Category Archives: Treatment

Library Zen

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Life, Treatment by

Today I’m going back to work!

After a summer away my memory will be challenged with the library computer and ESL students asking directions. Where is room 2033? I have no idea.

It’s exciting, but also much like the first day of school. How will my body cope with this new type of exertion? Will I be able to sit up for 4-5 hours at a time?

Questions, questions. I can still remember my first day of grade seven at Holy Trinity Catholic High School. I walked into the school’s atrium completely overwhelmed and followed the signs reading “grade 7 to twister dome.” First of all, what the heck is a twister dome? Can’t they just say gymnasium with wooden floors? But no, twister dome is was. I was so nervous that by the time my teacher had us in the classroom and the role call was given – I could not for the life of me remember how to spell my name.

Teacher: How do you spell your last name?

Catherine: “Ah. B-R-U-N . . .N. . .L . . . L . . . E L?

And then my head expoded from the blood pressure. Mortifying.

This won’t be like that, of course. But I still couldn’t get to sleep last night. Work is an excellent distraction, and they are very supportive. My mom was quite impressed when she met my colleagues – said they were all so friendly. And they are.

Breath in and out . . . slowly, calmly and become one with the library. It should be a nice day.

Taste buds changing

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Food, Treatment by

Good Goulash. Oh, how my taste buds are changing.


Yesterday evening, while watching Location, Location, Location with Zsolt and dreaming of our own prospective-possible-future house buying options, I opened a bag of crisps (potatoes chips, but since I’m in England, let’s go with crisps). Tyrrells’ chips are certainly tasty, and their Cider Vinegar and Sea Salt has a sharpness that I love in a good salt and vinegar crisp/chip.

Anyhow, happy and enjoying the show – we dig in. Stacy and Phil are selling a couple on a house that is priced £50,000 over their max budget, and I’m curious whether they can secure a deal. But that’s not the only interesting thing. Once my hunger subsides and I actually start enjoying my snack, I realize I’m not fully enjoying it. There’s no freaking taste! Zsolt is all ‘vinegar lips’ with the sour face, and I can hardly sense the salt. Honestly, it was like eating a plain baked potatoe – hold all dressing.

This isn’t the first time my taste buds took a vacation. Last chemo cycle I had an unfortunate incidence with some scones, which led to a break out of mouth sores, followed by an extremely bland meal of homemade sushi (couldn’t taste the side sauces), however during that last occurrence the taste came back.

Here is the question: will my taste return? Here is another question: will bread ever be delicious again? Right now, without the taste, it’s really quite dull.

But I guess all food is dull without flavour. Fortunately I can still taste goulash. It may be that my diet will be amended to all things Hungarian (peppers, sausage, kolbasz, sour cream and Eros Pista) and no things tasteless.

Anyhow, thank goodness for paprika.

This round of chemo has been different. It may be related to the Zolodex and menopausal symptoms, but oh-my-word it’s been emotional. How do people cope? It’s no fun to be sad; the mental barriers grow exponentially.

Thankfully I have support. Mom and Zsolt have been so good to me – Zsolt dances and encourages me to relax, Mom monitors my routine (which frankly is so easy to neglect when feeling weak, so without her I’d be nowhere near doing/taking everything to help recovery). Also, a nod to my Dad who has been a great help with this car insurance annoyance. Because of their help my mood has lifted over the past two days, and it feels good to feel good.

But this is all from something I realized during my last post. While biking up that mountain I was too embarrassed to ask for help. Yes, yes, there was triumph in biking up – but wow, getting a ride would have been nice.  After writing that blog I asked my mother to check on me more often, because I was slipping. She has been helping since – the support has been such a boost.

From taste buds to energy to emotions to treatment – this ride is long from over. For the time being, ‘help’ is the most important word in my vocabulary.  Thank goodness for the people who surround me. Gold stars for them all. 😉

Pyramid Lake

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

There is a lake in Jasper at the base of a mountain . . . well, not quite the base. If you are in a car, it’s an easy uphill drive along a winding road to reach beautiful water that reflects Pyramid Mountain above. And at that water you can rent canoes, take them out and paddle – quietly, peacefully, happily – to your heart’s delight.

Nearly ten years ago, while living in Jasper, I had that pleasure. But I didn’t have a car. Instead, a group of friends and I set out on our bikes to peddle to the base of this mountain, where the lake waited with the canoes on shore.

Jasper is high, and biking up a mountain makes it even higher. To reach that water meant physical turmoil. Our group of friends became separated – those who were stronger pushed ahead, those out of practise fell behind.

I fell behind: panting, swearing, aching. Cars whizzed past, and I considered sticking out a thumb, but didn’t because it was too embarrassing. Instead I simlpy pressed onward despite thoughts of giving up, because I knew – I just knew – that canoeing in that beautiful water, out in the open air, laughing and cruising, and being part of that incredible grandness was going to be worth it.

So bit by bit, with frequent breakdowns of determination and the occasional ten minute rest-stops . . . I finally made it to the base of that mountain. And my word, it was good.

It was so very, very good.

I wish that at the end of this chemotherapy there was something like that waiting.  My pink mountain with the canoes all tied up. Actually, there is – another chance, a plane ticket home, a break from this crap. But right  now I’m struggling uphill, and it’s getting pretty damn difficult.

Bright side: I received the expensive drug, and this weekend has been much better. Apart from Friday the nausea was little to gone, which makes the whole thing easier. Instead of suffering from illness, I slept away the weekend. This was a positive experience . . . and yet I can’t help feeling down. Thinking about all the treatments to come – all the needles and drugs – it’s like biking up that mountain and turning the corner, only to see more of that uphill climb.

I know this will be over in a matter of months. This part of the cancer ride will come and go, and I pray it’ll never be needed again. Somewhere ahead is that symbolic lake, though I do wish there was an easier way.

The weekend went well. That is what matters. But I feel this is a greater challenge beyond ticking off the treatments, and unfortunately there isn’t much choice . . . I just need to keep on biking.