Category Archives: Bumpboobs

Statistics stashmisticks!

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

Today I read a blog post on JBBC’s site – a guest post from Tami Boehmar, author of From Incurable to Incredible: Cancer Survivors Who Beat the Odds  which touches upon her experience with breast cancer reoccurrence. And something she mentioned reminds me of a long-ago decision that feels very relevant today. Tami says, “Statistics are just numbers that lump together a large, diverse group of individuals. They don’t apply to me, and they certainly don’t apply to the people who’ve shared their stories of hope with me.”

It seems everyone (or every other person) with breast cancer has a story to share, and a lot of us – particularly a lot of the computer-savvy crowd – turn to blogging, twitter, facebook etc. And through this online community I’ve gotten to hear from many women who are fighting breast cancer and taking control of their diagnosis.  There’s talk about grabbing boobs, changing diet, meditation, positive focus, reconstruction, reoccurrence, moving on, getting started, etc. And it’s this sort of cancer-related dialogue that I appreciate reading.

What I cannot stand, what I’ve never been able to tolerate, are the statistics.

Sure, 90% of breast cancer cases caught early are curable. Excellent. That’s a friendly stat, very nice to read in a women’s magazine. But then you google ‘breast cancer’ and read further – read about later stages of the disease, about young women diagnosed, about numbers that don’t look so glossy on the page. And that’s when I need to turn off my darn-tootin’ computer, because it’s scaring the crap out of me. What good are these numbers? Who do they comfort?

In a past life (aka, my undergraduate degree) I studied psychology. Psych is a really fascinating topic, and there’s lots to say in its favour. But ultimately, after three years of study and a year of experimentation, I decided to walk away from the field. Why? Because of statistics.

When you turn a person’s experience into numbers, you lose everything that was important in their journey. You lose the highs, the lows, the tears, the celebrations, and the realizations. You lose their beauty. Tami is right. Statistics are like processed food taken from a wide range of unknown faces, blended and pureed into easily packaged products. That essence of living, of growing, of exploring – it’s all lost.

So I’m reminded today of why I left psychology, and why when the doctor tells me I have a 50% chance of reoccurrence, I file that bit of news into the “unnecessary info” folder.  Too bad they don’t hand you a pamphlet of success stories during those consultations. “You’ve got half a pizza, but look at these incredible women and how they’re challenging those numbers.  Maybe if you follow their awesome example, you can improve your chances.” Because what’s the worst that can happen?  We improve our lives – regardless of outcome – and find meaning from the bullshit.

Statistics have their moments. They give guidance. They provide protocol. But as a woman who’s already beaten the odds by getting cancer way too young, I think, ultimately, they can take a hike.


The anxiety of going alone

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

There is a movement across England that promotes street parties. These parties are seen as a way to bring communities together (sorta like a twitter party – for instance, the #tellhermovement twitter party on May 5th! Plug alert!), and from what I’ve heard, they work fairly well. One friend of mine helped with a street party when a halfway house was established in her area. She said that before the kids of the home were strangers, threats to a certain degree. There was vandalism and curtain twitching and uncertainties about leaving the door unlocked. After the street party (which involved plenty of food, music and a game of ‘dunk the police officer’) these kids became kids. Kids on the street, which is what they were all along, except now people know one another. (That’s not to say curtain twitching disappears – because who doesn’t love twitching the curtain? But at least you could put a name to the face: “Oh look, that John boy is doing a handstand”.)

Last Friday was the royal wedding and across England street parties were thrown. My street remained free of any flag waving, but the city centre was hosting a large ‘street party’ in the centre square. They viewed the wedding on a jumbo screen, and afterwards celebrated with swing bands, music, games and a general ‘hanging out’ on the lawns.

Zsolt and I watched the wedding through the YouTube stream.  We started at around eleven – oh, her dress was nice, eh! – and stopped during all that singing, then picked it up again for the kiss on the balcony.  Apart from the human bits (Kate waving from outside the cathedral, Will trying to get the ring on her finger, Harry looking back as she walked down the aisle, and Will & Kate’s mixed expressions between wanting to smile, and not wanting to smile) I’d have to say the most impressive part of the day were all those hats. It was like a gallery of  pink, purple, black and beige headwear. British women own the hat.

And after the wedding I was faced with a dilemma. Should I go to the city centre street party? Zsolt was mule-like in his resolution to study (less than seven days now till his PhD defence, so can’t blame him) and I became more and more dejected that we couldn’t go downtown. There would be music and people and possibly a great selection of highly cheese memorabilia, and here we were in our flat missing the day.

Which is when I remembered my ‘do it alone’ resolution. I hate doing things alone. It’s a design flaw in my personality, initiating a solo activity (except for reading, writing, and general day-dreaming) take a momentous amount of energy. Essentially, I feel so awkward to be alone that I stop the activity before it even starts – and that was yesterday. I was stuck in my flat, mood dropping, and wishing I wasn’t such a coward.

So, I stopped being a coward. (wishes do come true!) Because if I can do big things like move countries, fight cancer and learn to drive stick (still in progress), I can certainly face a day in the park.

But, I had to give myself a goal. Goal: to find and buy souvenirs of the Will & Kate wedding to possibly give to relatives who I’m pretty sure would love them.

And suddenly it became much easier to go to a party alone. It’s a baby step, but a step nevertheless. I’m sure many people would fly solo to yesterday’s event without any anxiety, but this is just the way I work. Therefore, to help the situation, I gave myself a purpose.

Fast forward an hour and I’m wading through the paper cups, union jacks, tables, children, dancers, swing band, games, picnickers, and general celebrations of the Southampton Street Party. No names were given to the faces (this isn’t a real street party, after all, and I’m still too chronically shy to randomly introduce myself to a stranger), but it was nice to see what was happening.

But most importantly, I got over my inhibition. Okay, well, I cannot say it was entirely comfortable drifting through the scattered crowds, but a step forward is a step forward. A long time ago, way before meeting Zsolt, I spent a month in Quebec City alone. That was quite something. By the end of the month I was visiting museums, taking long walks, eating in cafes –all with pleasure instead of purpose, but that took time to learn. (A lesson which has faded, but at least it’s there to be remembered.)

I guess it’s good to remember that even when others cannot offer their support, you can still support yourself. That’s easy to forget, but important to remember. It takes a little courage too.

Hmm, there’s an Andy Warhol exhibit in Southampton that my husband doesn’t want to visit (plus he’s still studying, studying, studying). Maybe I’ll go alone this week and check it out. After all, practice makes perfect.

Dancing with Aeroplan

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Life, Travel by

Ah, Aeroplan – we meet again.

For better, for worse, in good times and bad, wrestling with Air Canada’s Aeroplan has become a yearly (bi-yearly, when I’m lucky) tradition. That’s what you get in long-distance family relationships. We live in England, my parents live in Canada. Therefore, about every nine months (give or take several months), I look up flights that can utilize the generous donation of my parent’s flying miles.

Normally this isn’t a problem. London to Ottawa is a fairly steady route – but when it comes to the busy periods, those times of the year when everyone is pushing and shoving to ride a plane, well, flying becomes a bitch.  

Last time it was a Christmas blocked-out period, anxieties over a chemo deadline, and trying to fly when everything and everyone was saying, ‘it’s not gonna happen’. This time it’s far less intense. Zsolt and I will be leaving Hungary toward the end of August, and we were hoping our arrival in Canada would correspond with my parent’s cottage vacation.

Okay, honestly – this is 100% no way like last Christmas. Last Christmas it was essential that I go home before the 15th of December. This time around we’ll be going to Canada whether or not the holiday cottage plans work out. So that’s fine. Therefore, what’s my problem?

Ah, just the same as ever. Every time we have a date (the 25th, the 28th, the 30th) and wait, say, one day to make sure it jives with my family back home-BAM!– Aeroplan does a little dance and the flights for that day are GONE.

Poof.

This is not a life and death situation. I love being able to fly for less. One-way tickets are astronomical in price when not bought with points. I should be thanking Air Canada for all the free (plus tax) rides they’ve allowed me over the years (or rather, thank my parents).

It’s more of an irritation than emergency. Actually, it’s no emergency. It’s like your little brother sitting in the back seat of the van and flicking your ear every five minutes. (Hi, Dan.) Annoying, but ultimately I’ll stick by them.

Eventually this will be sorted. That’s the beauty of life – one way or another, stuff works out. And so, it’s back to the Aeroplan website. After all, every relationship demands a little work; and when it’s good, it’s so very good.