Author Archives: Catherine Brunelle

Prosthetic Breast

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

My mom is packing for Canada. I can’t imagine this taking too long, she’s been living out of a suit case for the past six weeks. But then again, it’s my mom – and when does a job, she does it right. So I may have a little while to type.


But today I won’t talk about how Mom is leaving after six weeks of being here, giving her love and support. And I won’t mention how incredibly grateful I feel to have spent this time with her. So there is no point saying she’s incredible, and I’ll never be able to thank her enough.

There is time for all that tomorrow, because tomorrow I’ll probably be thinking of nothing else.  (Last time my mom flew out from Heathrow, I left her at the departure area and returned home on the bus. Once home, I realized I had no key for the apartment. Being locked out I tried to call Zsolt, but my phone had no credit. While heading to the shop in order to add credit (couldn’t do it on the bank machine because I didn’t have a card with me, just cash), I dropped my phone down five flights of stairs. Suffice to say, I cried like a baby once Zsolt asked, “how you doing?” and it wasn’t because I was locked out, or dropped my phone, or was exhausted – it was all about my momma. But on the plus side, I can absolutely say that those basic Nokia phones are tough stuff. FIVE flights of stairs!)

Anyhow, I won’t go into any of that. Not even a little bit.


Today we did something fun, and now I understand why men love breasts.

Grabbing a taxi to the hospital, Mom, Zsolt and I called in on the breast care nurse (I had an appointment). We were taken into a room with many boxes – similar to the back of a shoe store, only more hospital-esque, and were asked to take a seat. The nurse then asked me to pull out my bra, which I did (giant A cup mastectomy bra) and we began to try on prosthetic breasts (I tried, others watched; it was a group effort).

I had to swap my pre-bought bra for an on hand sampler because my bra had padding. Therefore, I was wearing a non-padded bra, and we were slipping in different size prosthetic breasts.

What does a fake boob feel like?  It’s a bit like a Ziploc back sealed with water inside. . . if you hold the bag up and touch the bottom where all the water pools . . . it’s kind of that sensation, only softer. Anyhow, it feels good. Really smooth to the finger.

Trying on, trying on – a little smaller, a little bigger, a little here, a little there . . . till we hit the perfect shape.

“Run your hands over both breasts. Give them a good feel,” suggested the nurse. Wow, did that ever feel good. Not like “ohhhh yeah” good. GOOD. It felt real, really real. Had I not known otherwise, it’d be easy to forget there was a difference between the two sides (except for the temperature). And I was fascinated, I could have spent the entire day stroking this soft boob that wasn’t really mine. Not mine, but mine.

So I get the fascination. Mind you, I still don’t have an urge to oogle or stroke anyone else’s breast . . .

Summary: fun day boob shopping. It was a good change.

[Upcoming preview: next week Zsolt’s parents will arrive, shortly followed by his sister Anita and Berci-in-law. Who will sleep where? How much Hungarian will Catherine remember? And will Zsolt be able to work on his thesis? ]

Gold star for Zsolt

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Zsolt has a new talent.


Because I’m receiving my first round of chemo treatments every two weeks instead of three, I need to receive a shot every day, for seven days following the therapy (actually I start on the Monday with these shots, which means my body is still immune deficient for the first weekend).

Therefore Zsolt has learned to use a needle.

Gross. When we were married, there wasn’t a line stating: I promise to inject you on a daily basis with a prefilled syringe.  If vows were that specific we’d still be in the ceremony, with the crowd long gone.  However he’s been a very good sport.

Apart from his initial joke about “getting to stab me” (hmm), he’s handled it well. One of the district nurses stopped by and showed him how to insert and inject the needle (45 degree angle, into the side of my leg. We had planned on injecting the stomach till the nurse reviewed the instructions and realized that wasn’t necessary. Thank goodness. ). Then Zsolt geared up, pinch a bit of flesh and let the needle slide. It’s a tiny thing, so the insertion isn’t terrible though the injection is a definitely off putting, but isn’t it always?

Anyhow, he was very professional. I chalk this up to his stellar scientific training. All that work with expensive laser equipment has finally paid off through a steady hand under pressure.

Gold star for Zsolt. Keep up the good work, hon!

(and double points for him, because Zsolt has slowly been eliminating the plastic from our lives. First he replaced the plastic water filer with a glass Brita jug, and now he’s gone and obtained a glass kettle. We’re almost like the Jetsons in this house with our cool gadgets. )

Tomorrow is boob day. We’ll be going to the hospital so I can pick up a spare breast. Maybe they’re offered in sherbet colours, though I doubt that. Actually, I don’t like sherbet. Gelato is wayyy better.

Wake up!

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Funny what writing can bring. I was just typing out a letter to a friend back in Canada who has been thought a similar situation, thanking her for giving me some tips on coping with chemotherapy (Thanks again!), when I looked at a photograph she sent me, and thought – Yeah, I want that.

It’ s a picture of some loons on her lake. This is a lake right by her home, I think she can even see it from her kitchen window. And when I think of that picture, and I think of how she’s moved past her illness and whatever setbacks ensued to find a ‘good place’ like that – and I don’t mean ‘location, location, location’ but the ability to really appreciate her circumstances. . . well, I’m left inspired.

INSPIRED.

And this is the thing I decided while writing my facebook reply. After this chemo bullshit is all over and done with (and hopefully even before) I am not going to let anything stop my from loving life. I mean – I’m going to love every moment I can – from the clothing I put on in the morning (I’m thinking something with bold colours and flowing material, particularly while it’s warm) to the food placed in my mouth (chocolate croissants for breakfast) to singing aloud in the shower without worry for the neighbours, to going out often and meeting with friends, to making sweet wonderful love to my husband, to actually pursing my talents instead of creating a list of excuses.

Cancer is in my life for some reason, so it better be a damn good one. Maybe there’s a moment when you find purpose for what happens, or maybe that never comes . . . maybe we need to create our purpose instead. I don’t know. I have avoided philosophy ever since dating a fellow who never stopped philosophizing.  BUT some stuff demands consideration.  So this is part of my purpose: to not forget how good life is. Things are good. Even when they’re bad, somewhere there’s a piece of good. For me, at this moment, it’s the support that I’ve been receiving. Thanks everyone, everyone, everyone and everyone. It is a huge help.

Okay, I’m going to take a shower and fix my hair; a hurricane passed through it and I never bothered cleaning up. And if it falls out from the shampoo, well, it falls out. But at least it’ll look good now.