Category Archives: After treatment

Greasing up for breast cancer

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun by

Well it’s ten p.m and I should be going to bed and not blogging, but Zsolt and Daniel are behind me watching “Maximum Overdrive” so what the heck.

Guess where I was tonight? The Mayfair. They were hosting a fundraising event for the Canadian Cancer Society, specifically raising money for breast cancer. Katie from The Bald and the Beautiful brought me into the know of tonight’s event, and I have to say it was a fun evening.

Firstly – I met Katie. She’s way too young to have gotten breast cancer, but nevertheless counters the crap  with ample amounts of determination and involvement, helping spread awareness to other young people about the dangers of BC. We both write blogs for Facingcancer.ca, and this afternoon was our first ‘in person’ meeting.

So there we were in Starbucks drinking our green tea, having our first ever chat, and I swear, it must have been a conversation to catch the ears. Literally thirty cementers from us was this long haired woman trying to focus on her papers, but yeah right. I don’t mean to be self-absorbed, but we had a good conversation rolling, and it was all about breast cancer – how does that not attract attention?  (It’s like eavesdropping on a couple who are having their first date. I don’t want to listen in, but I can’t help it; they are so fascinating. So very hilarious and fascinating.)

Maximum Overdrive Update: Okay. Emilio Estevez is now feeding gas to the angry eighteen wheelers, who moments ago just shot dead the waitress when she ran out of the restaurant and screamed, “we made you. We made you!”  ACDC is now ringing out with ‘Hells Bells’. Rock and roll.

Anyhow, so after our Starbucks meet and greet, we headed over to the Mayfair to enjoy the pre-show fun. That included buying popcorn with really terrible butter, and getting a quick manicure and face treatment. Lovely. They woman who was doing the spa session had me put a mud mask on my lips. But I have to say, it worked really well. These pink puckers are smooth.

And that’s when the real fun began.

Grease Lightening, baby.

Wow! That movie is all camp and cheese. It’s been so, so long since I’ve watched it in full, I didn’t remember how charmingly cheesy this film gets – and Danny Zuko was brilliant – he was so incredibly cheesy, it was an absolute hoot. The women behind us were singing, hooting, clapping, and shouting.

But wowzers, it’s totally crass too. Funny crass – but some of the lyrics! Some of the lines! Beneath all that grease and hair spray and push up bras and ice cream colouring is a truly racy movie. Oh, the language. It was hilarious.

And then Danny and Sandy flew up into the sky in their pimped up hot rod, and the credits rolled.

Overall I think it was a good night. Great to meet a fellow blogger, and really fun to go to this film. The showing was a bit sparse – certainly someone needs to be paid to do some marketing for that group. But otherwise, really fun.

Anyhow – Estevez is now formulating a plan to escape the angry trucks and machines. I think this Stephen King movie (also incredibly cheesy) is nearly over.  Oops, there goes a tracker driving over a few cars.  Oh crap, and here’s a killer ice cream truck. Well anyhow, the film is climaxing, so it’s time to stop writing.

Have a great night, and a lovely tomorrow.

Bye-o!

Looking at the past, again

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

This week I’m digging out my old diary (which is buried in one of my fifteen moving boxes and I don’t know which box it is in) in order to travel back in time. Where to? Well, to the day of diagnosis. Again.

You might think I’m a sucker for punishment, the way I’ve been continuing my blogging in regards to cancer – cause every time I have to remember cancer, there’s a little pinch on the side saying, “That was pure and total shit, Catherine. Remember?” And honestly in many ways I’d rather forget.

But when it comes to such a life-altering experience, to forget completely is 1) impossible and 2) possibly equivalent to denial.

Plus, there are too many reminders in life that cancer exists. Too many people die. Too many people suffer. Too many people are diagnosed. And a lot of people run around in pink this time of year raising money to end breast cancer, which I appreciate, but which also serves as a steady reminder that breast cancer happens, and, oh yeah, it happened to me.

But I’m not complaining – just trying to explain why when people ask me to recollect what it was like, I don’t just say, “no way, Hose,” and go find a pile of sand for my head to fit under.

Next week on the 19th of October I’ll be going to Orillia to give a talk for a palliative care conference. It’s slightly daunting. I feel like I should approach this conference with my fingers crossed and held out for protection – palliative care is not for me or my future, and there’s a little intimidation when being around someone who cares for those who are dying.

Because I am not dying.

Okay, okay, we’re all dying. But I am not dying.

You know what I mean? And I really don’t want to face that situation until I’m good and old and maybe around the age of 89, so long as I can still dance.

But this talk I’ll be giving focuses on that moment of diagnosis – that sudden shocking change. And I think it’s an important moment to reflect upon, because in that second, the second reality sinks in, so many things happen so fast – and while I appear to be just a slobbering mess of a woman who can’t stop crying, really I’m starting my journey (my battle) and everything has just shifted in my life. It’s immense. And I guess that’s what I ought to get across to the lovely people who will be listening next week. That and what happens next. Not in terms of the ‘process’ though that is huge, but more in the emotional challenge, and how life itself must be reshaped.

Okay, okay. I’m just procrastinating now. Time to go and shape this talk, and dig through those boxes for my journal. There’s some hard, never-shared stuff in there. But it’s an essential reminder. And I guess (and this is a good thing, cause lately I haven’t though about cancer 24/7, which I like very much), I guess I need a little reminding.

So – here we go. Into the boxes.

Wonderful to each other

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Love by

“This is your time. This time we are for you.” Last year around this time, that was my French Canadian grandmother of ninety-one years, Lulu, cheering me onward as we spoke over skype (as I  tried to look ‘healthy’ with my bald head and worn out expression, since no one wants to look sick in front of their grandmother). She sent her support, like everyone else – and I was so incredibly thankful. ‘People are at their best during the worst’, I heard that the other day on Lost (I think), and during my worst, people were truly incredible.

And last year I thought to myself while pre-made food arrived, as friends visited, when family called from across the ocean and coached me via skype, I thought to myself, “once I’m all better, I’ve got to give back.”

The number of ways to ‘give back’ are endless, from blogging to volunteering to donating to running  marathons. . . possibilities stretch before a thankful survivor who needs to honour the goodness they’ve experienced. But I hadn’t imagined giving back would start so close to home, so close in the family.

This week Zsolt and I are thick in the woods of the Mount Tremblant area, hanging out at my aunt’s cottage and keeping her and my grandmother company. Now, one year later, this is Lulu’s time, and this time we are for her. While I haven’t written a single word of fiction (or fact, apart from this blog) during this mountain retreat, I have cooked some lovely meals, watched my husband stoke the fire, enjoyed driving tours with my aunt, played rummy with family, listened to my grandmother’s memories of her parents (and her parent’s parents, and her aunt, who was a nun) . . . and I am reminded that sometimes the best way to help another person is simply to be available.

Being here. Cooking food. Listening to stories. Going for a latte.

Last year those were the little things that made an incredible difference in my fight, and this year – though the circumstances are completely different (though the exhaustion isn’t, I can imagine) – these are the same things that helps everyone smile. And when we’re smiling, all else moves aside like sunshine through clouds. A generous reminder that life can be wonderful, and we can be wonderful to one another.