Category Archives: Chemotherapy

Tea and a muffin

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Well, guess who got in touch? The lady in the red-brick house who had breast cancer, and I am quite glad she did. Yesterday afternoon she stopped by while canvassing and left her number with my parents. So of course,  happy to see this slip of paper as I arrived home, I called her right away.

Fast forward to this morning, walking through the snow back up my favourite street and being greeted at her door. With an invitation for tea, we got together and had a chat (and some lovely gluten-free, lactose-free muffins). Honestly, I never imagined this scenario; it must have been over ten years since I was last in her home to babysit. One time while she and her husband were away (and I was ‘on the job’) her son and I somehow managed to get locked outside of the house. Desperate not to look like an idiot, I asked the neighbours if they had a key – but no luck. Instead  they had a ladder. . .  essentially I broke in through the window and climbed into the kitchen sink (then crawled along the floor to deactivate the alarm).  Yeah, that was a bit embarrassing overall, but also rather resourceful now that I look back.

Anyhow, never in my life would I have imagines a conversation about breast cancer taking place at the home where I once crawled into the kitchen sink. But life is surprising (with breast cancer being a surprise for everyone involved) however, it was real pleasure to sit down and compare experiences (and catch up; funny how it’s so easy to lose track of someone’s life, even if they only live down the road).

Despite some differences in treatment and diagnosis, both systems seem to move quickly. I guess that’s a reassurance to women freshly diagnosed in both Canada and England. You will be attended, and it’ll happen right away. In England my medication was all covered, in Canada a drug plan is very helpful. In Canada they have a nurse designated to help during chemo, in England they have a nurse designated to help with overall breast cancer. I think it’d be ideal to have both types of nurses available. When first diagnosed questions swirl around and it’s useful to easily find answers, and chemotherapy is such a tiring process that having a contact would be reassuring.

Anyhow, we compared notes. Talking was such a pleasure, and talking over tea made it all the better. It’s very nice to connect with someone who has been there and done that. For various reasons I’ve never been to keen to join support groups, but chatting with a neighbour was different.

Overall, I’m quite glad she had guts to start the conversation. I should learn from her example.

Walking home

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Finding Home, Life, Uncategorized by

So today I visited with my oldest friend. She and I have known each other since we were about three years old. Having lived on the same street for over twenty five years, it’s easy to keep in touch. Sure, we’ve both now moved away from the area – but so long as our parents remain here, our roots stay connected.

Anyhow, she and I had a nice outing which involved Starbucks –pumpkin spiced latte, hello! – followed by some Walmart browsing (flash back to age ten and us walking to the Hazeldean Mall for a first sans-parent shopping spree. We went to Zellers and tried on some mini-skirts, followed by the dollar bin where I bought cheap florescent red lipstick), and after Walmart she dropped me off at her house (instead of mine) so I could take my well-loved, fondly remembered ‘walk down the street’.

Walk down the street: How many times have I strolled home along this road? Many. Countless. Each time with my head in the clouds and some stupid grin on my face. Who knows why it makes me so happy. Maybe because of the houses.

Here is the two story red brick; that women in the window had breast cancer but it’s not like I’m going to ring her doorbell. Further along is the home of my first crush, another two story; I used to bike by his house and hope that he’d be watching. And that home with the tree fort  just by the path, they had a dog who kept getting loose. Over there with the fancy garden and dark windows, the dad here once gave me a music box and I still have it today (unfortunately, the mechanism broke). Next is the place with those little blond girls, and beside it the house of our neighbours, who always have a wine opener when we need one. And there is my house, single story – the place where so much has happened. It’s like being on a game show of ‘this is your life’ except it’s not only my life, it’s my community – these people are part of me in some weird way that almost no longer seems relevant, and yet is unforgettable. I love walking down this street. It always feels good.

Funny, eh. I look at the houses and the paintwork and the driveways and the snow soaked lawns . . . but forget home renovations, it’s the feelings that impress me –  I feel the memories.   Maybe that’s why I smile.

Hair regrowth

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Christmas is over! And now life moves on. But it was a lovely holiday filled with family and quiet and all the good things for which I had yearned. Who says a little nostalgia is a bad thing? This Christmas has been soul food.

Up next: 2011! Another year, another decade, fresh from the garden and ready to be savoured. And speaking of gardens, I have a lovely little patch of growth all around my head. Hmm, maybe that sounds gross. I’m not talking actual moss or anything. This is hair – real hair.

An excellent description of my hair growth would be ‘reverse balding’. It’s coming in, middle-aged-man-style.  There’s some dark fuzz around my ears, bridging up to my crown and fading as it crosses the top of my head. The peak of my hair (closest to forehead) is still yet to grown, but up top it’s a fuzzy mess of random baby hairs.

The hair garden is growing, and I’m quite pleased. The nurse had mentioned to hair growth during the latter part of chemotherapy. She said it would grow in as baby hair, but that would stop after the first cut. No way no how are any scissors getting near my new locks, but I look forward to the day when this mess can be styled.

Sometimes I’d look in the mirror and simply not see myself. Losing hair was in many ways losing my femininity. Funny, you think the breast would have done that – and it did to some extent, but the loss my hair was so obvious. First of all, women aren’t meant to be totally bald, that’s a job for men. Secondly, women aren’t meant to have middle-aged-man style bald heads. I look like a fuzzy monk. For a long time it was discouraging (mixed in with hormones and chemo drugs), but now I’m looking up. Things are growing back. Even if I still look like a baby chicken, or a man, or a monk . . . it’s growing back, baby! There’s hope in my reflection. I’ve never been so glad to see my mousy brown hair colour. Whew! It’s coming.

Yay for new hair. 🙂