Category Archives: After treatment

Working out the kinks

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life, Writing by

Let me introduce my two Catherines.

Catherine A (let’s just call her ‘Ay’) is waist-deep in life and loves every second. She writes, she laughs, she licks her fingers after eating  ribs, sings as she drives, dances in the kitchen and she never passes up the opportunity to chat over a cup of tea.  Ay knows herself, and she’s thrilled to be here.

And over there, standing a little in the back, is Catherine B (aka Bea). And she’s a variation – she’s me being watched by other people. Bea has a tendency to choke on her words, blush to near-purple colours, feel dizzy with nerves, and avoid the spotlight as though it was really a laser beam sent from aliens hovering above earth to blow her into smithereens.

Frankly, I cannot stand Bea, and yet she’s always coming out at the very worst of moments. Just when Ay is gearing up to be brave, bold, and undeniably awesome – in swoops the alter ego, and out swoops the verve for life.

If you can relate to this division, I think that’s because it’s really rather rather normal forpeople to have some degree of split between their preception of self and the reality.  There’s the ‘real you’ the ‘ideal you’ and I’d argue, the ‘scared you’. Though never before had I stopped to consider the drastic contrast between, for instance, me as a writer, and me as a person who talks about her writing. Totally different Catherines. When I write  – I’m free. Words are better than chocolate, better than water, better than wind in your hair. Yet go ahead one day and ask me in person, “So Catherine, what do you write?” and I’ll get quiet, anxious, and mumble something about a blog, some copywriting, and a little fiction too.

A little fiction? I LOVE writing fiction. So who is this nervous wreck who can’t admit to her joys?

Well I guess she’s just scared. Timid. And frankly, she’s also incongruent.

Okay, okay. It’s weird to talk about myself so extensively in third person. Maybe I should have used a lemon merigne pie, sliced into various portions instead. But I had hoped Ay and Bea would illustrate the division. The point is, sometimes we’re fabulous and sometimes – in my case when it comes to pursuing goals in person, beyond the screen, face to face — sometime we crumble into idiot dust. And today I suddenly realized that division between who I am (healthy, cancer-free, and creative), and how I act.

It’s simply not on, to spin it with a British phrase. And not acceptable. Certainly hiding what I love, and how I love, does nothing in my favour. But for some reason there’s a “freak out” switch when it comes to aligning my goals and my behaviour.

Now please, ask yourself – right now: Who are you? What do you value most? And is that congruent with the way you present yourself to others? Do you live, breath and project the very essence of yourself, at all times, in all company, against all doubts?

Whether it’s health incongruence (feeling optimistic, yet scared about cancer), objective incongruence (having a dream, but not admiting it aloud), life incongruence (Loving your life, yet feeling incomplete) or whatever kind of incongruence you might have . . . it’s a hinderance, don’t you think?

And it means things need to be fixed. Realigned. Addressed.

Anyhow, practice makes perfect. So in my case, if you do meet me in person and we have a lovely conversation – please ask about my writing, and about my health, and about any darn thing you think I might be hiding. And if you like, I’ll ask you about your goals too (though you’ll need to let me know what they are first). Cause the only way to get over the anxiety (at least for me) is to face it head on.

So that was today’s mini ‘ah ha’ moment. Next up comes the follow through. And that’s a whole other blog post.

*Exciting news! My first review as a blogger for the Ottawa Writer’s Festival is being posted today. Follow this link to read my thoughts on Chef Michael Smith’s Ottawa appearance, and why he’s way more than a tall, handsome fellow who knows how to cook. Like a lot of us, he’s got a story and he’s passionate to share. Read it here! Woohoo!

Morning list of random stuff

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun, Life, Travel, Writing by

Here’s a quickie posting and hello.

Two things I ought to mention:

 1) I really adore the cucumber that hangs outside my bedroom window. I sleep in a basement room, and the plant hangs down into my ‘dug out’ window. This is the loveliest cucumber, and I regret that it’ll soon have to be picked. But what can I do? Use it or lose it.  Well . . .  lose it either way, I suppose, but eat it as a bonus. Feels so savage.

2) Tonight I’m off to Ashbury College to attend a Q & A plus signing with Chef Michael Smith. He’s just released a new cookbook called Chef Michael Smith’s Kitchen. This book is meant to contain 100 of his favourite recipes, which makes me wonder what his other books contain, and whether he’s allowed to do repeat performances of meal ideas. Can this be the ‘greatest hits’ of Michael Smith, and are these really his favourite recipes, and if so – why? And why weren’t they included before?

It’s like a mystery to unpick. But mostly I’m looking forward to sampling the appetizers and listening to this very tall man speak. He says that food is about creating stories. So I’m hoping he’s got some great stories to tell, considering all the food he makes.

I’m excited for tonight. Super cool! Plus it will be my first review for the Ottawa Writers Festival pre-festival line-up. Awesome.

And a few things I’ll ramble on about:

3) I have started taking my vitamins again. It’s this weird personal battle with me – what to do, don’t want to do anything, hate to acknowledge there was ever a problem, and mostly I just want to move on. But I’m part of a large community of women who have fought through cancer one way or another, and when I hear about someone’s reoccurrence it’s so sad (horrible) for them, and completely unnerving for me. This is not the reminder I want, yet it happens, and it says: ‘Keep going Catherine, you lazy butt . Keep fighting this!’ But nevertheless, it happens and then shocks me out the treatment depression. Treatment depression. Sorta like  no-job depression, or not-yet-finished-writing-this-damn-book depression. I have the horrible tendency to do nothing when things fall into a slump. And it takes a lot of effort (or a wake up) to get me moving that ambition once again.  It also takes a lot of effort to be in the slump – cause mentally no one likes to feel stagnant. Horrible stuff. So starting with little things like taking my vitamins and signing up for the local yoga class and visiting  Awakeing Potentials for a session . . . slowly I’m making things better, to become better. I really like better. Or ever more – awesome. I love awesome. And the steps make me feel proactive. Being proactive gives me hope in all areas of life.

4) I’ve started eating scrambled eggs. Free range, preferably vegetable grain fed. For some reason I can suddenly stomach the cooked up puffs of yellow. All other eggs are still not welcome, but scrambled I can handle. It’s a good change.

5) Next week Zsolt and I should be going to Tremblant for a little autumn revelling and family-time. Plus, I’m bringing my laptop and feel intent on locking myself away until this next chapter is finished being forged. Maybe we’ll find a canoe and take to the water?

And this, ladies and gentlemen, has been the ‘I just got up and have all these things on my mind’ list. Brought to you by English Breakfast tea and dried cranberries, which I’ve already finished eating.

Have yourself a wonderful day. I think the weather in Ottawa is outstanding. Ten points to Ontario for having a lovely climate this late into September. Bonus points promised if it lasts into October.

Come on hair, GROW!

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs by

Back in England I had a really great hairdresser. She gave me my last haircut pre-chemo, and my first haircut post-chemo. There was a trust. So when I visited her for the final time before moving – hoping she could help tidy my bizarrely curling re-growth, she gave me the following advice: “Catherine, just let it grow.”

Just let it grow.

Four months later I’m at this computer with mop-top hair; it’s thick, it’s curly, it’s straight, it’s blond, it’s brown, it’s crazy. One thing it’s not is long. Longer, yes, but not long.

I don’t know about you, but I crave longer hair. Once in a while I dream of my once straight, chin-length hair and think, “fantastic, I can pull it into a ponytail” only to wake up and realize that no – I can’t. Not yet.

But you know what people keep on telling me, and I bet many short-haired women hear the same: ”It looks great short. You should leave it that way.” My cousin told me the other day that I standout more with short hair.  Well, if I pop with this short hair, I must have kaboomed with my bald head last year.  There’s nothing like being totally bald to totally get noticed. Combine my cue ball looks with the dark nail polish I wore everyday (in hopes of keeping my fingernails) and I was downright punk chic.

And actually, I’ve known women who keep their hair short following chemo and do look fabulous. But for me, I just think back to when the hair started returning . . . that moment I realized there was a shadow across my head (Zsolt pointed it out), and it was fracking hair.  Forget about winning the lottery – hair growth is an incredible feeling.  Happy dances are followed by tears – tears leaking through my newly grown lashes, being whipped across my face and soaking  my newly grown brows. Those first few strands are a promise of normality. The possibility of looking like yourself again.

It was like a promise that everything could pass. A new Catherine was growing.

Anyhow, maybe in fifteen years or so I’ll cut it short again. Variation is the spice of life, and I do like my life tasty. But for now it’s got to keep GROWING. Just because it’s confusing the heck out of me at the moment (it is curly, is it straight, should I cut it, should it grow – is that a MULLET behind my neck?!), doesn’t mean I’ll abandon my goal for achieving a cute, chin length style.

It’s not exactly about looking fabulous – well, okay, it’s always about looking fabulous – but it’s also about moving on with my life. For me, at this time, short hair is linked to a bad year behind me. And so the mop-top needs to grow.

(But, if anyone has any tips on how to grow hair, or what to do with it between acceptable lengths, please pass along your slice of genius. So far I’ve considered the headband (child-like), hair clip (a good idea though I left them all in England), headscarf (but nixed that idea – too chemoesque) and just letting it go wild. Wild has the best results, but as time passes . . .  I’m thinking it’s a little too crazy.)