Category Archives: After treatment

I am not Fearless.

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs by

So blogging as Bumpyboobs, and being involved in Facing Cancer Together, and meeting the incredible women online, interacting through twitter and facebook and meeting ladies in person – it’s all great. It’s support, and like I’ve said before, I love the online world of cancer support because we can choose our interactions, the depth of our involvement, and even the people with whom we relate. There’s choice. But even that doesn’t protect you from the reality of cancer – that slap-in-the-face reality that people do die.

I follow a lot of blogs. You might not notice me, and my name isn’t always listed under ‘Bumpyboobs’, but nevertheless, I’m often there reading. So many touching journeys are online (I reckon each and every person has a story that is touching, even if they don’t put it on the internet) and it is my privilege to read and blog alongside these great writers.

Okay, so please get that I feel my work and my interactions in the BC and cancer community is a privilege. It’s important to me in a very deep way.

But oh my goodness, it can be hard at times. Seems to me that people pass on too early, and final posts appear too often in my RSS reader. I don’t want to turn away from others as they thank the world for the support. It’s just hard to know that they’ve reached their last stop. Harder for them, of course, and just so aching for the family and friends left behind.

There’s this great tag online about #fearlessfriends. Those are friends who stick by a person even after someone is diagnosed stage four or worse, beyond treatment. It takes a lot of character and strength to be a fearless friend. I’d like to give kudos to those who do it so very well. You ladies just keep giving, and it amazes me completely how generous you are with your emotions and support.

It’s the fearless friends, alongside these incredible people who will blog their story to the very end, who give me strength to stay with them and not shrink away. But it’s hard. It’s nevertheless hard. And there are moments – just some moments, when I open facebook or twitter or the RSS reader and wilt as I read the headlines, as I have done this week for reasons many of you know.

Friendship is a wonderful and empowering thing. Support lets us know we’re not alone. Conversation brings up important topics that need consideration. And daily triumphs shared are energy boosters for us all. It is a wonderful thing to work within the cancer community. But this is cancer we are talking about . . . so in today’s post I just wanted to acknowledge that sometimes this is hard. It might be selfish to write – particularly with people passing and anniversaries being marked, but this blog has always been about getting the emotions ‘out’ so that I can move forward. It’s a selfish blog, really, in this aspect.

So there is it. Out. Sometimes, I find it hard to be supportive. Sometimes, I’d rather just turn off my computer. Sometimes, I just need a little time away from cancer . . .

Then the next day I can come back and keep sharing, talking, laughing, reading and supporting. I am not fearless, and that is the truth, but nevertheless, I am doing my best. Probably we’re all just doing our best.

 

The Resolution List

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Finding Home, Fun, Life, Travel, Writing by

Today the sky is grey, I’m about to get my period (so guess what my mood’s like. Or rather, ask my husband), and this room is rather dark. Having described all that, I’d like to talk about the bright side of things.

(And I’d like to turn on a light in this place. One moment please.

Okay, better.)

Right. So being diagnosed with cancer absolutely and undeniably sucks. I will never be a person to argue against the position, and don’t wish the illness (in any of its varieties) on anyone. Not even the most horrible of horrible people, because chances are someone loves them nevertheless, and cancer is most certainly terrifying and devastating to the ones we love.

(Okay, so I warned you already. I’m about to get my period and am therefore sliding toward a darker tone – but it’s not all bad, because I KNOW I’m a little moody, and can therefore attempt to apologize whenever things get a little too dark. Unfortunately there are no more lights to turn on in this room – oh! But there another widow shade that could be opened. Excuse me.

Better. Much better. Oh, hello natural lighting.)

So we’ve established that caner is bad. But here is another thing – a potentially good thing. It’s also like the BIGGEST perspective-whacking-stick you could ever have, well that and I guess maybe an out of body experience where ghosts of Christmas past, present and future visit you with each stroke of the clock.

And if you had anything in the way of a similar experience to myself (though fair enough if you didn’t, because everyone’s journey is unique), you most likely found yourself making resolutions. These aren’t New Years Eve’s resolutions where you give up chocolate, or promise to go to the library more, or aim to lose five pounds. These are “if my life is at risk, and my mobility and health could end at any time – these are the things I’d wish for most before any more of this crazy shit happens.” So there’s a lot of honesty and desire behind these feelings. These are the resolutions that tap into what it is you want/need most.

So I’m challenging you to make a note and keep it someone. To share it with us. To write it in your diary. To stick it on your fridge. Whatever. If you have been here – if you are here in now in treatment, or were here sometime in the past – or forget cancer even, if you’ve had your life thretened, or hit rock bottom, or just woke up and said:” Oh shit!” then I’m challenging you to sit down and make a list. Get it together in one place.

Back when I was diagnosed my initial and strongest desire was to return back home to Canada. Ultimatly we waited things out, and I’m glad that we did, but cancer firmed me up – Zsolt would immigrate, we were going to move.

Whether this is/isn’t a good thing in our lives remains to be seen. (It’ll be a great thing just as soon as a few strings get tied up . . .) But I can tell you this. While I miss my incredible friends in England, I no longer have this feeling thata piece of me is missing. You know? Like, before diagnosis it dawned on me that Canada and I may be permanently parting ways, and that was totally crushing. Crushing. It broke my heart. This was realized after getting married and setting up life in England. Canada was not in the cards. Crushing.

But then I made a resolution based on a deep, demanding urge. It uprooted everything we had had planned for our lives, however this past July when Zsolt and I boarded the plane to travel to Europe and spend the summer – I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel sick. I was nothing else but happy to be going. And that is really new.

Resolution = accomplished.

Other resolutions were to spend a summer in Balaton and Pecs, which we did last year. It was one of the most healing things I could have chosen. The fact that we are lucky enough to do it again this year is just a freaking miracle. (See, my perspective is brightening, along with the lighting.)

I yearned to travel. After treatment we flew to Portugal and I went in a bikini on the beach. Sure, I don’t have a right boob – but we were on a beautiful beach! The water was gorgeous. The markets were busy (don’t get me started on that awesome cheese) and it was just so freaking fun. Next up! The Atlantic ocean for 7 nights! Resolution = done. And will do again.

I wanted to buy a canoe. How ridiculous for someone who doesn’t even own a car. But guess what, this past June we bought that damn canoe – and even though it’s currently waiting at home in Canada – the pleasure of paddling with my husband on a quiet and lazy river has been huge. Yes, we spent money at a time when it was really stupid to do so (kinda like this trip), but screw it. I used to sit in that chemo chair with those drugs dripping in, and imagine the rivers in Canada – imagined showing Zsolt a loon, and splashing water onto our faces. Resolution = owned.

And yeah, there are BIG resolutions too. Moving to Canada, as I said, was one – and that’s still proving difficult. But my gut took us there, and my gut says this will work out. Having a baby is like the biggest, more life changing resolution ever – but it will happen, and we will get there. Being a professional writer, one step at a time. . . resolutions = still in progress!

It’s not easy.

But it’s good to reflect on the big and the small, and one-by-one tick off the list of chemo/cancer resolutions.

So what are/were your resolutions? I dare you to look back (or look around) and write them down – make them real on the page, and then see what can happen next.

 

My List:

-travel

-go home

-write more & publish

-have a family

-get a canoe

-go to Hungary for the summer

-buy real estate (and a cottage in Balaton)

-split time between Canada and Hungary,

-bring food to those who need it

-dress well/stand out

-eat good food

-be with family

-be with friends

-make this work

 

Screening and Screaming (i.e. frusteration)

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs by

Today was a heavier day, and not just because of this heat. Every six months, now moving forward to every year, it’s scan time. This morning I had a mammogram, and I was meant to also have an ultrasound.

Anyhow. We go to the hospital. They squish my breast till I’m standing at the machine (as the nurse move it ever so much tighter, and tighter, and tighter) making rude faces at the wall. But apart from the ridiculous compression of flesh, it goes smoothly.

It should be said that I’m not crazy for mammograms mainly because I’m only thrity (in about 2 weeks), and to receive this sort of scan every year, with all that radiation, really annoys me. I was hoping very much that ultrasounds would be an alternative to the mammogram.

Except after I get the mam done, the radiologist tells me he doesn’t want to do the ultrasound. He thoroughly believes that ultra sound screening produces too many false positives, and he’d have to do a biopsy, and I’d be left on ‘stand by’ (monitored) for six months at a time for years to come.

“But if you really want to do it, we can do it.”

Not. He didn’t really mean that. You should have seen his face when I said, “Well why don’t we just do it?” It was a ,”not a good idea” kinda face. And maybe he’s right?

I became an emotional puddle. (Darn tootin’ emotions! They make it impossible for me to express any words except for, “sorry,” which I shouldn’t even be in that situation.) Zsolt started asking questions about lymph nodes and such, and the doctor was answering his questions. So a mammogram, of course, is a reasonable way to screen . . . not perfect, but I suppose less false positives than an ultrasoun. Fine.

But I don’t want to be shot with radiation for forty some years in an area that I already know is sensitive to cancer. I just don’t want to do it – even this incidence was a twist of the arm following my oncologists request to get “at least one mammogram.”

Anyhow. The radiologist said that MRIs would really be the best option, if I have an overall lifetime risk of breast cancer that is greater than 25%. (i.e. we can’t justify spending the money otherwise.) Fuck. You know what the oncologist in England told me about my more immediate odds (as I made the decision to do chemotherapy), he said I had about 50% chance of not having reoccurrence if I had the treatment.  Of course, that number changes over time . . . but right now, I’m really pissed about the 25% lifetime crap when I had breast cancer in my body and lymph nodes only two damn years ago. And I know we all face this screening abyss, and I’m not entirely sure if I have a right to be so annoyed, but I am. So there.

Right. Bright side of things: I learned a lesson today. My options as a young woman aren’t fabulous in terms of breast cancer screening. I need to become more proactive in choosing my screening, even I need to pay for it myself.

Oh Geez – even brighter side! I didn’t get my results, but the radiologist looked at my mammogram and didn’t order any additional tests, which I take as an awesome sign. Next day or two I’ll call the doctor for the official reading of the correspondence between specialists (results). It’s not really stressing me out, because if he’d seen a lump, I’m sure the ultrasound (to a specific area) would have been done. I suppose it was just such a frustrating feeling, being told I didn’t have the power to choose my screening, that really left me in such a lurch today.

That being said, there has to be a better way. Mammograms for decade upon decade? There just has to be a better way.

(And I’m not going back to ask again for an ultrasound. I do believe that the mammogram is enough, but that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t think it’s the healthiest option for a woman at my age in terms of long-term health. Maybe I’m wrong, but going forward I’d really love to explore other options, whatever those may be.)