Category Archives: After treatment

The anxiety of going alone

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

There is a movement across England that promotes street parties. These parties are seen as a way to bring communities together (sorta like a twitter party – for instance, the #tellhermovement twitter party on May 5th! Plug alert!), and from what I’ve heard, they work fairly well. One friend of mine helped with a street party when a halfway house was established in her area. She said that before the kids of the home were strangers, threats to a certain degree. There was vandalism and curtain twitching and uncertainties about leaving the door unlocked. After the street party (which involved plenty of food, music and a game of ‘dunk the police officer’) these kids became kids. Kids on the street, which is what they were all along, except now people know one another. (That’s not to say curtain twitching disappears – because who doesn’t love twitching the curtain? But at least you could put a name to the face: “Oh look, that John boy is doing a handstand”.)

Last Friday was the royal wedding and across England street parties were thrown. My street remained free of any flag waving, but the city centre was hosting a large ‘street party’ in the centre square. They viewed the wedding on a jumbo screen, and afterwards celebrated with swing bands, music, games and a general ‘hanging out’ on the lawns.

Zsolt and I watched the wedding through the YouTube stream.  We started at around eleven – oh, her dress was nice, eh! – and stopped during all that singing, then picked it up again for the kiss on the balcony.  Apart from the human bits (Kate waving from outside the cathedral, Will trying to get the ring on her finger, Harry looking back as she walked down the aisle, and Will & Kate’s mixed expressions between wanting to smile, and not wanting to smile) I’d have to say the most impressive part of the day were all those hats. It was like a gallery of  pink, purple, black and beige headwear. British women own the hat.

And after the wedding I was faced with a dilemma. Should I go to the city centre street party? Zsolt was mule-like in his resolution to study (less than seven days now till his PhD defence, so can’t blame him) and I became more and more dejected that we couldn’t go downtown. There would be music and people and possibly a great selection of highly cheese memorabilia, and here we were in our flat missing the day.

Which is when I remembered my ‘do it alone’ resolution. I hate doing things alone. It’s a design flaw in my personality, initiating a solo activity (except for reading, writing, and general day-dreaming) take a momentous amount of energy. Essentially, I feel so awkward to be alone that I stop the activity before it even starts – and that was yesterday. I was stuck in my flat, mood dropping, and wishing I wasn’t such a coward.

So, I stopped being a coward. (wishes do come true!) Because if I can do big things like move countries, fight cancer and learn to drive stick (still in progress), I can certainly face a day in the park.

But, I had to give myself a goal. Goal: to find and buy souvenirs of the Will & Kate wedding to possibly give to relatives who I’m pretty sure would love them.

And suddenly it became much easier to go to a party alone. It’s a baby step, but a step nevertheless. I’m sure many people would fly solo to yesterday’s event without any anxiety, but this is just the way I work. Therefore, to help the situation, I gave myself a purpose.

Fast forward an hour and I’m wading through the paper cups, union jacks, tables, children, dancers, swing band, games, picnickers, and general celebrations of the Southampton Street Party. No names were given to the faces (this isn’t a real street party, after all, and I’m still too chronically shy to randomly introduce myself to a stranger), but it was nice to see what was happening.

But most importantly, I got over my inhibition. Okay, well, I cannot say it was entirely comfortable drifting through the scattered crowds, but a step forward is a step forward. A long time ago, way before meeting Zsolt, I spent a month in Quebec City alone. That was quite something. By the end of the month I was visiting museums, taking long walks, eating in cafes –all with pleasure instead of purpose, but that took time to learn. (A lesson which has faded, but at least it’s there to be remembered.)

I guess it’s good to remember that even when others cannot offer their support, you can still support yourself. That’s easy to forget, but important to remember. It takes a little courage too.

Hmm, there’s an Andy Warhol exhibit in Southampton that my husband doesn’t want to visit (plus he’s still studying, studying, studying). Maybe I’ll go alone this week and check it out. After all, practice makes perfect.

Dancing with Aeroplan

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Life, Travel by

Ah, Aeroplan – we meet again.

For better, for worse, in good times and bad, wrestling with Air Canada’s Aeroplan has become a yearly (bi-yearly, when I’m lucky) tradition. That’s what you get in long-distance family relationships. We live in England, my parents live in Canada. Therefore, about every nine months (give or take several months), I look up flights that can utilize the generous donation of my parent’s flying miles.

Normally this isn’t a problem. London to Ottawa is a fairly steady route – but when it comes to the busy periods, those times of the year when everyone is pushing and shoving to ride a plane, well, flying becomes a bitch.  

Last time it was a Christmas blocked-out period, anxieties over a chemo deadline, and trying to fly when everything and everyone was saying, ‘it’s not gonna happen’. This time it’s far less intense. Zsolt and I will be leaving Hungary toward the end of August, and we were hoping our arrival in Canada would correspond with my parent’s cottage vacation.

Okay, honestly – this is 100% no way like last Christmas. Last Christmas it was essential that I go home before the 15th of December. This time around we’ll be going to Canada whether or not the holiday cottage plans work out. So that’s fine. Therefore, what’s my problem?

Ah, just the same as ever. Every time we have a date (the 25th, the 28th, the 30th) and wait, say, one day to make sure it jives with my family back home-BAM!– Aeroplan does a little dance and the flights for that day are GONE.

Poof.

This is not a life and death situation. I love being able to fly for less. One-way tickets are astronomical in price when not bought with points. I should be thanking Air Canada for all the free (plus tax) rides they’ve allowed me over the years (or rather, thank my parents).

It’s more of an irritation than emergency. Actually, it’s no emergency. It’s like your little brother sitting in the back seat of the van and flicking your ear every five minutes. (Hi, Dan.) Annoying, but ultimately I’ll stick by them.

Eventually this will be sorted. That’s the beauty of life – one way or another, stuff works out. And so, it’s back to the Aeroplan website. After all, every relationship demands a little work; and when it’s good, it’s so very good.

A mushy self-discovery post

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Finding Home, Life, Love, Writing by

You know what? For the past five years – ever since meeting my Hungarian husband and flying away from Canada – for the past five years, I’ve been asking this difficult question: where do I belong? And it would keep me up at night. Honestly, I’d be awake trying to reason whether we should move somewhere in Europe, stay in the UK, go back to Canada, hijack things to Australia . . . when you’re in an international relationship, the concept of home and belonging are suddenly challenged. Growing up, I had no idea how much Ottawa was a part of my identity – and when taken away, there was this lingering question: Where do I belong?

This mini crisis peaked with the event of our wedding, one moment planned for Europe, the next moved to Canada . . . and still nothing was resolved in terms of the future. Zsolt and I had a dream: house, family, kids, day-to-day happiness and settlement. We wanted to settle. But where? I  began to imagine myself behind a wooden counter in a kitchen, with a red and white chequered apron tied around my waist and a hot pie cooling on the window ledge, which looked out over a lovely green yard with tall, solid trees – and everything would be just right. From the tidiness, to the location, to our lives. Everything, one day, would be just right . . . eventually . . .

And then I got cancer.

Which isn’t to say the dream of a clean kitchen disappeared. I still dream of a clean kitchen. And it isn’t to say the crisis of ‘where to live’ was resolved. Because we’re moving to Canada, but will we stay there forever – who knows?

However, getting cancer (surviving cancer) did change an essential aspect of my life.  I stopped asking: “Where do I belong?”

It suddenly felt like a stupid question.

Where do I belong? Duh. I belong right here – right now – in this moment. And what do I belong to? I belong to my passions, my writing, my Love, and myself.

It’s like a light was flipped on. In the past five years I’ve been hunting for my identity. It was challenged when I left Canada. It was challenged when I was married. It was challenged when I got cancer.

And so it was sharpened.

I am Catherine. I am a writer. I am a wife. I am a breast cancer survivor. And those are things that have no passport, no national identity, no alien status, and no dependence to anything beyond myself (and Zsolt, in terms of marriage). Where do I belong? Geez Louise, I belong within myself. Geography is a luxury, to be close to family a bonus, to have spectacular views, clean kitchens, pies on the windowsill – that’s all wonderful and welcome. But in this moment I’ve got my essentials. I’m where I belong, finally.

All right, today’s blog post is totally inwards, and so sorry for spilling this revelation all over the page. But it’s a good revelation, and nothing but experience could have brought me to this point. I suppose as things change, my identity will keep shifting and shaping, but at least right now, age 28, tipping over into 29 and feeling good, I’ve found myself. I’ve found my passion (writing, creating, doing). I’ve found the love of my life. And it all feels amazing.

Happy Easter!

PS. I might have found a sense of identity – but my apartment is still a mess! The other night – in the pitch black and total silence, there was a huge CRACK (I started screaming even before waking up from the shock of the noise and Zsolt had to settle me down). Turns out, my wardrobe collapsed onto the ground. Now there’s a pile of clothes tangled with hangers and shelving on the floor. What a way to get the moving purge started. I’ll need to pick through my clothes/tidy this mess and decide: Canada (to live), Hungary (to vacation), charity (to give me an excuse for more shopping). So, with a push from providence, the packing has begun!