By the time I was diagnosed — with a distressingly painful catheter now inserted (which would remain in place for 6 weeks), I suggested to Kelly, as she sat by my side, that she must be beat, it was 1:30am Nova Scotia time, over the past 15 hours she’d flown across the country, and spent the last 5 hours by my side.

Given that I was now admitted to hospital, I assured Kelly that I’d be fine, and well cared by the attending physician, nurses, hospital staff and by my family doctor, who would visit me the next morning. As the hospital had provided with me with medication to lessen the pain, now was the time, I suggested to her, she return home to her family, and we’d talk the next morning.

Over the next two weeks, following a series of new CT scans, UBC Hospital changed its diagnosis to nephrolithiasis.

Nephrolithiasis specifically refers to calculi in the kidneys, commonly referred to as kidney stones. Renal calculi and ureteral calculi (ureterolithiasis) are often discussed in conjunction. Ureteral calculi originate in the kidneys, and as they grow can be lodged in the ureter. Genetic, metabolic, and environmental factors can contribute to stone formation. The majority of renal calculi contain calcium. The pain generated by renal colic is primarily caused by dilation, stretching, and spasm because of the acute ureteral obstruction.

I was told I would need surgery to remove a plethora of large kidney stones that were not only lodged in my intestines, but impacted and in my urethra, as well. That surgery occurred on April 9th at the Vancouver General Hospital. The attending surgeon removed a large kidney stone lodged in my uretha. Within the next hour, I passed 20 large kidney stones, and 20 somewhat smaller kidney stones.


Ocean Dental in Cancún, Mexico, providing high-quality dentistry (considered to be the best in North America) at a fraction of the cost, from 50% to 70% lower than in the United States and Canada.

The next day I got on a plane to fly to Cancún, Mexico for dental surgery, as I had arranged months earlier, that in Canada would cost me between seven and nine thousand dollars, but in Mexico — including air fare, accommodation, dental surgery preparation, X-Rays and examinations, extraction of an infected molar, periodontal surgery to repair infected gums, and the insertion of a state-of-the-art titanium tooth implant, the total came to $2700, while my companion, Nick Ellan and I, enjoyed wonderful four or five star Mexican cuisine each morning and evening. Although not particularly restful, I was grateful for the cost saving.

Note in passing: yes, I know many would consider it near insane for me to get on a plane, fly to another country for invasive dental surgery, following six weeks in bed / in hospital in Canada, and surgery to remove very painful kidney stones, that while still in pain, and very weak, nowhere near recovered, I would travel 6,333 kilometres away from home, from my doctors in Vancouver, and from safety.

I will write about my incredibly wonderful experience in Cancún, and a first rate relationship with Ocean Dental in another post. Suffice to say, I was very pleased.

In the months since mid-April, I have continued hormone treatment for my prostate cancer, with Jonathan Ma, and my uro-oncologist, Dr. Miles Mannas, had another biopsy (I’m still recovering), have worked with my skilled dentist / dental surgeon, Dr. Sandy Ko, who last month built a bone graft to facilitate the placement of another tooth implant this upcoming January — as a 31 year very appreciative patient of Dr. Ko, and given my impecunious circumstance, Dr. Ko is matching the price for the tooth implant charged by the UBC Dental Clinic. Next month, Dr. Ko will place a crown over the tooth implant I received in Mexico. Next June, I will have a crown placed over the tooth implant that will be inserted in January.

In addition to the above, I suffer from debilitating neuropathy, that makes it both difficult to walk, and to keep my balance (I have an almost complete loss of balance, standing in the shower is difficult, I am unsteady … no fun, let me tell you); have arthritis in my hands that makes it difficult to type; my Type 2 diabetes and once high A1C / blood sugar count is now pretty much under control; high blood pressure that is, for the most part, now under control; my two concerning heart conditions; and the ever concerning cancerous state of my prostate, with attendant constant fatigue and woeful lack of energy, intermittent pain — gastrointestinal distress (a near constant upset stomach leading to an utter lack of appetite, a concerning weight loss, a 60 pound weight loss in the past year) — such that I have to force myself to eat in order to remain healthy, headaches, hives, gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), ever worsening atopic dermatitis, and more. 

Let me leave you with two thoughts, one quite bracing, the first one from my daughter Megan, the person who loves me most in this world.

“Any discussion of your health is nothing more than a morbid plea for undeserved sympathy.“

From my friend, Vancouver School Board trustee, Christopher Richardson …

“Raymond, you and I suffer from the same malady. On the surface, both of us look healthy, when that is far from the case. From my COPD — which often makes it hard for me to breathe, or catch my breath, and the lack of energy attendant to my health disorder — and your prostate cancer and heart conditions, the two of us couldn’t look more healthy, when both of us know that is not our reality.

Both of us are high energy men, we’re driven, in our daily lives we set about to accomplish much, to contribute. But we do that because that’s who we are, despite our various debilitating health issues that make our work in the community ever more difficult. Still, how spiritually satisfying it is for the both of us that we can, and feel we must continue in our work to make a difference for the better.”

This year I am seventy-five years of age. At one time that was considered old. But not any more. Dr. Brad Fritz tells me I’ve got another 15 good years in me, that I will make it through my current troubling health circumstances to live a long and productive life, I should not worry, that I am in good hands, receiving the best of care, whether it’s with him, Dr. Miles Mannas or Dr. Sandy Ko. Vivas tempore et bene sit.

VanRamblings Weighs In On Raymond’s Health. Pt. 2

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Part One of my 2025 health update may be found here.

At my December 5th, 2024 appointment with Dr. Brad Fritz, my family physician for the past 42 years, while addressing the issue of my prostate cancer diagnosis and the necessity for an immediate MRI following an alarming late November PSA — prostate-specific antigen — blood test, arrangements were made for a follow up bone scan to determine if the cancer had spread (as it has for former president Joe Biden), with a prostate biopsy to follow.

In addition to the prostate cancer, I told Dr. Fritz that throughout the autumn I had been passing out / falling a great deal, in the shower, when walking across my living room, and when leaving my apartment. The issue was that I was passing out for just a second before “coming to”, before getting my bearings.

Dr. Fritz told me that he thought that my passing out was related to my heart, and immediately made an appointment at UBC Hospital for me for an EKG (electrocardiogram), a test to check my heart for the aberrant electrical activity, such as an irregular heartbeat (arrhythmias), atrial fibrillation, heart attack, heart failure, blocked or narrowed heart arteries, and enlarged heart. The EKG was also to check for damage to my heart muscle, and assess the effectiveness of heart medications or devices like pacemakers, and investigate symptoms like chest pain, dizziness, or shortness of breath. An appointment for an EKG at UBC Hospital was set for Christmas Eve, at 4:30pm.

On December 24th, I entered the lobby of a near deserted UBC Hospital, taking the eleevator to the second floor, where I waited outside the office that had an EKG sign to the right of the door. I waited 15 minutes before the technician came out and invited me into the his clinic offer for the EKG, having me take of all of my top clothing, before have my lie down on a bed. Moving the EKG machine into place, electrodes attached, a thorough 20-minute electrocardiogram commenced. To say that the technician was alarmed at the result would be to understate the matter, as he asked me a series of questions, “Are you alright? Will you be able to stand? Do you think we should admit you to the hospital.” I assured him that I was fine, and would make my way home, after which I walked to the bus “loop” at UBC, and took the #9 Broadway bus home, settling in on my sofa to watch the news.

No sooner had I settled in than Dr. Fritz called me, sounding frantic (Brad is one of the most calm and centered persons I have ever met, so his “behaviour” I found to be unusual and out of character). Long story short, Dr. Fritz told me I was a candidate for a heart attack or stroke, that one of my arteries was clogged, that he’d left a message for my pharmacy to provide me with two medications he’d prescribed. Brad Fritz told me that if felt at all ill, I should call 911 and have an ambulance pick me up, and he’d meet me at Vancouver General Hospital. I told Brad I felt fine.

Turns out that in addition to the atrial fibrillation, I have a blockage in one of my arteries. Dr. Fritz told me that surgery is not an option, because if the blockage becomes unstuck, it could very well travel to my brain, and it’d be lights out for me. I tell ya, that kind of news sure makes for a happy Christmas season.

My pharmacy did not open until December 28th, the date I picked up my two prescribed medications. I already had a pulse oximeter, but purchased a Kardiamobile which records and analyzes a single-lead, medical-grade electrocardiogram (EKG) in 30 seconds employing my smartphone, allowing me to detect my heart arrhythmia (atrial fibrillation, AFib), as well as bradycardia (slow heart rate) and tachycardia (fast heart rate), all in the comfort of my home.

The Kardiamobile confirmed that I had atrial fibrillation (my heart rate would spike to 140 beats a minute), as well as (months later) bradycardia, which first came to my attention when my pulse oximeter indicated I had a pulse rate of 36 beats a minute, confirmed by my Kardiamobile.

I will note here that I felt fine then, and I feel fine now, despite my prostate cancer and two heart conditions. As I wrote yesterday, I feel fatigued throughout the day, am sleeping a great deal more than I usually do, and have some trouble performing basic households tasks, like making breakfast or dinner, making my bed, doing the wash, or vacuuming and washing my floors.

Throughout late January and February all proceeded as it should. My prostate cancer was under control, I was under the care of not only Dr. Fritz and Dr. Miles Mannas, my uro-oncologist, but a fine fellow by the name of Jonathan Ma, who is the Vancouver co-ordinator for the Guns Study — or genomic biomarker-selected umbrella neoadjuvant study for high risk localized prostate cancer trial — as well as the fine women in the prostate cancer supportive care centre.

Then all hell broke loose in early March, with hospitalization, five weeks of immense pain, a painful catheter throughout this entire period, surgery (not the kind that would knock me out), a flight to Cancún for dental surgery (again, I was not knocked out, I just fell asleep during the procedure), a loss of balance (thank you neuropathy), Type 2 diabetes, a tremendous weight loss, a new computer so I can post to VanRamblings (my old computer died) again, hives, and …

Come back tomorrow for the thrilling, heart wrenching, hopeful conclusion of Raymond’s 2025 Health Update. See you back here then.

VanRamblings Weighs In On Raymond’s Health. Pt. 1

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One year ago today I was diagnosed with prostate cancer by my family physician of 42 years, the phenomenally skilled Dr. Brad (“call me Brad”) Fritz, who in 2016 also diagnosed me with my first rare form of terminal cancer, hilar cholangiocarcinoma, more commonly known as Klatskin’s tumour, a type of bile duct cancer.

My latest cancer diagnosis arose from a concerning PSA — prostate-specific antigen — blood test, an early detection of prostate cancer, that would require an MRI, followed by a biopsy of my prostate, to confirm Dr. Fritz’s diagnosis. 

At the time, I was told that there would be a 3 month wait for an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) test. By month’s end, I was told that the wait for an MRI was one year, and offered the opportunity to have a $2500 MRI at a privately operated clinic, not covered nor funded by the province’s public medicare system.

My annual income is $25,000. I would require more than one MRI. Paying privately for an MRI was simply out of the question.

I thought to myself, as a long time supporter of the NDP, “If David Eby or Adrian Dix were diagnosed with prostate cancer, would they have to wait a year for an MRI?” Not likely,  I thought. Neither did I believe that either of these two gentlemen would avail themselves of a private MRI, given the optics of the situation.

As such, my coverage of last autumn’s provincial election took on a distinctively — and utterly out of character — harsh tone on VanRamblings.

Note should be made that prostate cancer is the most common form of cancer for men, with a five year survival rate of 90% for most forms of prostate cancer, and 37-50% for Stage 4 cancer. I kept thinking to myself, “What if I have Stage 4 cancer —which proved to be the case — if I have to wait a year for an MRI, and longer than that for a prostate biopsy, what are the chances I would even be around for an MRI appointment a year from the date of my original diagnosis?”

I spoke with the constituency staff in David Eby’s office — he’s my MLA, I’ve worked on all of his campaigns — who shrugged when I told them of my dilemma, telling me there was nothing they could do for me, I’d just have to wait.

I will note that the response of David’s constituency staff on this occasion was completely out of character for any of his past, or present, constituency staff, a one time aberration for an overworked constituency staff, too often subject to concerning — often fear inducing — protests outside of his constituency office.

My friend Kelly Ryan — a one-time host of CBC’s As It Happens — was none-too-pleased with the response of David Eby’s constituency staff. Neither was she overly pleased with the level of Dr. Fritz’s advocacy — who I believe and know to be the best, most caring, most skilled and most competent doctor in the city, who has always been an advocate of the first order for me, dating back to 1983.

As the weeks went by, Kelly (“Men! They just don’t know how to take care of themselves. They require a strong woman to advocate for them”) insisted I make a follow up appointment with Dr. Fritz, which occurred on December 5th, an appointment to which she accompanied me, none-too-happy about the circumstance, nor Dr. Fritz. I had a PSA test conducted at the LifeLabs clinic across the street from Dr. Fritz’s office, the week before my December 5th appointment.

Sitting in Dr. Fritz’s office, he expressed alarm. The results of my PSA test was off the charts, requiring immediate emergency action on his part. Right then and there, he contacted VGH and attempted to make an emergency MRI appointment for me. Fortunately, there was a cancellation in the prostate clinic biopsy clinic at VGH the next morning at 3:35am, which I was more than happy to attend.

The three MRI technicians who performed the MRI were outstanding. Dr. Fritz received the results of the MRI later that week, and made an early January appointment with uro-oncologist Dr. Miles Mannas (“Raymond, he’s the best. That’s why I’m referring you to him. If, as I believe will prove to be the case, you require surgery to remove your prostate, he’s the most skilled surgeon, and will provide you with the very best care. You’ll be in good hands with Dr. Mannas”).

Dr. Fritz made an appointment for me with Dr. Mannas for early January of this year. Dr. Mannas, in turn, made an appointment for me for a bone scan at VGH, to determine if the prostate cancer had spread. Even before my appointment with him, and the biopsy he would conduct, Dr. Mannas believed that I had prostate cancer. The only question was, how severe was the prostate cancer?

The good news. The bone scan indicated the prostate cancer had not spread into my bones, unlike poor Joe Biden (who, given the results of his bone scan, indicating spread, has 5 – 7 years to live). The not-so-good news: my Gleason score was 9, as bad a score as is possible (no one has a Gleason score of 10). The prostate cancer was so severe that neither radiation nor chemotherapy would be offered. The only route: surgery, preceded by months of hormone therapy. Surgery to remove my prostate is schedule for mid-November.

One of my concerns about the surgery — my second surgery ever, my first surgery the removal of my tonsils at age 4 — was the loss of my sexuality, long an important part of my life. That concern was soon put to rest. With the 4 apalutimide tablets I take each morning, along with 4 Zytiga tablets — each of the tablets is huge, and hard to swallow — as well as the prednisone tablet Dr. Mannas has prescribed that I take each morning, all of the testosterone in my body has been knocked  out, my sexuality gone, obliterated.  And you know what: it’s no big deal, I had nothing to fear or be concerned about. In fact, it’s kind of a relief. I have been very, very lucky in my love life to have been loved by strong, beautiful women of accomplishment and great intelligence, and consider myself to have been very, very fortunate in my romantic and sexual life.

The other salutary result of the medication I’m on: my latest PSA test indicated a negligible result, perfect for my upcoming prostate surgery.

The down side to all the medication I’m on (more on that tomorrow) is that I am constantly fatigued, have a difficult time getting out of bed in the morning, and conducting the affairs of my life. To some great extent, I have become incompetent in the conduct of my life, when for many years I considered myself to be “a man’s man,” able to take on any chore, with a ready approach to any challenge.

No more.

Fortunately, in addition to acting as the best possible advocate for me lo these many months, my friend (and saviour) Kelly Ryan has afforded me the opportunity to “co-parent” Teague the dog, only the friendliest, most loving waggly tail dog in the whole world, a loyal companion who I take for several walks a day most days, when I might otherwise remain prone on my bed fatigued and lifeless all day long, my iPad by my side, who resides with me on occasion — as he did for most of July and early August, and for much of this past week.

Writing on VanRamblings, keeping up with daily posting has become all but impossible. The only things that keeps me active on VanRamblings are the prospect of Kareem Allam becoming Vancouver’s next Mayor — a man I believe to be brilliant, skilled, humane and well-schooled, the most sophisticated political operative I have met in the 60+ years I have covered politics, a charismatic political figure — who believes in and practices the politics of joy — who fills me with hope for our world, who I believe will emerge as a transformational Mayor for our city next year, as well as our nation and perhaps beyond in the years to come, our best Mayor since Philip Owen, or going back to the 70s, Art Phillips.

And for the next six weeks, writing about the Vancouver International Film Festival, long our window on the world, and most cherished arts festival.

In the past, whether covering municipal, provincial or federal politics, or my most beloved VIFF, it was not unusual for me to dedicate 20 hours a day attending political events or festival screenings, arriving home to write about each until 5am, creating videos, or transcribing interviews. No more.

I am all but bereft of energy.

I have 8 weeks remaining on my daily regimen of apalutimade, Zytiga and prednisone — which Dr. Mannas tells me is at the seat of my daily fatigue / lack of energy  — in the lead up to my mid-November prostate surgery. Post surgery, it will probably be another 6 to 8 months before any semblance of energy returns.

How do I feel? I feel lucky. I feel fortunate to have a roof over my head within a housing co-op I have called home for 41 years this year. I feel fortunate to be surrounded by my Co-op neighbours, the finest people it has ever been my good fortune to work and enjoy life with, who couldn’t be more supportive and caring. I feel gratitude to VanRamblings’ many readers who hang in with me despite all.

Now, Dan Fumano — PostMedia’s first rate civic affairs reporter — will be disappointed with me (as will Charlie Smith, the once upon a time superb editor of The Georgia Straight) for writing at too great a length today. “Raymond, keep your columns at 750 words. Any longer than that and you’ll lose readers.” I proffer an apology to Dan, to Charlie and to you.

Sadly, my prostate cancer is the least of my health woes. More tomorrow.