Category Archives: Chemotherapy

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.

Yes, we can

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Well, mark one for small victories. Yesterday I walked to work and it didn’t wipe me out. Ha! Recovery is a very good thing. And yes, I felt incredibly proud – evidenced by the stupid smile plastered on my face, and whenever I passed someone (construction workers, lady with groceries, man on bike) there was a deep urge to shout out: “Look at this! I’m walking to work!”

But I didn’t really do that. Everyone was walking, except man on bike, so really . . . Or, maybe everyone should have been celebrating their ability to walk? Yes! I can walk! Yes! I can breathe! Yes! I can see! Yes! I can bike! Yes! I can shout! And so on.

Not only can I walk, see, bike, shout, breath, but I can also read, smell, laugh, love, study, think, eat (and eat and eat), draw, write, sing, rest, sleep, run, skip, dance AND more.

Life should be one big party all the time.

I suppose we forget our blessings the way we forget our pains. Mothers tell me that while child birth is traumatic they forget about the pain, like the mind purposefully shelves it so that the body can continue making babies. Perhaps it’s the same for good things too, because if I never stopped marvelling at how amazing it is to walk, I may never stop walking – and thus be really late for work.

Who knows, it’s just a theory. Yesterday was nice because it was new, and a marker in my post-chemo progress. Walking is a simple pleasure. But yesterday, it was a great event.

Dr Canada and the hug

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

Today was a nice experience. Around new year I’d received a letter in the mail advising me of an appointment with Dr Canada on the 11th of January. The letter didn’t specify what this meeting was about, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess it was a follow up visit.

So this morning, way too early, Mom and I hop into the car and join the highway rush. Why does traffic slow down? What’s happening on the road that so many cars needs to clump together? Anyhow, we drove to the General.  Mom (Marcelle) had awoken me early for a shower with the idea that I ought to look good today – and she is right. I ought to have looked good, and despite my lack of hair,  puffy eyes (too sleep deprived from a certain younger brother who kept me awake while he had his midnight snack), and groggy expression, this morning’s effort paid off. With a bit of blush on the cheeks I looked . . . hmm . . . acceptable.

But wouldn’t you believe it – first thing Dr Canada says to me as he walks into the room (with me having been weighed and observed), “You look pretty today.”

Wonderful man.

Though honestly he is excellent and I consider myself lucky to have him as an oncologist. Both he and his assisting medical student checked my breast. Like my mother, he suggested my itchy nipple was due to hormonal changes – “keep it moisturized”  he suggested.

And then we got onto the topic of radiotherapy. I presented him with my options: 50 grey over five weeks, or 40 grey over three weeks, with grey being a measure of radiation. According to him, there’s little difference between the two. In some cases there is a worry about toxicity and the heart for 40 over three week, but because I’m having my therapy on the right side (away from the heart) it shouldn’t be a problem.

Little difference, but ultimately less radiation and a shorter time span . . . why wouldn’t I choose three weeks of radiotherapy over five? Maybe there  are reasons, but they’re not shouting out.

Which led my mother to ask, “are there any supplements she should take/avoid during radiotherapy?”  and Dr Canada suggested avoiding vitamin E during treatment, but deferred to my mom, saying that she was the expert in that area.

Expert in that area! You know what that means? Mom was totally googled.

And yet he was quite cool about her alternative health background – not the least bit condescending or on edge. Instead he gave us his opinions about which supplements help, which to avoid, and which are rather unclear in their effectiveness. He also followed this up by suggesting I read some books on diet because while they may not be proven methods, they have sense behind them. “There are some well thought out ideas.”

AND then! So surprising – he gave me a hug and wished me luck. Seriously, no joking, we hugged. It was nice. Considering the heavy implication of our conversation, the reason for the visit, the fear I’d experienced last weekend, his hug was curative.

Medicine mixed with compassion, it’s the very best treatment. Today was a good visit, and it’s left me highly impressed.