Category Archives: After treatment

Big things and little stuff

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

While big things are happening in the world, little things are happening at home. At the moment Zsolt is having a little tiff about my extreme and constant sloppiness. It’s true, I’m a slob – and if it weren’t for my husband I’d be a MONSTER slob. Proof of that was my old bedroom over Christmas with clothes and towels and papers and suitcases scattered around the floor (and doors, and chairs, and bed.)

Little things.

There’s a little bit of radiotherapy left. Every morning I arrive and am greeted by one of a few varying nurses. They ask how I’m doing, I give them a report. Normally it consists of: “Fine.” Because I am fine. Sometimes I get tired, my skin still has that shadow of pink, there is that occasional wheeze . . . but all that is wrapped up in ‘fine,’ because nothing’s changed or gotten worse. Do they know I was freaking out over my left boob last week? Maybe, maybe not. Since the results were great, I’ll not bring it up.

Another little bit of excitement lays ahead. Call me stupid if you must, only if you must, but I’ve planned a trip to London the Wednesday after my last radiotherapy session (i.e. two days after). My old professor is launching a book, which sounds quite exciting and while I’ve been told book launches are generally not so thrilling, I would nevertheless like to see one for myself. Therefore, London is calling with a day trip on the train, an early meal, a speech with a reading (at which point I’ll strive to find seating because goodness knows I’ll be tired), and a train ride back home.  It will be an adventure. Plus, I’ve got a really cute dress to wear.

And continuing the adventure – here is a little thing that means oodles to my little life. I’ll be getting a haircut. What hair, Catherine? This hair! See it? Get the magnifying glass and take a look. There is a shallow carpet of hair spreading across my scalp, but it looks crazy because  of the patchiness and varying lengths. Did you know that your hair doesn’t grow evenly? Different sections grow at faster/slower rates. It’s true. So I’m off to the hairdresser. It’s incredible because last July I can remember sitting in that chair pre-chemo and talking with my hairdresser about chopping it all off. And she told me, ‘come back in when it starts growing. Even if there’s only a little bit we can fix it for you.’ So next Tuesday that promise will be tested. Thank goodness the monk style reverse balding has finally filled in.

Here is one last little (BIG!!) thing before this post ends. Zsolt Samson – the handsome and charming scientist who has worked so very hard over the last four (.5) years – is nearly ready to submit his thesis. This past month has been push push push for Zsolt, with late nights, full weekends, and frequent meetings with his supervisor. To say I’m proud of Zsolt is insufficient (more like I’m bursting with exploding sun-bright gushes of enthusiasm, excitement and pride for this man’s accomplishment), but will have to do. Another week or less should result in submission. GO, Zsolti, GO!

These are the little things in our steady life that have been coming and going over the past while. Frankly, I’m more interested in the news and all the change that is being pushed through, though am in no way qualified (or knowledgeable enough) to write about those topics. But can appreciate that it sometimes takes a big struggle to accomplish big things.

And that is the end of this posting. Next week, hopefully, I’ll have something a bit more exciting to say!

Facing Cancer Together

Posted in After treatment, Blogging and Other Fun, Bumpboobs, Writing by

One more nice thing happened to me this week. I started blogging for a website called Facing Cancer Together. It’s presented by the Canadian Cosmetic, Toiletry and Fragrance Association (CCTFA) Foundation, and sponsored by Shoppers Drug Mart. This is a Canadian based website that offers a supportive online community to anyone effected by cancer.

This is part of my ‘become a writer’ plan. It’s one thing to want to write, it’s another to get out there and promote yourself. But promotion is essential to becoming an active writer, and becoming an active writer is essential to my recovery.

I mean, okay – cancer is random and horrible and unexpected. Right? Yes. So when asking myself ‘why the hey did I get cancer?’, all I can do is shake my head, and stomp my feet, and forget the question because no grand voice from above has ever shouted down an answer.

But – but but but – even before I was officially diagnosed, probably the day Bumpyboobs was established, I thought to myself, ‘the least I can do is write. If I have cancer, I will write. If I don’t have cancer, I will write. No matter what, I’ve got to write about this experience.’

There I was, totally freaking out, and writing was at the forefront of my mind.

So maybe that’s why I got cancer? Really, it’s a mystery. Like mentioned, no booming presence has ever shouted down from above: HEY CATHERINE, YOU GOT CANCER BECAUSE __________. OKAY? NOW STOP ASKING ME.

And because of that, I’ll have to assign my own meaning to this past year. Whatever the reason, the outcome is my wanting to be a writer even more than before.

So when there was a tweet on my Twitter timeline asking for bloggers to contact facingcancer.ca, I jumped at the opportunity. This is a great chance to grow my network, reach people who ‘have been there’ (and those who are actually going through it), and WRITE.

Following my instincts has never lead me astray. It took me across the world, took me to my husband, and now it’s taken me to writing.

So feel free to check it out and browse the webpage. I’ll always be Bumpyboobs, but will post maybe once a week on Facing Cancer Together (sometimes a repeat post from this page). This is a good step, and good thing. There are many good things happening. And that in itself is good.

Reoccurrence reassurance

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Treatment by

So I guess the general rule for this blog is that when I say, ‘I’ll write about this tomorrow’, it really means, ‘I’ll write about this in a day or two or three’ because things get busy. Yesterday morning I woke up with the intention of doing three things: Washing the dishes. Making Lunch. Writing  a post about my trip to the hospital.

Two out of three isn’t bad. And here we are today – somehow more dishes have sprung up overnight and lunch will need making again. However, they had their chance yesterday. Today is for the writing.

On Monday I went to my GP and asked her to refer me to the hospital. Apparently this was an unnecessary step – I could have contacted a breast care nurse at the hospital directly, but it was good to catch up with Dr Kind (plus I needed to refill my prescription).

Tuesday morning I had a call from the hospital, “Hello Mrs Brunelle, we’ve got a space for you tomorrow morning. Can you make it?”

Yes.  I could make it. This call came just as I was entering my acupuncturist’s office, but not even she could help me relax after that point. There was something she did with my eyebrows that was divine and always knocks me out, but five minutes later I was thinking about that breast exam and getting wound up again.

[Zsolt is sitting here on the bed as I write this post, eating some yogurt. Every twenty seconds he asks a question: are you a biolife? Are you a chumbawumba? Are you a konyec? But I have no clue what a konyec is, apparently it means ‘the end’.]

Anyhow! It was nerve racking. My body revolted against me later in the day and served up a killer stomach ache, which was subsequently blamed on a leftover Valentine’s day dish of cabbage and pork, but was likely also due to stress.

Wednesday I went to the hospital. They sent me to the clinic that contains all things cancer – this is where the oncologists, surgeons and radiation doctors meet and mingle. Passing us in the waiting area was my surgeon who nodded to Zsolt (I was absorbed by my magazine), and as we were shown into a consultation room my oncologist passed by and waved hello too.

Again the nurse asked me to remove my top and put on the cape. You do not have to put on that terrible cape. Maybe if it takes five minutes to remove your clothing, do what they ask, but so long as you can whip off your shirt – why bother with an ugly, cold, and awkward cape?

Generally we wait about 30 to 45 minutes in those consultation rooms, but this time things were quick. In walked a doctor, a student (baby doctor) and – ugh! – the same breast care nurse who was in the room when I was first given my diagnosis. Panic threatened to set in, but then I thought to myself, ‘why would they bring a baby doctor along if they had bad news?’ which was logical. It turned out they couldn’t have given me bad news, because they literally had no idea why I was there. A file had landed on their desk (with most of the contents missing because my original file was lost) and they knew I was worried about lumps. But that was all.

After retelling my breast cancer story, showing off the tidy scar, and having my breast checked by yet another doctor, I was assured this was probably nothing, ‘but we’ll send you for a scan anyhow.’

The breast care nurse was very generous in telling me that my fear was normal. ‘If you didn’t feel this way, then we’d be worried.’ I suspect that isn’t true, but it was kind of her to say.

And one hour later I had my ultrasound.

Fast, no?

Again they shot cold gel onto my chest. Again some slippery rubbery thing glided around my breast. Again it probed the lumps. ‘I can feel what you mean,’ said the doctor, ‘but everything looks normal.’

Whew. This was a relief. One – I hadn’t imagined the problem. Two – it wasn’t cancer.

Awesome!

And now I can finally enjoy how much better my body feels. Wednesday afternoon I ran up the stairs at work, and only realized half way through that I was RUNNING. My face has regained colour (blood), and my energy is picking up. True, my finger nails are still dying, but significant progress has been made in all areas.

There’s so much to look forward to now; the next six months will be wonderful. Hard in some ways because we’ll leave our home, but amazing in others (travelling, spa-going, resting, hanging with husband, graduation, Zsolt turns THIRTY).  I’m finally free to enjoy, boob bumps and all.

So there you have it! I admire women who get past the fear of reoccurrence. It’s something that I need to learn. But at least until my next scan I have this release. It feels really good, amazingly good, and I’m thankful.