Category Archives: Treatment

Mastectomy shopping

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life, Treatment by

Beauty is good for you, don’t you think? Yesterday I sat in a cathedral and listened as a touring choir rehearsed for the evening’s concert. It was absolutely fulfilling. There’s something so awe inspiring about high vaulted ceilings and light shinging through stain glass windows;  Somehow a place that large inspires peacefulness. Throw in a round of fifty harmonized voices and wow – that’s something powerful.

But – Zsolt and I didn’t travel along the A3 to Chichester just to visit pretty places. We were shopping for boobs.

The last mastectomy store I walked into (in Southampton) was not impressive. The sales lady stood behind her counter the entire time, the selection was minimal, and my bra size turned out to be way tiny on the UK sizing charts. FACT: in England they have a AA cup, which is essentially the same size as a North American A cup. Ugh. Therefore, I can kiss any hopes of ever reaching B again my life good bye. Good bye, you curvy mounds of womanhood.

But whatever. I’m a double A, and thankful to at least have one remaining breast. She’s small, but she’s mine. And according to the last ultrasound, she’s healthy too.

Right – so, shopping for boobs.

Since radiotherapy it’s been uncomfortable to wear bras. The burning and strain made the entire idea impossible. However, it’s now been one month since radio finished, and while the tan remains – the burn has faded. Wearing a bra is less uncomfortable.

Therefore, I decided it was time to try another mastectomy shop. This one, Nicola Jane, has an online presence and several shops across the country – one being in Chichester.

Unlike a proper retail shop, this place doesn’t have a displays in the window. In fact, it doesn’t have a window. Instead the store is located amongst offices, and you (me, we the clients) need to enter a small hall, then push through the door marked, “Come in.”

So Zsolt and I went in. And  you know, at first I was a little disappointed. It looked almost exactly like the previous shop – samples on the racks, but otherwise you didn’t get that ‘pretty lingerie shop’ feeling.  You know those shops? Carpet flooring, pink everywhere, long gilded mirrors, lace, candles, potpourri . . . well it didn’t have any of that.

But it did have two shop assistants who were eager to help.

(Maybe a little too eager? At one point I was between bras when the sales lady waved her hand, “Hi ya, can I come in?” and before I could utter the ‘neh’ to ‘no’ – in she came. Chalk up yet another person who has now seen me topless.)

It was a true group effort. I’d try on the bra, then pull back the curtain to show everyone – Zsolt and the two sales ladies received a mini fashion show, and I was helped in identifying which bra size works best. That’s a win-win-win situation.

Fifty pounds later and I have two mastectomy bras that fit far better than my original one. And while I whinge about being a double A, they’re some pretty good looking double As. Today I took my spare breast out for tea and it looked totally normal. Actually, better than normal – perky!

Really, going without a bra is no big deal, and having a small chest means that it’s okay to not always strap on that particular bit of underwear. But once in a while I really love to have some nice, perky BOOBS.

So there you go. A good purchase, which had better last  me at least two or three years – because my goodness, this stuff is expensive!

Living in a crazy mess

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Finding Home, Life, Treatment by

At the very end of Edible Woman there is a scene where she bakes a cake. Her entire apartment is catastrophic with mess, mould and disarray. Instead of cleaning the place, she buys new ingredients (flour, sugar, salt, etc), a new baking tray, new cake moulds, new measuring cups – new everything, and she bakes her lady cake. And somehow in that mess, once the cake is iced and ready, somehow she finds a little freedom from the madness.

This is how I feel in my apartment. For the past three days I’ve had one slipper missing, so have been walking around the flat with double layer socks on my right foot, and a moccasin slipper on my left. There is a constant pile of dishes across the counter, and the mite protection sheet of my bed (which last week I washed) has been sitting on the sofa waiting for me to strip the mattress – in the meanwhile it’s attracted my handbag, backpack, toque, apron, headphones, sweater, jeans, trackpants, running shoes, jacket, blanket, scarf and shall. The floor needs a good vacuum. The bedroom needs to be tidied . . .  the bathroom is okay, so at least there is that.

Anyhow, it’s a little crazy here. Zsolt in the meanwhile is at his computer totally absorbed into this thesis (because if he wasn’t, I’d never get away with leaving my things everywhere). I’m counting down the hours to his submission because: 1) It’s an incredible achievement and I’m bursting with pride over my brilliant man and 2) I miss having the dishes washed every morning.

Honestly, between Zsolt and I – he is the better housekeeper. Lately we’ve been taking turns. During chemo he did the tidying. During thesis I’d do the tidying . . . but now we’re both managing projects (radiotherapy recover and thesis polishing) at the same time.

Here is a good question: how do people with children manage? I really, really admire all the mothers and fathers who somehow produce a liveable household for their family. I cannot understand how you do it, which makes your results all the more impressive.

So – waiting for that moment of clarity now. Maybe it’ll come in the form of moving boxes, charity shop donations, and the inevitable vacating of this property. Who knows? Hopefully, eventually, I’ll at least find my other slipper.

Time for common sense

Posted in Bumpboobs, Treatment by

Today I opened my twitter account to find a message from an old friend. She forwarded me a link (this link, in fact) to a Globe and Mail article discussing how a woman, Jill Anzaru who has breast cancer is not eligible for the needed medication coverage. Why? Because her tumour was too small. The cancer in her breast was too small. . .still cancer, but small. Less than 1 cm.

My head is shaking.

Yes, I understand lines need to be drawn – but you would think that cancer would be more black and white. Did you get cancer? Okay, here’s the treatment. I’m in a similar situation; at the moment while living in the UK, my tamoxifen is covered. Tamoxifen is a drug that significantly drops the likelihood of reoccurrence in breast cancer patients (like Herceptin, this lady’s needed med). In the UK I am covered because I had cancer. In Ontario I’m not covered.

Why?

Because I’m under 65 years old. Yes, I had breast cancer – but too early for coverage. Luckily for me, Tamoxifen is an affordable medication. Unlucky for Jill and her too-small CANCER tumour, her medication costs a whack load of cash (if you even have a whack load of cash to spend, apparently Herceptin costs about $40,000/year for treatment).

Fighting cancer is expensive, and with so many patients I understand that guidelines need to be drawn. Right. But with that said, common sense has got to be employed. A thirty-five year old woman gets cancer. One of the first things they tell you as a young BC fighter is  that, ‘considering your age the doctor is likely to recommend an aggressive therapy,’ because we have a long road (i.e. life) ahead of ourselves, and we need to fight with all possible weapons. Obviously, that includes medication.

I’m sorry to hear this woman needs to battle for better, affordable treatment. She’s just about to start chemotherapy, and I remember that apprehension and fear. There’s already one fight going on between you and your body, anything extra is just not okay – heck, I got stressed out when Air Canada gave me trouble over a flight home. Just imagine her anxiety over a fight for her future.

Anyhow – Jill, if you can hear me : I’m wishing you loads of courage, strength, and determination. Hopefully common sense grants you the medication. Fingers crossed.

P.S. I am glad to hear your cancer was caught early. Despite all these troubles, that in itself is a very good thing.