Better than 50%

On special request from my grandmother, Lulu, I will attempt to write more often.

alternative cancer treatmentShe put it to me quite nicely yesterday: “I don’t want to bother you, but I worry!”

Well don’t worry Lulu, because I am fine – Je suis tres bien aujourd’hui. J’ai travaille avec ma mere pour etre “okay” avec ma chimio, j’ai aussi commence a faire un menu pour que Zsolt puisse me faire de la nourriture quand je suis fatigue* – and I am writing.

I was just saying to my mother the other day, ‘Who are these people coping well with chemo?’ because I hear of them, but haven’t actually met any of them – nor have I see their blogs online.  So, that started the google search mission. Both she and Zsolt have managed to find stories where people cope with the treatment and do not suffer any treacherous side effects. Mind you, each chemo approach is different depending on the cancer. For instance, one lady had chemo every three to four weeks. I’ll be having chemo every two weeks, later followed by every week. However, I’m trying to ignore that side of their good news and focus on the positive stuff – people cope well, and are able to carry on with their lives.

And on that note, Mom found an interesting website. There was a little boy – three years old – who was diagnosed with a cancer that has a survival rate of about 3%. Now that’s scary. But his parents took it upon themselves to give him every fighting chance possible. Years later he is cancer free. His dad ensured that every possible option was explored – and while there was probably an element of miracle in his great recovery – watching this father speak was a source of inspiration for alternative ways I can better prepare and protect my body**.

But you see, it’s not that I want to turn away from the medical advice provided. The doctors I have worked with are very experienced, specialize in breast care, and know what they know. So that isn’t it. I’m still having the chemo. I’m still having the radiation. I’m still doing the hormones. But . . . I still want to do more. I want better than 50%.

A long time ago I worked for PWC, and while working there – during a purge of office clutter and clean up – I acquired several pads of PWC note paper. On every page of this notepad it reads: ‘Have I explored every angle?’

Apart from loving to have that sweet copywriting opportunity, I admire the statement.

Have I explored every angle? Not yet, but I’m trying. Today I went to the acupuncturist. In a few weeks I’ll start treatments. A while back my breast was removed. In the meanwhile I’m taking supplements. On top of that I’m lessening estrogen-encouraging food in my diet. Tomorrow I’m going to the shop and buying glass containers to replace my plastic Tupperware (though I do love my Tupperware). Tonight I’ll try to meditate. And all the while my air filter is running, getting rid of mould and mite crap from the air.

Why not fight from every angle, what’s so wrong about that? Nothing.  Not a thing.  Nada.

So, that’s encouraging.  🙂

* Thanks for translating, Mom.

** Watch Bobby’s father describe their efforts to beat cancer and reduce the side effects of chemo treatments. It’s broken into parts. Click here for Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four. You can also visit their website, where proceeds go toward supporting other children in a similar situation: http://www.bobbyshealthyshop.com/

The schedule cometh

Today I received a letter from the hospital detailing my entire chemo schedule. I even know what chair I’ll be sitting in for each appointment, and the length of time I’ll be there for (1. 15 hour and 1.45 after switching medications). There are, in total, sixteen sessions with the last session arriving just before Christmas (December 10th, 2010). This means that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be making it home for Christmas this year. It’s an idea that warms my heart.

But before running off to Canada with wrapped presents in my arms (oh, I am looking forward to that day), there are several things that must be done before chemosizing my life.  Apart from visiting the local coffee shop while blatantly lacking a bra (and feeling damn good about it), I need to start Zsolt’s application for residence, find a wig, take a holiday, browse apartments and eventually visit the mastectomy store.

I’m very thankful for this time off from cancer. It’s been nice, and I think will continue to be nice. July 30th is ever looming, but the sooner it starts the sooner it is over. In the meantime I’ll just take a few deep breaths and keep calming myself down.

Cancer treatment plan

There’s nothing like a dose of reality to make a girl feel crushed. But then again, there isn’t much better than a long nap and a drink of ice water to make this girl feel better.


Cancer never felt more real than it did today. Even with a breast removed, the ‘C’ word doesn’t become tangible  until the doctor lets slip those dreaded few words: ‘it’s chemo time, baby.’

Blarg.

So today (past tense) Zsolt, my mother and I go to the oncology outpatients centre.  We are received and shown a room rather quickly (very quickly – last time we waited about 45 minutes, this time it was 10). The nurse asked me to put on the cape; I said ‘no thank you’ and didn’t, because that cape is terrible and cold.

Eventually the surgeon arrives with one of the breast care nurses. This gentleman is not one for flowery words. He gets down to it. Your cancer is a mixture of fast and slow growing cells, it has spread to four lymph nodes. You will, most likely, be recommended a course of chemo therapy, radiation therapy and hormone therapy.

Zsolt shoots questions from the right corner chair.

Zsolt: What about the margins, are they safe?

My Surgeon: The margins are clear, but small.

Zsolt: And the blood vessels?

My Surgeon: Good question (points for Zsolt). They have tested clear, but we can’t be sure.

Zsolt: Has is spread beyond the lymph nodes?

My Surgeon: Result show no evidence, but because it was present in four lymph nodes, there is a risk of spreading. (minus points for me)

A few more questions from my mom, which for some reason I cannot remember, and then he bowed out and left the room. I tried saying thank you for removing my breast, but he waved it aside. I do not think it was a rude wave, not at all, it was a ‘don’t worry about it, this is my job and I don’t do well with flattery’ sort of wave. It was a respectable wave, but I’ll probably send a card nevertheless.

So crap. Fuck. And yeah, okay I am swearing. . . but come on. Never in my life would I choose to go through such physical bullshit, this black hole of shit (as one friend described), and to swear feels good. Really good. I’d like to spend an entire day doing nothing but swearing because at the moment I am so angry with my body, and so angry with my circumstances, that to open a big can of ‘what the fuck’ and shake it all over town would be really satisfying. I’d like to get a mega phone and turn it to sonic high and just yell, and yell, and yell about how angry I really feel.

The funny thing is, there will always be people who have it worse. Walking through the hospital is a stark reminded of that reality. It’s one reason why I turn my stride to speed-walk as I navigate the long florescent corridors of the general  hospital; they have it much worse, and I don’t want to become one of them. That’s terrible, isn’t it? I know. I really know. But I’m desperate to not become a sick person in the hallway. Even if others look at me and feel the same kind of dread, I don’t want to ‘belong’. Though I am so very sorry that any person needs to be there. Everyone fights their own battle, and I’m finally starting to realize how difficult that can feel.

Anyhow, after meeting with the surgeon we met with the oncologist. He was a nice fellow, a little more sympathetic but still professional. He must deliver difficult news on a daily basis.

The friendly oncologist slowly unwrapped my situation. Essentially, he believes that without any further treatment I hold a rather high risk of reoccurrence. Particularly in young women with breast cancer reoccurrence is a concern. Seems like the cancer gets a kick outta young blood and has a tendency to ride it around the body, sometimes showing up again quite far from the original site.

He also explained that radiation therapy, chemo therapy and hormone therapy will reduce the likelihood of reoccurrence by about 50%.

AHHHH boy. Fifty percent. That’s only half the pizza.

But I need to do everything possible to improve my recovery – and to stop reoccurrence. I did not want chemo, but looking at the pathology it seems that chemo is a reasonable response. Not a happy one – but reasonable.

I know what I want: health, family, love, good things and great results. I know what I want. And just because I’ve been given a more difficult road doesn’t mean my eye is off the prize. It may be the doctor’s job to break tough news, but it’s my job to rebound and fight on.

Gotta keep throwing those bombs, gotta keep fighting back.

The reality of chemo has been difficult today. But people get through, don’t they? Many people get through and go on with their lives. Like I said before, I look forward to normal – my just like always. So long as that’s in my mind, I can fight.

Next come the decisions. Do I stay or go back to Canada? One thing is for sure, I will not leave my husband. Not a chance.

When I started Bumpyboobs I had hoped to write a light blog about breast cancer screening. There is so much out there that scares me to read; I feel a sense of dread while reading the experience of others, and I never wanted this blog to inspire that feeling. But this is cancer, and emotional highs and lows are inevitable.

But I do promise this – I’ll try and write the high as often as I write the low.  I can be angry one moment, sad the next, and then the sky may clear, or I’ll pass a rose bush, or my husband will blow a kiss, and suddenly it’s all highs and smiles once again.

This blog is not just about breast cancer. It’s about the good and the bad and the fight inside.

Keep an eye on the prize. These down moods can’t last forever; there are better things to come.