Hi, my name is Mike Pickering, and I want to share my ocular melanoma journey.
Like many people diagnosed with ocular melanoma, my story includes fear, uncertainty, and a lot of questions. But it has also taught me important lessons about life, family, and appreciating every day we have.
Looking back, I believe there may have been signs of this condition much earlier in my life. I remember visiting an optometrist as a child who took pictures of my eyes and mentioned that I had unusual freckles at the back of them. At the time, nothing further came of it, and I didn't think much about it again until my diagnosis decades later.
For most of my adult life, I rarely visited doctors or eye specialists. Over the years, I experienced headaches around my left eye and occasional blurred vision, but I brushed them off and carried on. Later, during the COVID pandemic, I developed heart-related symptoms and was diagnosed with significant coronary artery disease. After receiving four stents, I felt much better and assumed any lingering fatigue or headaches were simply part of recovery.
In hindsight, there were other warning signs. I sometimes noticed flashes of light while driving, especially at night. I thought it was just part of getting older and adjusted my habits accordingly.
Then, at age 59, everything changed.
One morning I woke up and could barely see out of my left eye. My wife, Beverley, and I made an appointment with an optometrist - the first eye exam I'd had in many years. Initially, there were no clear answers, but Beverley trusted her instincts and pushed for a referral to an ophthalmologist. Looking back, that persistence may have made all the difference.
After seeing an ophthalmologist and then retina specialist Dr. Varma in Regina, I received the news no one expects to hear: I had cancer in my eye.
Within weeks, we were in Calgary meeting Dr. Weis. After extensive testing, the diagnosis was confirmed - ocular melanoma wrapped around my retina.
Like many patients, my mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario. I worried about my future, my family, our finances, and most of all, what life would look like for Beverley. We had been together since high school, more than 40 years, and the thought of leaving her was overwhelming.
While we waited for treatment decisions, we tried to focus on making memories together. We even took a trip to Amsterdam, determined to enjoy the time we had and focus on what mattered most.
Eventually, we learned that plaque brachytherapy radiation would be the treatment plan. We returned to Calgary, and after surgery I spent a week recovering while the plaque remained in place. The treatment was physically challenging, but the emotional side was often harder.
Every day is different, and every day when I open my eyes I am reminded.
The uncertainty between appointments and scans was difficult not only for me, but for Beverley, our children, and our entire family. One thing that helped was finding my own source of courage. For every appointment and follow-up visit, I wear a Batman T-shirt - my lucky shirt and a reminder to stay strong.
Three months after treatment, I returned to Calgary for follow-up. By then, anxiety had taken a heavy toll. I still remember Dr. Weiss pulling up a stool beside me and speaking with genuine compassion.
He explained that while I would likely not regain vision in my affected eye, my tumour had been caught while still small. Then he shared something I desperately needed to hear: there were patients living 15 years or more after the same diagnosis.
For the first time, I felt real hope.
Since then, I have continued regular follow-ups with Dr. Weis and Dr. Varma. Their care, professionalism, and compassion have made an enormous difference throughout this journey.
Along the way, I also received some advice from my uncle that has stayed with me:
"You can only change the things you are able to change. Some things are out of your hands. Enjoy life. Enjoy Bev. We never know when our time will come."
Whenever fear or uncertainty creeps back in, I return to those words.
There have been additional health scares along the way, including surgery to remove a growth in my bladder, but I continue moving forward one step at a time. Thankfully, ongoing scans have remained clear.
One of the surprising gifts of this diagnosis is the perspective it has given me. I spend more time talking with people. I'm less rushed. I ask people what they're passionate about and share what matters most to me.
I still have a bucket list. If anyone knows Bobby Orr, I'd love to meet him someday.
Most importantly, I've learned to appreciate the people I love. Beverley is my world, and rather than worrying about tomorrow, I try to focus on today and make every day count.
My goal now is to encourage others to think about what truly matters.
If you only had 10 seconds, 10 hours, 10 days, 10 weeks, 10 months, or 10 years—what would you do to make your time count?
We all have a last day someday. But my last day is not today.
Mike Pickering
A.K.A. Batman