Category Archives: Treatment

Dr Canada and the hug

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Today was a nice experience. Around new year I’d received a letter in the mail advising me of an appointment with Dr Canada on the 11th of January. The letter didn’t specify what this meeting was about, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess it was a follow up visit.

So this morning, way too early, Mom and I hop into the car and join the highway rush. Why does traffic slow down? What’s happening on the road that so many cars needs to clump together? Anyhow, we drove to the General.  Mom (Marcelle) had awoken me early for a shower with the idea that I ought to look good today – and she is right. I ought to have looked good, and despite my lack of hair,  puffy eyes (too sleep deprived from a certain younger brother who kept me awake while he had his midnight snack), and groggy expression, this morning’s effort paid off. With a bit of blush on the cheeks I looked . . . hmm . . . acceptable.

But wouldn’t you believe it – first thing Dr Canada says to me as he walks into the room (with me having been weighed and observed), “You look pretty today.”

Wonderful man.

Though honestly he is excellent and I consider myself lucky to have him as an oncologist. Both he and his assisting medical student checked my breast. Like my mother, he suggested my itchy nipple was due to hormonal changes – “keep it moisturized”  he suggested.

And then we got onto the topic of radiotherapy. I presented him with my options: 50 grey over five weeks, or 40 grey over three weeks, with grey being a measure of radiation. According to him, there’s little difference between the two. In some cases there is a worry about toxicity and the heart for 40 over three week, but because I’m having my therapy on the right side (away from the heart) it shouldn’t be a problem.

Little difference, but ultimately less radiation and a shorter time span . . . why wouldn’t I choose three weeks of radiotherapy over five? Maybe there  are reasons, but they’re not shouting out.

Which led my mother to ask, “are there any supplements she should take/avoid during radiotherapy?”  and Dr Canada suggested avoiding vitamin E during treatment, but deferred to my mom, saying that she was the expert in that area.

Expert in that area! You know what that means? Mom was totally googled.

And yet he was quite cool about her alternative health background – not the least bit condescending or on edge. Instead he gave us his opinions about which supplements help, which to avoid, and which are rather unclear in their effectiveness. He also followed this up by suggesting I read some books on diet because while they may not be proven methods, they have sense behind them. “There are some well thought out ideas.”

AND then! So surprising – he gave me a hug and wished me luck. Seriously, no joking, we hugged. It was nice. Considering the heavy implication of our conversation, the reason for the visit, the fear I’d experienced last weekend, his hug was curative.

Medicine mixed with compassion, it’s the very best treatment. Today was a good visit, and it’s left me highly impressed.

Finding the zen

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Treatment by

In preparation for this posting I’ve tried to enter a relaxed state. Therefore, I’ve just taken a warm shower with a variety of scrubs including goats milk soap and cucumber body wash (sounds like a nice salad), as well as washing my head fluff with some lemongrass shampoo. Following this, I splashed my face with water and patted it down with almond oil (a drop will do you). And now, while sitting beside my dad’s puzzle and typing on this keyboard, there is a hot cup of ‘oh so good’ tea, mixing chamomile lemongrass and peppermint. It’s DavidsTea, so you know it’ll be quality.

All of this in effort to forget about the other night and recapture what I was feeling the days before. What was that feeling? Pretty freaking zenned out (i.e. good).

Last week kicked off with a facial from my mother’s long-time friend, Jane. Ohhh delicious. I’ve never had a facial before, so it was quite something. Hmmm, one word for a facial: refresh.

Chemo leads to exhaustion, and exhaustion means a lack of attention – I stopped washing my face, stopped wearing make-up, stopped trying to look pretty. Heck, I stopped enjoying showers, which was unfortunate for anyone within 2 meters.  The facial Jane gave was a refreshment, it stripped off the past six months through lotions, soaps and scrubs, and helped me find a new face (and neck and chest).  I’ve since been trying to reinvigorate my skin. And just the other day my good friend said I have more colour than before. Awesome.

Two days following the facial (and an afternoon of rest, for some reason I was knackered after the facial, though Jane did warn it would happen) I had a massage from Brian at my parent’s office. It focused on my lymphatic system, targeting areas that were holding stress. Any guess where my stress was held? Ding! You’ve guessed it: my right breast, arm and back area.  Apart from being relaxing, the massage is designed to get things draining. One word for a lymphatic massage: release.

Funny, in England cancer patients have access to free massage therapy, acupuncture, reiki and aromatherapy – but I never managed to use any of these services (except acupuncture, but not free since I wanted TCM). So, why not? Partly because the treatments took place at the hospital, and party because of nerves – I was too nervous to accept this complimentary help. Chemo drugs are tricky, for me they really affected my anxiety. However, now that I’m having complimentary therapies, it is clear that massage would have been really helpful during treatments. But at least I had the acupuncture.

Finally, last Friday, I cashed in my Christmas present: a trip to le Nordik. Going to the Nordik is somewhat like having chocolate fondue – decadent, hot, and oh so amazing. This is a spa set on the outskirts of Gatineau park. Amoungst the trees, rocks and waterfalls, the Nordik visitor goes through a circuit: sauna, cold pool, steam room, cold pool, rest. And repeat as desired. Mom and I love this place.  By the time we hit our third cycle, sweat was pouring down my face. This lack of hair means that sweat can drip unhindered (drip, run, pour, glisten, gush). One word for visiting the spa: escape.

All these treatments are designed to remove toxins from the body – facial, massage and sauna. Whether you push it out, scrub it out, or sweat it out: key word is out.

And last Saturday I was feeling excellent. Woke up singing, put on makeup, went out with a friend, and had a great time. Yes, later in the evening I had a panic attack – but I don’t blame the detox, not to say it wasn’t involved. A rash on the body is the body’s reaction while trying to remove toxins – but it’s also an indicator that the body’s garbage-removal-service isn’t in good order. But let’s not focus on the down moment. There are better things to talk about.

Anyhow, this week I’m back with my brother and the acupressure. Therefore, I’m back to feeling good about feeling good.

It was a lovely week, which might explain why I didn’t write (too stuck into the good vibes). Since this ordeal can be so overwhelming, it’s got to be broken down – helping my body heal is a great first step.

Hmm, now it’s time to stop typing. Computers are wonderful, but they’re totally not zen.  Right now, I choose to relax. That’s another awesome treatment and totally effortless (which is the point).

Bye!

A little night maddness

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Treatment by

Last night was slightly manic. Combine watching the last episode of Ugly Betty where Molly dies from cancer with staying up too late and an itchy nipple, and things turn a little crazy.

Before finding the cancer in my breast, my nipple had become permanently erect and frequently itchy. Stupid being stupid, I didn’t go to the doctor and ask  for a check up. Instead I kept thinking, “how annoying, how very annoying.” And that was all.

Now I think: OH MY GOD, CANCER.

The other end of the panic spectrum.

It was late last night when I felt an itch, about 11.30 – I reached across my nipple to scratch, felt it was erect and sat up in bed immediately. Light switch on, finger probing and I’m checking for lumps (for the `1000th time in the past two weeks). Rubbing here and there, I check every possible area and feel every possible dent, rise, mound, rib and space. But this breast is bumpy – it’s a dense breast; bumpy is the natural state. So what am I looking for? What would be different last night from yesterday morning, or the day before, or the day before?

But all this rubbing spreads the itch and now I see red marks. Red marks. ‘RASH!’ I think to myself. (or was it all that rubbing?) Checking this morning I can spot a spot here or there, but then again, I can spot a spot all over my body. It’s not hard to find panic signals when you’re desperately looking for them.

Therefore, my panic tail spins and I am convinced it’s a reoccurrence. I want to cry and hide and scream and crumple. It’s now about midnight and the house is silent, everyone is sleeping. What to do? GOOGLE!

So on goes the computer and my fingers start tapping in key words: itchy nipple. Erect nipple. Rash on nipple. Itchy nipple erect rash.

Breast cancer breast cancer breast cancer.

This is not helping me sleep. Instead my mind is turning in circles. My baseline fear of reoccurrence has suddenly jumped from here to HERE. I’m just fucking scared.

But what can you do in the middle of the night, head exhausted, nipple itchy, no one to talk to? Well, all I could do was write Zsolt an email and say exactly how I felt, exactly what I was seeing, and exactly how freaking crazy this was becoming.

It is crazy – crazy that fear is so gripping. Before I’d heard that people often become paranoid, hypochondriacs to some degree, following a battle with cancer. Every ache, scratch, fever, or itchy nipple is a symptom. How long does it take for this fear to stop?

Eventually I fell asleep, and first thing the following morning marched upstairs to my parents room and had my Mom look over the breast. She checked it out, talked me down, and reassured me this is probably an overreaction. This soon after chemotherapy it is unlikely I’d have a tumour developed within my breast.

Unlikely.

Today I’m calmer (following some quality family time), but nevertheless battered from my crazy night. Come next Tuesday I’ll be meeting with Dr Canada, so maybe he can take a look and provide an expert opinion. And Zsolt says that if I keep being stressed we can visit the doctor in England to get an ultrasound arranged. After all, peace of mind is wonderful for one’s health.

Peace of mind. It sounds lovely. Another thing on my ‘cancer recovery list’ is peace of mind. Maybe I’ll even write it twice: Peace of mind, and more peace of mind. It’s worth a double helping.