It was back in 2017 when Steve Lynch first noticed a little spot on the white part (the sclera) of his right eye.
“It wasn’t alarming to me or anything,” he said in a recent interview. “I didn’t have any pain. It didn’t affect my vision. But the weird thing was if I sneezed a couple of times, my eye would go bloodshot.”
For the longtime islander, 71, known to many as a past Hastings House executive chef, Bay Window Restaurant chef, a ferry deckhand later in life and for beautiful gardens maintained with his wife Trudy Lynch, the term “weird” would become the norm as he was ultimately diagnosed with conjunctival melanoma. Identifying the disease took some time in part because the bloodshot condition obscured the problem, but a suspicion about cancer led to a consultation with Vancouver specialist Dr. Katherine Paton, who made the diagnosis in 2019.
“I saw her on a Tuesday, and she said, ‘We’re going to have to do surgery on Thursday. Okay?’”
Dr. Paton explained that Steve had a rare form of cancer — affecting one in 2.5 million people — but she had good news as well.
“Most people that have melanoma in their eye, it’s in the back of their eye, and by the time you have any symptoms, you’re hooped, because it’s gone to your liver or your lungs or wherever,” Steve recalled her saying.
Dr. Paton explained that the surgery would involve removing pretty much the entire conjunctiva, described as being like Saran wrap that goes over the front of the eye. She said that would be followed by three cycles of chemotherapy because of the high chance of the cancer recurring.
Unfortunately, what followed wasn’t that straightforward.
For one thing, the chemotherapy was administered in the form of eye drops. The rareness of Steve’s condition was underscored when he went to pick up the drops at the B.C. Cancer Agency and the staff person said, “Oh, you must be Steve. You’re the only one in the province getting these right now.”
Responsibility for applying the drops fell to Trudy.
“She basically had to be in a complete hazmat suit — gloves, eye protection, mask, full suit — and anything that she was wearing when she was giving me the drops had to be disposed of at the hospital.”
For Steve, “It was literally like putting Tabasco in your eye, and I would know that it was time for the next eye drop when the eye finally quit hurting.”
When he returned to Dr. Paton’s office after the end of the second cycle, she advised against doing the third due to the angry state of his eye. Steve was treated for a suspected infection, but a sensation of having a scratch on his cornea persisted. That led him to see cornea specialist Dr. Alfonso Iovenio, who determined the chemotherapy drops had killed most of his limbus — the ring of cells around the iris. A different kind of eye drop was made using his own blood — at a cost of about $400 every six weeks, which wasn’t covered by insurance — but the irritation continued, and he was eventually switched to a steroidal lubricating drop.
Then in January of 2024, at a follow-up visit with Dr. Paton, she said, “Oh, that’s actually really changed. The cancer has gone on to your eyelids now, and that’s really rare. That’s one in about six million.”
An MRI determined the cancer had not spread, and a slot with orbital surgeon Dr. Vivian Yin was requested.
Two months later, in March 2024, he developed a hole in his cornea. As much as this was a huge problem, it was also a blessing, as it introduced him to Dr. Hall Chew. Steve describes Dr. Chew as “the most caring doctor that I have ever encountered.” Dr. Chew patched Steve’s cornea and then went on to arrange the rest of the follow-up that was required.
In early May of 2024, Steve received an email advising that his surgery date with Dr. Yin was set for the following week.
Steve recalls how the procedure was described in the email as “lid-sparing orbital exenteration.” The term “exenteration” was not familiar to him, so he looked it up. Trudy was outside at the time and he called her to the door. “I said, ‘Uh, you need to come here. They’re taking my eye out next Wednesday.’”
The surgery went well. The pathology report later detailed how one tumour was about half an inch (12 mm) wide, and another was a third of an inch (eight mm) wide, but he was cancer-free.
The next step was to have a prosthetic eye made and fitted, which proved to be a super interesting and positive experience thanks to the team at Marie Allen Ocularist in Burnaby. Marie’s father Ray Allen was also an ocularist, and her husband Rob Drennan and their daughter Heather Meszaros are now part of the practice. While Ray Allen is retired, he ended up participating in Steve’s case, which made it even more special for him and Trudy.
“You’ve got to basically be a sculptor,” explained Steve, adding that the discussions about colour accuracy, for example, were fascinating. “They probably spent an hour and a half just subtly changing the colour of the white part of my orbital prosthesis.”
“It’s just beyond amazing,” he added.
Like any complex medical journey, some experiences were extremely frustrating — such as the long waits in specialists’ offices — and other experiences were baffling — like being discharged from the hospital only two hours after his eye was removed. Travelling to Victoria and Vancouver was exhausting. During the Covid restriction period, Trudy couldn’t accompany Steve into his appointments, sometimes having to sit in a parking lot for up to nine hours.
Particularly aggravating was the relentless number of “pirate” comments people made about his wearing of a black eyepatch. He would be compelled to respond with comments like, “At least I don’t have cancer anymore,” or “You think I’m wearing this because I want to?” Trudy took care of responding to the two Costco employees who one day said, “Step aside, pirate coming through!” as they walked by. She admits now that she was not very kind.
They both stress how comments should never be made about a person wearing an eyepatch — even if it bears a Vancouver Canucks logo like the one Lynch would wear for luck on game days.
But they also received above-and-beyond support along the way, like from the staff at the Rosedale on Robson Suite Hotel, where they always stayed, and many others involved in Steve’s care and treatment.
“There have been some highlights amid all the bad stuff,” said Trudy, “like some people who have really helped make it better. But I wouldn’t want to wish the journey that he’s been on on anyone.”
They have so far met three other people with artificial eyes living on Salt Spring, and have appreciated them sharing their experiences. All along, Steve has authorized the use of images and his case history to advance understanding of ocular cancer. (See sidebar for one illustrative anecdote.)
In giving photos to the Allen family of ocularists, he said, “I don’t care whether anyone is looking at my face. I don’t care whether they’re looking at my eye. If you’re using it for teaching, or however you want to use it, feel free if it’s going to help somebody.”
Steve also urges people to not delay in having any anomaly or irritation with an eye investigated.
“If you have something that looks weird in your eye, go have it checked out. I had no idea you could get melanoma in your eye. It turns out melanoma is the one cancer you can get anywhere. Everybody thinks it’s skin cancer, but it does livers, it does lungs, it does brains, it does eyes — it does the whole thing.”
Steve says he is happy to have all the medical adventures behind him and to finally be free of cancer — and pain — after seven years.