Category Archives: Bumpboobs

2:00 AM Pixel Style

Posted in Bumpboobs, Life, Life despite cancer by

I’m taking a video game class this week. It’s exciting. I thought maybe I could make a video game around coping/treating/attacking cancer. It’s just an idea. I’m not actually sure where the ‘game’ aspect would come in, but if anyone has any personal coping techniques they love, please do let me know. Maybe it’s a morning drink, or a meditation, a phrase they repeat over and over, an act of advocacy, or even an act of escape. a treatment you believe in, a For me it’s often just finding a way to let the steam release.

So, yesterday at 2:00 am when I woke up with a tight chest and fear, I got up and drew this picture. It’s my first bit of pixel art. Reminds me of playing adventure games, so it seems fitting for this upcoming video game class.

Sleepless Night

Cue the Curse Words

Posted in Bumpboobs, Life despite cancer, Treatment by

When the Dr Canada walks into the room and begins to summarize things, I know it’s bad news. My question becomes, how bad is it? And I struggle to let him have his own process of summarizing before blurting out “What are the results?”

So no summarizing for you guys.

The spots in my lungs are growing again. There has been a 2mm-7mm change in size since the last scan. I suppose in the bigger picture, this can be characterized as a slower growth. But also, in the big picture it’s incredibly shitty news.

Not surprising news, though. If you look at my past four scans, you see first, a slowing down in the shrinkage, then a ‘stable state’ with suggestion of possible growth, and now clear evidence that the treatment is finally starting to wear off. That damn cancer is tricky. It changes, it pushes, it won’t fucking stop. It makes a fair argument that striving to live forever is really not a good idea for the environment in which we inhabit. (Obviously I’ve thought about this a little). Their lifespans should be up, and yet… they just keep on going.

Marcelle, my mom, says we need to push back harder. We need to be more stubborn than the cancer.

What happens next?

I am not really sure. Firstly, we wait to see if I can get onto an extended trial via the hospital for a new approach to inhibiting the cancer. That would be good. It throws a definite wrench in the Visit Hungary and Love Summer plan. But I think we can nevertheless be stubborn about that idea. Even if we don’t go the whole summer, there’s a nice plane travelling between Montreal and Budapest now, and I have hopes of using this as my personal shuttle to the continent.

And then the boxes are piling up in my kitchen, because we’re moving. Oy! Not sure what is going to happen now, but as we agreed upon earlier, there is no sticking around in that flat anymore. I can’t keep breathing that shitty smoky air.

Apart from this – I don’t know. We’re sad, and frustrated, and a little stunned to be honest.

We’ll get through all of this. But what is going to happen next? I have not got a clue. In my novel I have a line at the end of a few different chapters about what is going to happen next, and everything is going to be okay. It’s a nice deep inner faith that things will be okay, even when what that means is impossible to understand. What is okay?

Anyhow, for now that is all I have the energy to say.

FUCK.

Okay, I had energy for that extra bit. BOZMEG KORVA BAD SPELLING HUNGARIAN CURSE WORDS.

Okay, now I am done.

P.S. There is good news here too, actually. There’s no evidence of spread. It’s very good to hear.

 

 

If I’m not a writer, then what am I?

Posted in Life, Life despite cancer, Writing by

Sometimes I ask myself a really tricky question, which goes like this: Who am I to ____? Fill in the blank with just about whatever you like.

Who am I to have a blog? Who am I to host a podcast? Who am I to ask for crowdfunding support? Who am I to start a business? Who am I to make a video?

[Fair warning, my keyboard has several sticky buttons including the period, so please excuse any missing ‘.’ ‘d’ or ‘k’]

Well basically that could just go on and on. It’s something I struggle with repeatedly. And I guess in those moments, I find some comfort in the label I’ve given myself: “Writer.”

Just yesterday Zsolt said something to me that has gotten me thinking. He revealed he’s been considering this for some time. . . trying to understand what I do, or what I am? And not too long ago, he finally found the answer

“You are not a writer,” he tells me.

And that’s confusing. Because if I’m not a writer, then how did I write this blog these past four years, or those articles, or those posts across the internet, or my beloved novel Claire Never Ending?

“What do you mean I’m not a writer?”

Calling myself a writer has been really good for me. It’s given me courage to answer that question: “Who am I to?” with the answer of “I’m a writer, damn it!”

“You’re not a writer,” Zsolt says to me again. And then he explains how when people ask him, when is her next book coming out – and he sees I’m not actually working on a next book — he’s never sure what to say.

(This actually gives me very clear flashbacks to family gatherings around various holidays when people ask: So what are you doing? And for years upon years I’d reply, “Ahhh. Punch bowl.” Then disappear to get another drink.

So you see, when I found the title of writer and tried it on, it became a ‘job’ description that I really quite enjoy. It fits me well. I don’t make any money from it – or rather, the money I make from writing stems from clients ideas, or website design, or social management, all very nice, too.  But when I say I’m a writer, I’m not actually thinking of my work. I’m thinking of the blog posts, guest posts, articles, chapters, challenges, stories . . .

Anyhow, all that to say, the label gives me courage and congruency at those awkward family gatherings.

So, the big Z really threw me with his conclusion that I’m not a writer.

“Why am I not a writer?” I ask him.

“You’re a creator,” he replies. “You are a media person, and content maker, a person who has to make things”

Hmm. I actually rather like that. I’m a writer, for sure, and don’t you forget it, but I’m also . . . a creator. I create things. Sometimes it’s art. Sometimes it’s a t-shirt. Other times it’s a video. And this is all okay, I guess, because I have a label to give me courage: I’m a creator and I like to tell stories. I guess I’m a creative multi-media storyteller. It’s not going to go on my business card, but I think perhaps at my core & behind it all, I really am this.

I’m also a business woman, entrepreneur, endurance lifer, wife, traveller, house keepr, company manager, book shelver, co-host, WRITER, advocate, community lover, storyteller, doodler, learner . . . with all these hats, it’s no wonder my love is feeling confused as to what exactly I do.

But like I say, that’s not something to put on a resume. And definitely not something to tell the customs agent when they ask what I do for a living.

However, he has gotten me thinking. And so maybe next time I’m feeling uncertain, I can reference his broad and generous conclusion. Who am I to _____? I’m Catherine Brunelle, damn it!

And that is all I have to say about that.

For now.

The end.