Category Archives: Bumpboobs

A mushy self-discovery post

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Finding Home, Life, Love, Writing by

You know what? For the past five years – ever since meeting my Hungarian husband and flying away from Canada – for the past five years, I’ve been asking this difficult question: where do I belong? And it would keep me up at night. Honestly, I’d be awake trying to reason whether we should move somewhere in Europe, stay in the UK, go back to Canada, hijack things to Australia . . . when you’re in an international relationship, the concept of home and belonging are suddenly challenged. Growing up, I had no idea how much Ottawa was a part of my identity – and when taken away, there was this lingering question: Where do I belong?

This mini crisis peaked with the event of our wedding, one moment planned for Europe, the next moved to Canada . . . and still nothing was resolved in terms of the future. Zsolt and I had a dream: house, family, kids, day-to-day happiness and settlement. We wanted to settle. But where? I  began to imagine myself behind a wooden counter in a kitchen, with a red and white chequered apron tied around my waist and a hot pie cooling on the window ledge, which looked out over a lovely green yard with tall, solid trees – and everything would be just right. From the tidiness, to the location, to our lives. Everything, one day, would be just right . . . eventually . . .

And then I got cancer.

Which isn’t to say the dream of a clean kitchen disappeared. I still dream of a clean kitchen. And it isn’t to say the crisis of ‘where to live’ was resolved. Because we’re moving to Canada, but will we stay there forever – who knows?

However, getting cancer (surviving cancer) did change an essential aspect of my life.  I stopped asking: “Where do I belong?”

It suddenly felt like a stupid question.

Where do I belong? Duh. I belong right here – right now – in this moment. And what do I belong to? I belong to my passions, my writing, my Love, and myself.

It’s like a light was flipped on. In the past five years I’ve been hunting for my identity. It was challenged when I left Canada. It was challenged when I was married. It was challenged when I got cancer.

And so it was sharpened.

I am Catherine. I am a writer. I am a wife. I am a breast cancer survivor. And those are things that have no passport, no national identity, no alien status, and no dependence to anything beyond myself (and Zsolt, in terms of marriage). Where do I belong? Geez Louise, I belong within myself. Geography is a luxury, to be close to family a bonus, to have spectacular views, clean kitchens, pies on the windowsill – that’s all wonderful and welcome. But in this moment I’ve got my essentials. I’m where I belong, finally.

All right, today’s blog post is totally inwards, and so sorry for spilling this revelation all over the page. But it’s a good revelation, and nothing but experience could have brought me to this point. I suppose as things change, my identity will keep shifting and shaping, but at least right now, age 28, tipping over into 29 and feeling good, I’ve found myself. I’ve found my passion (writing, creating, doing). I’ve found the love of my life. And it all feels amazing.

Happy Easter!

PS. I might have found a sense of identity – but my apartment is still a mess! The other night – in the pitch black and total silence, there was a huge CRACK (I started screaming even before waking up from the shock of the noise and Zsolt had to settle me down). Turns out, my wardrobe collapsed onto the ground. Now there’s a pile of clothes tangled with hangers and shelving on the floor. What a way to get the moving purge started. I’ll need to pick through my clothes/tidy this mess and decide: Canada (to live), Hungary (to vacation), charity (to give me an excuse for more shopping). So, with a push from providence, the packing has begun!

 

An AMH to count my eggs

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fertility by

Six months later and we’re at the baby doctor’s office, waiting for our consultation. Again, we’re back at the same clinic where I was diagnosed, but thankfully – this time – they have put us in a different waiting area. No more having to stare at the door, the room, the memory of where I was first told about cancer. Thank goodness for that.

So. Today’s appointment with the doctor went rather quickly. Apart from waiting (we always wait) for fifty minutes, everything was straightforward. [Zsolt and I now arrive at a doctor’s office, any doctor’s office, and immediately find the best magazines. Then we plop ourselves into some chairs and engage in the waiting. This is a-okay with me for one reason: when I had my emergency, we didn’t wait more than ten minutes. Now that my crisis is over, it’s okay to let others go first.]

Essentially Dr Baby-Maker recommended that I test my Anti-Mullerian Hormone (AMH) which will help ascertain whether I have any eggs left in my ovaries.  And then later on (whether it’s here or in Canada, but most likely Canada) the test can be repeated and we can see what’s happening with the girls. It’s a game of ‘how fertile are you’. Apparently from a blood test this lab can determine the number of eggs in a woman’s body- described as ‘Ovarian reserve’ ranging from optimal fertility, satisfactory fertility, low fertility and very low/undetectable. Boo for very low fertility, and yay for optimal to satisfactory.

Again, there were reassurances not to worry about my lack of menstrual cycle. So, I am trying not to worry – and what’s the point anyhow, now I’m going to take a test that will monitor my level of eggs . . . so whatever mystery exists is soon to be resolved. Tomorrow I’m calling the clinic to arrange for the test. Because it’s new, the test isn’t covered by the NHS, but – obviously – Zsolt and I think it’s worth the reasonable £50 fee.

Speaking very honestly, I’m not keen to have a treatment like IVF – at least, not at this point. Hormones got me into this breast cancer mess, so avoiding a surge of drug induced hormones (more, following eight years of on-and-off birth control and now the estrogen blocking tamoxifem, though that’s a bit different, it still pertains to estrogen) doesn’t feel like a good idea.

Anyhow, I’ve been surprisingly calm about this entire day. Soon Zsolt and I will learn whether I have eggs left in my ovaries. That’s an important thing. And then we’ll get on with our lives (and our family planning), one way or another. 

PS. Zsolt and I followed this visit to the hospital with a visit to the cemetery. We found the resting place of Benny Hill, a British comedian who Zsolt quite admires. If you are ever around the Southampton general, and you’re a fan, it’s worth stopping by to pay respects.

PPS. The weather here is amazing. Today was all sundresses and shades, with a great dose of clear skies and a warm breeze. Perfect for a walk through the cemetery.

Dressing for the boobies

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun, Life by

Once upon a time I bought a dress online from H&M – a cheap red dress that I wore once to a Christmas party, and may never wear again. I say ‘may’ because ‘maybe’ next Christmas I’ll start feeling festive and  try it on once more. But honestly, it kinda reminds me of the chemo days, so thinking about it as I write, it’s probably better to send that red number along to the charity shop as a donation.

Anyhow – not my point.

Ever since ordering from H&M, they’ve been assailing me with magazines. Every other week I receive a magazine about their new spring line, new summer line, new home line.  This morning the delivery boy dropped off H&M’s  ‘Shades of Summer 2011’ and I’m just cracking into this baby.

Thankfully, magazine browsing somewhat satisfies my craving for new clothes. Somewhat. And I pour over these pages as though if I stare hard enough, the fashion will materialize from thin air into my apartment. I wish!

I’m noticing a lot of loose tops, which bodes well for my post-mastectomy figure. If you’ve had a mastectomy and don’t want to wear an overly structured bra every day (and if you have a small breasts, because I doubt this would work with a larger cup), then it’s somewhat easy to pull off the sans-boob look with the right clothing.

For example – sans boobs: Tube tops are OUT.  Bandeau bikinis are IN.  V-necks are GREAT. Plain t-shirts are OBVIOUS (obvious you’re missing a breast). Patterns, flowing material, and asymmetrical cuts are the best. Apparently crochet tops are back? But I don’t think that looks good on anyone, boobs or no boobs.

Talk about body image battles. If a woman can go without her breast and still feel sexy, then you’ve got to admire that. There are times when I feel like there’s been no change. Small or no boobs, the figure is still androgynous. And when I throw on my pink sun dress with those oversized shades and white flip flops, damn – I do feel sexy.

But then, I totally get why women wear prosthesis breasts. If you have B and above curves (which most women do) a missing bump will become far more noticeable. I’ve seen bras designed for the Amazonian woman (one cup only) and some really nicely structured clothing to hide any unbalance (or even the total absence of breasts). Actually, ever since my trip to the mastectomy shop, I’ve been taking my floppy falsie out on the town, and the response has been surprising.

So I’m out and about meeting friends, going to work, whatever, all while wearing my spare boob. And here are the comments:

“Oh, cute top.”

“I like your shirt.”

“Is that new?”

1) They are cute tops. 2) I am glad people like my taste. 3) No, they’re not new. They’re way old, and I’ve been wearing them every other week for the past nine months.

BUT – I haven’t worn them with my boobs on.

It’s so absolutely fascinating that as soon as I put on two breasts instead of one, my tops become all the more attractive. Maybe it’s because they’re cut for the typical women’s shape? Maybe it’s because my new mastectomy bra makes the girls pop out to their best advantage? Maybe people feel awkward when they notice my chest isn’t shaped as expected, and so look away before noticing how cute I’m dressed?

Maybe, maybe, oopsy daisy.

Anyhow. For this reason I’m starting to reconsider the idea of mastectomy lingerie. I love the bras we obtained two weekends past. And have my eye on purchasing a couple more before leaving the UK. There is this provider called ‘about a girl’ who I’m becoming curious about. They have silk mastectomy lingerie, and the stuff looks quite – dare I hope? – sexy. I’m thinking of making a pilgrimage to their store (because when it comes to mastectomy clothing, you generally have to make a long trip or order online) and see what’s what.

Anyhow, that’s me and my cup of tea – pouring over this morning’s junk mail, an easy start to an easy morning.