Category Archives: After treatment

Killer whales and cancer

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Radiotherapy Treatment, Treatment by

My Disney Land perception of whale behaviour was shattered last week when Marcelle told me a story about killer whales attacking mother grey whales and their calves. *Sigh* Nature is ruthless . . . Beautiful, but ruthless. In the end it’s about survival. If the mother whale pushes back against the orcas, then the attacking group will retreat. If not . . . hard luck for the baby.

So why am I writing about this? Good question, which I’m ultimately wondering myself – but having promised a discussion on whales, I’ve got to deliver.

Here Mom’s take: Nature is ruthless, and if you want to survive you need to push back; same with cancer, same with any illness. Passivity doesn’t pay. This extends to all corners of life (e.g. trying to negotiate internet fees, getting a refund, etc.). If you want to win, you have to fight.

Thank goodness there is help, because it’s one thing to tell a newly diagnosed patient to ‘fight fight fight’ and it’s another thing to know what that really means. How do you fight cancer – how can you fight something without knowing the cause?

It’s the eternally frustrating question that still haunts my twenty-eight year old, no family history, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, and exercises regularly, diagnosis. What am I fighting against?

Initially it’s the problem: fight the cancer. Push back against the tumour – surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, hormone therapy. The surgeons, oncologists, nurses all helped me to fight, and I’m thankful for their expertise.

Next there are the emotions: Fight the saturation. Cancer seeps, it seeps into your life – like a stain on the carpet that’s sunk deep and low. It spreads, it settles, it stains your mind. Fighting means connecting with other survivors, letting family and friends support you, talking about the depression or the fear, finding release when life gets too heavy. Stress is linked to illness, and I’m sick of being sick. I fight back by talking about my feelings, releasing that stress. Thank goodness for my support network, they’ve been incredible.

Okay, and now treatment is nearly over and we’re left with this window of possible reoccurrence, what is there to fight? Fight the cause. I do not know what caused my breast cancer, but nevertheless, changes must be made. From taking supplements, re-examining diet, going home, pursuing writing, chasing dreams, and having fun. Change will be the name of 2011, and hopefully it’ll be a really healthy year.

Screw those killer whales (though they are lovely creatures). I’m pushing back. We’ve got to push back.

Post-chemotherapy physical

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

And finally I can relax. The past few days have been jammed packed, so it’s very good to lay here in bed and talk with you. Outside, in typical British style, the sky is grey. For Canada winter means snow and ice and deep freeze. In England winter means grey and rain and wet. I could take either climate, but my apartment grows mould with too much humidity and that is not fun, nor healthy. Sooner than later we’ll ditch this accommodation.

Anyhow! Good morning! Today I’m doing a body check. It’s been a little over one month since my last chemotherapy treatment. So head-to-toe inventory:

Toes: Still painted and enjoying the result of a post-Christmas pedicure with Mom. The ladies are lovely in their pale green varnish, though if I could go back I’d have gotten a hot pink instead. During the pedicure, despite the tingling that had occurred during chemo, there was no discomfort. And since then no tingling has returned. This is a very good thing for which I’m thankful. Paxlitaxel did not disable my toes.

Shins: Leg hair is sparsely returning, though not as Amazonian and fierce as it once was (it was like a black jungle). Due to winter and my new adoption of legging/tights beneath my dresses, I will not be shaving this season.  But it doesn’t even matter. I’ve now got my father’s legs (what every woman wants), totally bare of hair.

Nether Regions: aka The Lady. Five shots of Zolodex threw me into menopause and took away my menstruation. It’s a dry well. Unfortunate for several reasons (use your imagination) but the greatest worry is that my period hasn’t returned. Right – here is the thing. If chemo knocked out my baby-making abilities, then the periods will never return. If the Zolodex is simply taking time to wear off, it’ll return eventually. Some women get it back immediatly, others wait months – like even up to half a year. I’m not too worried, just sick of the hot flashes.

Belly: Happy. It hasn’t had a needle in over a month. Yay! I’d like to maintain the trend.

Boobs: Or boob. Whatever. Chest. Apart from my bi-weekly meltdown with fear of reoccurrence (something I really need to work on) things are great. At the moment my skin is a rich cream colour, and the scar is still red, and will likely become redder as radiotherapy progresses, but for now things are okay. My left nipple still intimidates me. I try to ignore it.

Hands: Improving daily. The extreme sensation has reduced significantly, and it’s only my thumbs that feel the discomfort. Mind you, my nails have all suffered. Oh they are UGLY. Like rotten teeth. Hopefully this disgusting mess grows out quickly. Although, as a reflection of what happened within my body during chemo, it’s quite revealing.

Face: Smiling. It’s good to be done chemotherapy. Oh, and my left bottom eyelid is essentially without lash, and I suspect my eyebrows have further thinned since I’ve returned to England. Cursed allergies! This apartment has got to go. (or rather, we need to go from the apartment)

Head: Give me a head with hair! Long beautiful hairrr! I get hair-envy, and wonder what Freud would  say about that? I look at people’s gorgeous heads of hair and crave. I crave hair. At the moment it’s thickening up on the side and back, but the top front is completely sans new growth. Hopefully I’m reverse balding, but there is a fear that I’ve simply gone bald at the front of my head. That would suck: Bye bye bangs.  AH! No way! It’s got to grow back.

Overall: I’m doing great & feeling good. Sure I get tired, but this little island between treatments has been an excellent holiday destination.

There you go – body check complete. This is the body of a post-chemo babe, and it’s coming back nicely. Yes, the hair could grow more quickly (and more evenly) but I’m thankful nevertheless.

Have a lovely day and thanks for reading this self-fixated post. Next time I’ll talk about the killer whales, which has a further reaching meaning than stuff like leg hair, pedicures and reverse balding.

Relearning how to be alone

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

This weekend was an interesting case study. Having done a BA in psychology (with no follow up) I love to think of my experiences as personal case studies. And here is another for publication . . .

Zsolt, my wonderful husband, spent all of Saturday fixed to his keyboard pounding out thesis corrections. I spent all of Saturday with my ass fixed to the sofa, doing little else. Contrast that to Sunday where I left Zsolt and his thesis behind and headed out to Tragos to meet a friend, which was followed  by having another friend over for lunch, to finally topping off the day with a little Zsolt/Catherine Donkey Kong Country marathon.

So, time to guess – on which day did I fall into a depression?

Finding A: Getting out of the apartment is my favourite non-writing activity in England. What to do on the weekend? Get out of the apartment. Doesn’t matter if you go down the road, to the tea shop, or visit the tip – if it’s out, it’s good, and for me, typically involves family or friends.

Finding B: I need to starting being active alone. If friends are busy, if Zsolt is occupied – who’s to blame that I collapse into sulksville? Me. A hundred percent me. And that is a problem.

Anyhow, getting out is good. Being with friends is better. Sharing time with my husband is awesome. But what about being alone, acting alone? When did I stop enjoying my self? Back in highschool I used to take walks to the football field and sit by the playground, watching the kids play soccer while I picked blades of grass. Sometimes I would lay in my backyard and count the sparrows that flicked overhead. Other times I tried to shrink the clouds by projecting warm thoughts in their direction. And then at night, if no one was around, I’d wash the dishes and sing with my reflection in the window.

Now that was quality alone time. Something has happened to make even visiting the tea shop difficult when solo.  And I don’t like that.

I love being with others and I love going out. But, it’s about time I loved being alone.

Conclusion: It’s nice to realize this problem – because a problem identified is on the way to resolution. At least, it’s a start. Zsolt has a lot more thesis to go, and I don’t want to fall into that chemo depression all over again (or make him feel guilty).  For some reason ever since chemotherapy I hate to be alone, but that’s over now; time to resolve the fear. Sometimes the best option is simply to step forward, take the risk. Hopefully next weekend when Zsolt is busy working and my ass has returned to the sofa, I’ll remember this post and get up – get dressed – and GET OUT.