Category Archives: After treatment

Panic attacked in the loo

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Food by

So there I was in the bathroom. Zsolt had suggested I take a hot bath to calm my cramping, and it had sounded like a good idea. Except suddenly they became really strong, and I thought, “oh shit, what if it’s ovarian cancer?” and next thing I know, I’m kneeling on the ground (hadn’t even managed to run my bath) of my parents lovely white tiled bathroom, trying not to pass out – not from the pain (though geeeeez it was painful), but from the fear.

 

Now, I’m not exactly familiar with the panic attack . . . but reckon that the whole “I’m going to pass out” thing is a symptom of the event.

Why did I panic?

Sigh . . .

Because as mentioned in other posts, I’m a wee bit haunted by last year. And now, when things go wrong (today’s situation revolved around strong cramps that wouldn’t let up . . . okay, so about forty minutes after they started everything had subsided . . . but that was one heck of a forty minutes.) my initial thought is: What if it’s cancer?

My second thought today was, “is this what labour feels like?”

Obviously I have issues to work out. I know that. My mom is going to help me. But there’s nothing like dipping back into fear and pain and memories to reiterate the fact that this journey isn’t over. I have a lot of healing to cover.  Which is why, and yes I guess I occasionally need reminding, we came back to Canada. Heal, baby, heal. Make it all feel better.

This is a work in process.

It may be my cramps were triggered (or rather, enhanced) by a few stressful events of late . . . which I guess is quite possible. Way back in grade seven I had my first round of exams – six in one week, or something stupid like that. I broke out in fever and rash. Stress rash. That’s just what happens. And today when my mother said to me, “Catherine, you’re panicking because you think this is worse than it is,” it clicked in my head that I really out to chill. Relax.

And not long after that the pain began to subside.

Anyhow, there you go. But I don’t want to leave you on a sour note. Instead I’d rather leave you on a sweet one.

Want to get hooked on an amazing snack food? Please, feel free to join me in the addiction called “Cha Cha Chipolte”. It’s nuts. NUTS that almonds can taste so fantastic. Okay, here is what you do: Go to your local Bulk Barn or wherever these things are sold, and BUY twenty packets (or just one).  Believe me, you won’t regret this. My family introduced this addictive, sweet, crumbly, soft, crunch, salty treat into my life, and now I’m Ha Ha Hooked.

So today I’ve written about panicking and sweet nuts. Not exactly consistent in theme, but whatever. It’s my blog, I’ll write what I like with it. 🙂

Sa sa see you later. Enjoy the nuts!!

Scandal and the bikini boob

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun by

Earlier this summer as we set to leave England, I spread my bathing suits and bras across the bed (accumulated over about six years) and began to say goodbye. Goodbye slippery pink cups, goodbye plain white t-shirt bra, goodbye your clever push-up, goodbye string bikini top . . . goodbye. Everything went in the bin (or the charity bag, depending on condition) except for my ancient O’Neil red string bikini – and not because I could wear it to the beach this summer . . . cause really, those triangles are small, but rather because of the memories.

Which was, if you consider it, what the pile of lingerie also was – memories. Memories of boobs. And the deed was done, I had myself a good cry.

But today was lovely. Today-today-today I bought a string bikini. Not a bandeau wrap across the chest, those they are nice too post-mastectomy (particularly since I bought two for eight pounds at Matalon, though I think, perhaps the price is reflected in the quality of my butt-in-bikini, which is why I was on the hunt today for a new, discounted, end-of-the-season quality designer suit.).

Oh, I feel so naughty. Girls with only one breast aren’t meant to wear string bikinis. At least, according to the post-mastectomy land of lingerie product catalogues we aren’t. And I can see the point. Firstly, if we could all get away without the false-breast pockets they would be out of business. Secondly, most women don’t have tiny boob(s), and the difference between right and left would be like staring at a single hill in the middle of a plain. Something like that giant red rock in Australia.

But after going shop to shop and not finding any bandeau style, I just said, “screw this” and tried on a few cuts I never imagined acceptable.

Gosh, I’ll tell you what. If I still had both boobs (say I had reconstruction, or old rightie magically grew back), I’d have scandalized Lake Balaton this summer with my risqué so-damn-near-to-the-nipple outfits of string and fling and bikini hotness, it would have been awesome.  And while that hasn’t happened, I have happily noticed that despite having a neat and tidy scar running across my right chest, it is, one year post surgery, less noticeable.

So I put on this striking blue triangular thing (O’Neil has such fine quality suits) where the area isn’t quite so close to the nipple (which is good, because I’m down one of those) and BAM – Sexy bathing suit Catherine has returned from her summer of cheap, Matalon frumping. My ass looks great; my eyes are popping; and best of all – BEST of all – my boob, while looking small, is not strikingly missing.

Okay, if you know it’s missing, than you aren’t going to miss the ‘missing’ness.   (Am I misusing the miss?)

And I know it’s not cool to brag. Hey, my body isn’t 22 anymore, so yes, I’m fully aware of those cellulite jiggles and mystery circles rippling out from my thighs. But fuck it. I feel pretty. I feel like all those stupid bras and bikini tops last May thrown into the bin (or charity bag) weren’t discarded because I can’t wear them . . . they were tossed because I’m a spanking new woman who needs flattering, lovely clothes.

After all, it never hurts to feel good about yourself. And I never imagined a triangle bikini would ever again make me feel so freaking good.

This post is so absurd. I know it’s all ‘me, me, me’ but I’m excited. It’s like being told you can wear miniskirts again after thirty five (not my rule, I took it from ‘What Not to Wear’ so if you don’t like it, please refer to Stacy and Clinton), if you’ve ever been inclined to wear miniskirts – which, to Zsolt’s disappointment, I’ve never been.

Anyhow. Maybe I look just like any girl on the beach. But Zsolt thinks it’s beautiful too, so there you go.

Happy days, and just in time for my trip to Greece. Boyah! Great stuff. Sorry for so much self-indulgence, but I really needed to cheer.

And to top off this lovely day. Zsolt found a brand of clothing that suits his tall, lean frame and actually makes him look like . . . like a man. Like, a hot man. Like I could just grab him with both hands and sweep him away to never, never land. His outfit, in my opinion, is money well spent.

(Whew! Just had a wee scare. I had dropped my computer-drawing pen and thought it fell behind the radiator, so started groping the ground underneath and stuck my hand right through a thick spider web. Gross. Thankfully, with a second look, the pen actually only fell behind the computer screen. But still, my hand is totally grossed out. And I bet the spiders aren’t too pleased either.)

Stressing over stress

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs by

Zsolt just walked into my makeshift ‘office’ in his sister’s old bedroom here in Pecs, Hungary, and asked if I could take a break from my work. (Quick aside: this isn’t work. I love doing this – writing, blogging, social mediating, and all the while enjoying the breeze through this large open window before me and listening to the sounds of the neighbourhood – mostly dogs, a few cars). And since Zsolt never walks into my makeshift office asking me to take a break, I immediately listened to the man.

“I sent you an email,” he tells me.

Catherine opens her email.

There in my inbox is an article link.  It’s a piece from the Huffington post by David Katz, M.D. on the “super six” – his list of factors to help prevent recurrence (or occurrence) of cancer. With the inevitable reminder that “lifestyle practices are the ship and sails, but there is still the wind and waves”, which I thought was a rather well-put reminder. Do what you can, but there are no promises. However, we can at least do what we can.

Anyhow, here are the six factors suggested by David Katz to give attention when trying to fight cancer – feet (exercise), forks (diet), fingers (no smoking), sleep, stress, and love.

And then Zsolt says to me: “You’ve got all of those covered, except for your stress.”

Ah! Nailed.

Before diagnosed with cancer I was stressing over ‘where will we live’ and ‘where do I belong’ . . . then came the cancer (a stress-pie in itself) . . . and Zsolt’s application for residency in Canada . . . and now that we’re finally here in Hungary, enjoying our summer of time and leisure, and I’m stressing over our move to Canada and how things will go at the border and how we’ll settle into adulthood in another new country (new for Zsolt, and I’ve only ever been a student in Canada, so this will most certainly be different).

Now I realize this post is essentially a written rant on worrying about worrying. And Zsolt has just told me that he’s getting worried over my endless list of concerns (poor man, I don’t want him to be dragged down). Plus, I’d hate to leave you with the impression that all day, everyday my brow is furrowed and I’m ruminating over the next difficult hurdle (because really, and I know this, every hurdle is surmounted whether you want to climb that obstacle or not. During chemo I thought, “this is impossible” and yet – it’s done.) but it’s just a realization reminder: In the words of my husband, “Catherine, you need to relax.”

This entire summer was constructed with the idea of relaxation, but it seems location and convenience alone are not enough to master the art of calm. My mind still picks on the wriggling points of uncertainty – Will we have problems? Is the paperwork arranged? What will come next?

Same thing it’s been doing ever since I was a kid.

However, I also learned a new trick this past year. Talking about said stress – writing, blogging, journaling, releasing – I don’t know how that factors into the ‘super six’ but for me personally it’s a great help. I let out the pressure . . . which is a start.

Anyhow, with the conclusion of this post I will try and not worry any longer about worrying. Instead, I’ll google meditation classes in Ottawa I can slip into once we arrive in the country.  Like all other aspects of that super six (particularly diet and exercise) I’ll feel better – physically, mentally, emotionally – once this issue is challenged with some proactive behaviour. And in the meanwhile, maybe I’ll go for a walk. That’s meant to be stress relieving, right? Never mind the barking dogs – they’re all stuck behind their fences. Everything will be just fine. (As she breathes in and out, now anxious to leave this post behind.) Everything is fine.

I need a cup of tea.