Category Archives: Bumpboobs

Post script 2011

Posted in Bumpboobs by

P.S. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I wish you all a wonderful 2011. Welcome to a new decade – and just think of all the possibilities. From this moment 2011 (not to mention the rest of your life) could become anything you want, a blank page waiting for your story. I want to be healthy, cancer-free, totally in love and incredibly happy.

Of course it’s good to ask for what you want, but it’s better to go out and get it for yourself. So here is the starting point with a fresh year ahead:

On your marks, get set, GO!

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. 🙂