He was the fourth-born, a late entry to a family of three children, the oldest of whom was me. I was thirteen years old when he was born. And he was born a preemie, at seven months' gestation. I recall as though I could ever forget even 65 years later, that my mother, heavily pregnant, had fallen down the cellar steps. And I was thoroughly cursed with shrill accusations afterward, though I couldn't understand why, and still don't.

And he was partially given into my care. I changed his diapers as often as my mother did, walked him in a carriage, and did general pitch-hitting when required. My after-school duties which weren't actually burdensomely time-consuming, certainly included care of the new baby. I met my future husband a year later, and when my parents forbade me to see him because they knew and disapproved of his father who had a rather unsavoury reputation, I'd take my baby brother out in his stroller to nearby public parks, a healthy outdoor moment for him, and an opportunity for me to meet up with my forbidden boyfriend.

Four years later, once my parents realized there was little they could do to stop me from seeing the boy on whom my affection had focused, we were married. And my little baby brother, then five years of age, solemnly acted as ring-bearer at our wedding.

When, several years later, we became the proud owners of a modest semi-detached house in a new subdivision where deep ditches ran alongside the streets, my baby brother, visiting with us, would try to net minnows and frogs in the murky water.

By the time he was in his late teens he had amassed a collection of vertebrates and invertebrates, maintaining them in cages in the basement. The snakes held little interest for me, but a raccoon that he had somehow managed to persuade to throw in its lot with him, lived in the house for awhile, given free reign to creep about everywhere as long as my brother was in its immediate vicinity.

He went on to study biology at University of Toronto, majoring in botany. After graduation he accepted a position at Dalhousie University in Halifax, and has been on staff as a environmentalist specializing in botany ever since. Now, at age 65, he has retired. He had planned out future interests to be pursued. He'd long been involved with the Nature Conservancy, and other environmental groups. And latterly he'd signed on as resident biologist for Arctic trips on ships catering to the tourist trade; he thought that was a lot of fun.

Diagnosed back in November with inoperable stomach cancer, that future is evading him. He's receiving palliative care to extend his life and its quality, perhaps in terms of months. The palliative care includes chemotherapy. The first round succeeded in diminishing some secondary tumours, metastasized, spread to other organs. The second round was found, unsurprisingly, given his prognosis, to have had no effect whatever on his stomach tumours.

My brother was a robust, healthy, active man. He regularly played vigorous games of squash, hiked, did a lot of walking as an avid birdwatcher. He travelled the world in search of previously-unseen avian species. He had been, at the time of his diagnosis, completely without symptoms. He felt well, ate well, his body behaving normally. The diagnosis was a shock. The third round of a potent drug regimen set him back; left him so weak and nauseous and ill feeling that he did little but sleep.

Once that round of chemotherapy had been completed, a meeting with his oncologist and the radiologist revealed that the cancerous tumours hadn't responded positively as hoped; throughout the course of the third round, they had grown. Now off chemotherapy, and given a blood transfusion, he feels a whole lot better and has resumed some of his previous activities.

His wife has supplemented his conventional cancer treatment with herbal concoctions and a diet advised by a homeopathic practitioner who produced a patient-specific regimen, avoiding herbs that the oncologist had cautioned would have an adverse, not a positive effect, on my brother. And my brother and my sister-in-law remain both upbeat and philosophical.

That's my brother Billy...!

What more can they do?