The youngest of the four siblings in our parents' family, my brother is thirteen years my junior. When he was born my busy mother assigned me tasks related to looking after him; I learned early how to change diapers and carry babies about, so that when my own were born I felt quite at home looking after them.

Our father died of cancer at age 54, an inveterate smoker who often rolled his own with a neat little device he was quite proud of. He developed throat cancer. Surgery finally removed much of his throat and his face took on quite an adverse aspect as a result, something he would prefer to hide, but could not. He also volunteered in the later stages of his cancer for experimental therapeutic treatments, speaking candidly of himself as a guinea pig who didn't want to die. But he did, in agonizing pain.

Our mother developed two many-years-apart colon cancer episodes for both of which she had surgery, neither of which took her life. She died of the effects of frontal-lobe dementia at age 84.

My brother, an environmental scientist and professor of botany, is on the cusp of retiring. He still plays regular games of competitive squash and he always wins. He's an avid bird-watcher, a true nature-lover. He is active, and in excellent health.  Something the oncologist noted as he confirmed the diagnosis and said he was unable to give any kind of prognosis, even though the cancer had spread and surgery was not possible. My brother presented as atypical, no warning, no symptoms, nothing at all.

He had himself simply noticed one evening, what appeared to be a lump on his abdomen wall. So he is now undergoing chemotherapy. Which has transformed him from his usual robust healthy self to someone experiencing constant nausea, though he's been able to eat and generally feels well enough. Enough so to go to his university office regularly. He has three active manuscripts in the works, one almost ready for publication, on the history of Sable Island.

He has always been a jolly temperamented man, and that hasn't changed. His deep-throated chuckle that I so love is still there. He loves a good joke and never hesitates with his playful language, confusing to people until they realize that's his type of humour; good-natured and low-key, a social clown.

His wife is optimistic and clings to the hope that she will not soon become a widow. Her voice is strong and positive.

And, in fact, so is his.