Category Archives: After treatment

Asking for Help & Feeling Ashamed

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Life, Treatment by

I saw this video after Neil Gaimon tweeted it out to his followers. It’s a TED Talk featuring Amanda Palmer. Okay, maybe like you, I’d never heard of her before. But Neil Gaimon is a very cool author and I trust his suggestions, so I clicked through.

At first I wasn’t sure what to make of her talk, but by the end I was thinking to myself, “I’ve got to share this with the awesome people who read my blog.”  (Skip to bottom of this post if you’re really excited to view it!)

Her message is just SO powerful. The idea that “it’s okay to ask.” Sure, she’s speaking from the point-of-view of an entertainer trying to make a living . . . but going beyond that, to the concept of asking, to the concept of supporting. It’s amazing. It’s powerful.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again right now. It was damn hard to ask for help during chemotherapy – hard to the point of shaming. And yes, when I finally did break down far enough to say I wasn’t okay, people were incredible in giving their support. I think of my family, I think of my friends, I think of my cousins, my aunts, my boss, my colleagues, my husband. They were all incredible.

So why – WHY – so much shame in asking?

There is power in asking for help. Maybe Amanda is right. Maybe this is the future – and not just for music, but for dreams and lives and ambitions. I know of one women in the US who is struggling to pay her medical bills (Okay, I know of several women in the US who are struggling – universal healthcare is a GOOD thing, not a communist thing) and her friends are crowd-sourcing to help her buy a new car (replacing her ancient clunker) to get between treatments. I know of another young woman who has started an amazing charity called A Fresh Chapter, and she’s been raising funds to help twelve other people discover life after cancer.

Whether it’s thinking big or just thinking about the next meal – what is wrong with asking for help?

So here is the video. Don’t get weirded out by the ‘live statue’ intro. It’s worth watching through – this may well be the future of creative work. And asking for help, that’s something we should all be able to do without shame.

Catherine Goes Boob Shopping

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

Today, we’re going to talk about boob shopping. Boob as in a single breast (i.e. a prosthesis). Last week, Zsolt and I decided to finally act upon my long-desired craving for a breast that properly fit my body. Therefore, after waiting and waiting for an opportunity (i.e. insurance) we decided to go for it.

Boob shopping

I call this picture: “Chronically Awkward.” You can see the nerves.

SO! I called up my local mastectomy boutique, aptly named Kelly’s Boutique, and arranged an appointment with Diane Hayes who owns the shop. It’s easy to tell that Diane has her heart in this business. The shop itself is named after her sister-in-law and youngest brother’s wife, Kelly, who lost both breasts to imflammatory breast cancer and later passed away from the disease. Diane herself seems to genuinely thrilled when she can help a woman feel better about her body.

The appointment was made.

Fast forward to the next day, Zsolt and I get on the bus and head to the St.Laurent area. We hop off near the St. Hubert Chicken Restaurant (drool) and cross the road to Kelly’s Boutique.

Now I’ll be honest. I almost cancelled this appointment about six times before actually walking through that door. Zsolt had to talk me down . . . he told me it was okay. Everything would be fine.

Why was I so nervous? I don’t know. I was worried about filling out the insurance since I’ve never done that before in my life, worried about whether I should get a properly-fitting breast form at this point, stressed over something else that had just happened in our lives that I’ll mention another time (sorry that’s so cryptic), and just worried in general. It is my natural tendency to worry.

So we arrive at the boutique, and step into the store.

Sensory overload! Suddenly I went from anxiety to full on “shopping!” mode: There were scarves, hats, BRAS, bikinis, and bathing suits everywhere. The place is PACKED with colourful and varying product. And while I totally avoided the hats .  . . because they kinda make me shiver with memories of chemotherapy, I gravitated to the bras.

Bras. Bras. Bras! Pretty bras that you wouldn’t have seen three years ago when I was first diagnosed. There was one particularly black and purple number I really loved. The price tag was beyond my range, since my insurance doesn’t cover clothing for mastectomy, but I am nevertheless so glad to see that designers are finally catching on. Women want to feel attractive, even after their breasts are taken away.

Okay, so I was playing in the land of bras and bikinis, when Diane’s assistant let me know that Diane was done with her previous client and I could come along now.

Come along where, exactly? (My nerves were rising again.)

We were led to a backroom with a fainting couch (apparently, I’m not the only person who gets nervous) and a full length mirror, and possibly a feather boa – but that could just be from my imagination. Zsolt and I went into the room and waited.

Soon, Diane came in. After a few questions about what I was looking for, (“a boob?”) she said, “okay, let’s see.” So that’s how I found myself, once again, exposing my chest to a stranger. Oh my goodness, if I had a dollar for every person who has seen my chest – I could at least buy 3 pints of Hagendaz ice cream.

Again, I was nervous. But Diane was so professional and so certain in what I needed that the nerves lightened. While she disappeared to pull options, I waited on the sofa wrapped in a slippery bathrobe and took pictures of the place with Zsolt’s phone for this blog post. Then she came back and we looked at her pick.

The BOOB of CHOICE: An Amonea breast form that sticks to my chest!!! We played with the sizes till we found the perfect match, and then she showed me how to stick on the breast. It’s fascinating stuff – and it’s not itchy at all. I was so freaking thrilled with my new boob, I was pushing out my chest for Diane and Zsolt to judge the shape. The two of them (my breasts, not Diane and Zsolt) just looked so very pretty inside that black and purple bra.

Sold! I took the breast.

Do you want to know the very best aspect of this stick-on breast? Well, because it sticks to me and doesn’t sit inside a pocket within the bra that means –

Hold on.

Drum roll.

That means . . .

I CAN BUY ANY BRA I WANT! WoooooHooooo! Bring on the pretty zebra stripes, satins, COLOURS and cheap frills that LaSenza and LaVieEnRose can offer. It has been over three years since I could walk into a lingerie shop and not despise the rows upon rows of unattainable bras representing a part of me that couldn’t be reclaimed. Not without reconstruction, and I long-ago choose never to reconstruct.

But now, with my stick on & not-itchy & not too heavy breast – I can be pretty, and it can done in a way that I can afford.

So that’s the lovely news.

It was a good experience, and I’m so glad I didn’t cancel that appointment.

If you are in Ottawa, and want to visit Kelly’s Boutique, here’s her website with all the needed information: http://kellysboutique.ca/

Babies & Bargains with my Oncologist

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fertility by

Last week was my six month follow-up with Dr. Canada. While I only get tested and scanned once a year, these cozy little chats are required every 6 months. This is how they often play out.

I arrive and take a survey where I mark all my ranging emotions and nausea conditions at 1 (meaning not at all a problem & thank god that part is over), except for anxiety which I always mark at 2 (not bad but feeling a little nervous.) You’d have to be a robot, I reckon, not to feel at least a 2 for anxiety during these check-ups.

on one hand

Then I wait a while and the nurse eventually calls me over.

We go to the scale and I take off my shoes/boots. Weight is measured in kilograms, so I happily get off the scale not having a clue what that reading actually means. (Thank you for the blissful ignorance, Imperial System).

Then I go in a room . . . generally the first room, and wait. Just wait. I can look out into the hallway through to the waiting area; I can look at the poster that says I should have brought my medical records (then think, “oh well,” because I never bring my medical records); and I look at the table that I never sit on where there is a gown I never wear.

Eventually Dr. Canada arrives. He’s a lovely fellow who was so incredibly patient and helpful when I was going through chemotherapy, so I try not to hold it against him when he now plays the “how fast can I get out of this room?” game. I’m not an emergency or a priority. I’m just a check-up.

But this time I wanted to hook him for just a minute longer.

The nurse, after taking my weight and showing me to the room asks: “Is there anything you’d like to focus on in today?” (I guess this is a test for how much time I’ll be taking up.)

I answer: “Babies.”

And she smiles and says, “Okay, I’m sure you can talk about babies.” Then leaves me to look at stuff and wait.

Suddenly, I was becoming more and more nervous. There was all that baby drama when I was first diagnosed (The guilt inducing should I/shouldn’t I get fertility treatment), and then the baby drama after I finished chemotherapy with an AMH test that was never properly explained and left me thinking I couldn’t get pregnant EVER. That is devastating news, and not something that should be shared over the phone without an immediate explanation of the AMH meaning except for the nurse saying “IVF isn’t going to work for you.”

And THEN there was the baby clarification, when I regained my menstrual cycle with a steady 30 day interval, which suggested that ovulation was in fact happening. After insisting on being referred to the fertility clinic, I had my eggs checked and yes, a few remained. “But you better get on it,” advised the nurse who scanned my ovaries.

“You better get on it.” Those words have rung in my ears ever since.

So I’m sitting there waiting for Dr. Canada to tell him that I’m nearly done my 2 years of Tamoxifen, and don’t try to stop me! I’m going off the medication to get pregnant.

My palms are sweaty. My anxiety had grown to a 4. And I left my tablet in the waiting room with my dad, so I couldn’t even tweet my way through the anticipation!

Finally, Dr. Canada arrives. He immediately launches in – asking about family history, then saying he’ll try to order an MRI though isn’t sure it will be approved, and a mammogram, and an ultra sounds . . . and. . . and . . . and he wants me to stay on Tamoxifen for at least another year.

Bollocks!

I tell him there is no way that is happening. I’ve been on for 2 years, and there’s just no way I’ll wait for three.

He changes course, and says something along these lines but not exactly: “Well, I’m torn in this situation. On one side,” (and he holds up one hand) “I’ve seen far too many things to advise you to go off Tamoxifen early. But then on the other side,” (he holds up the other side) “pregnancy in young women hasn’t been shown to put them at any higher risk of recurrence, and can actually have a protective aspect toward breast cancer.”

So he is in two minds.

I am not. I have made my decision. So I say to him,

“I know you don’t think I should go off early, but this is important to me. It is very important. And I’ve already been told that I need to get going if I’m going to have a baby.”

At this point, I am guessing he regretted referring me to the fertility clinic. But that’s only a guess.

And so he came back with a compromise so reasonable I couldn’t really say no. He suggested I stay on for another 6 months till June when my scans are all set to be done. If that’s all clear, he will step back with the Tamoxifen pressure and let me get on with having a baby.

“And in six months, you won’t tell me I should stay on longer?”

“No.”

Okay. I can pretty much assume that in six months he will tell me to stay on longer, but that’s because it’s his obligation. With clean scans, I’ll move forward and just get on with my baby craving adventures.

Anyhow, It’s weird negotiating with an oncologist. He said that many doctors in his position wouldn’t support me whatsoever, which is very possibly true. However, that doesn’t mean in any way that I would continue working with an oncologist who didn’t support me. Sometimes I can be a little bit stubborn about what I want. And in this case, I know what I want.

And so there is it. Fertility after cancer is a juggling of tests, opinions, drugs and opportunities. But I can hang in there, because obviously it’s worth it – and then, once the kid arrives, that will be a whole new kinda challenge. 🙂