Category Archives: Food

The great escape

Posted in Chemotherapy, Food, Treatment by

Sleep is peace and distance and rest. It is a vacation from worry. And when I wake up – no matter what stage in treatment – there are always a few moments where everything feels normal. I feel normal.

Last night I dreamt of a giant raspberry – it was about the size of a toque (or a beanie, for you non-Canadians). I peeled it from the stem; the smell was sharp, the feel fantastic, and it was wet with seams of juice. Have you ever looked inside a raspberry? The way the seeds and sacks all weave together? Well it was like that, only so large you could put it on your head. I thought – this would be the perfect hat.

Instead I made it into a pie.

Now that’s just a segment of my dream; it’s an example of the wonderful places a good night’s rest can take you. Sure, okay, there are bad dreams and they happen occasionally – but normally it’s a mixture of the fantastic and familiar (with a dash of action advenutre – though not the pie making, of course). The nausea and the anxiety get left behind.

I love the night time. It’s an excuse for me to relax. Last night I was asleep by 8.30pm. Gorgeous! It had been a long day filled with anxiety over eating and not eating, and drinking and not drinking, plus Zsolt’s crazy work place. But as soon as that clocked ticked over to 8.30 – click – lights out, hold my calls.

Time for a sleep vacation.

Eating through chemotherapy

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Food, Treatment by

Isn’t it nice to have a green grocer? On Portswood we have about four of them; every morning they drag crates of fruit and veg to the store fronts, adding a sense of health and colour to the street. Five peaches for a pound, two-for-one strawberries, carnations in a bunch, and peanuts for your birds. I love visiting Galloways’s (my favourite grocer) and picking through the fruit. A full bag of vegetables (and I mean full, right to the top) normally costs less than £5.

This, to me, is an afternoon’s entertainment. That and people watching as I sort through the corn while trying to find the best looking husk. Portswood has all sorts of people, all sort of nationalities. We have one international food shop (largely Asian options, but also with Hungarian peppers), about three Polish shops (perogies – ruskie style), several Indian restaurants, one Thai place, a Canadian girl who walks around, a hot Hungarian, all the Uni students and who knows what else? Plus there are British staples like the fish and chippie, which only opens when the lady is inclined to cook, a Post Office, and a slew of charity shops.

So – is it clear that I’m in a good mood today? When writing about food, I’m either in a good mood or really hungry. Actually, I’m both. Chemotherapy leaves me hungry all the time, but forget about eating big meals because it’s impossible! Two bites in and I’ve had my fill (plus mouth sores make it difficult to chew). Instead I eat frequently in tiny bursts. At the moment cucumbers top my list for most refreshing snack; they’re easy on the mouth. (Frozen fruit is also very nice if your mouth is sore . . . so long as your teeth can handle the cold, and yogurt is always soothing).

Yesterday was a workday and I loved it. Despite feeling those waves of fatigue (and waves of heat – “Hello hot flash, shouldn’t we be meeting twenty years from now?”) it’s nice to get out of this apartment. Even the best flat in the world become terrible after being stuck there forever. How do those people on Big Brother do it? No wonder they all go crazy.

It’s a healthy change. Now Zsolt can work on his thesis without me asking him to wash the dishes, and I can simply meet with friends – do a little digitization – and enjoy an alternative, cancer-free atmosphere. Cancer-free is the goal. In my apartment there are drops, powders, shots, vitamins, pamphlets, binders, scarves, buckets, and get well cards . . . all cancer related. Every bit of it is necessary for support, but they’re also a reminder of this shit creek we’re swimming in. The library isn’t like that (apart from me in my scarf, clearly lacking hair). It’s a break from reality.

Now I’d like to try two experiments.

ONE: go bald in public.

TWO: go wig in public.

Both are options that intimidate me. Who knew it was so hard to be different? For some people (like the guy who carries a picnic basket instead of a school bag) being different is easy. Though I suspect for the majority of us it’s not natural to stand out. Visible disabilities, visible illnesses, visible visibilities – they don’t leave much choice. It’s either hold up your head, or – what? What’s the other option? Disappear? Hide yourself? Stop living? I don’t want to feel embarrassed, but I do sometimes and it’s such a shame because it’s stopping me short.

So here is the cure (I figure): Get used to it.  Everything pinches at first, right? New job, new home, new shoes . . . without a little wear they never get broken in.  And without getting used to it, no one will become accustomed to ‘bald Catherine’ or ‘wig Catherine’, not even me.

In order to shed the shame of being different, I have to get used to it. That shame shouldn’t even exist – but that doesn’t make it go away. Maybe I’ll start easy and go bald to that hippie art cafe downtown. Pretend I’m actually that cool. “Yeah, I get it. I shaved my head because I get it so bad. Organic-freerange-commune-hippie stuff rocks.”

Once done I’ll write and let you know how it goes. Until then, I’m going to eat some more food.

Help for those helping

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Food, Treatment by

Hello, This is a response to a question that Tara asked about supporting her mother through chemotherapy. I think a lot people may find themselves (or have found themselves) in this situation, so inside of simply replying to the comment – here is an entire post. If you’ve been a carer for someone please share any ideas/tips to help Tara and Zsolt through their challenge. This is a good time to try posting on a blog if you’ve never done so before.  🙂

*FYI these ideas are only based on my experience and nothing else. Since chemotherapy effects every person uniquely, please adapt these ideas as needed – or ignore them completely if inappropriate. I’m not an expert, okay? This is simply what helps me.

Ideas for helping while someone you love undergoes chemotherapy:

Emotions: Sometimes the drugs (and situation) can cause sadness, and in those cases we need to cry, talk, and have someone who will listen. Crying is a release, so if she does just let her go or even join in. Getting it out means less sadness left inside. And after the cry, you can tell her that she’s doing well, you are so proud of her, and you love her very much. Reminder her that you will all get through this, and then make two cups of tea (or her favourite drink).

* there is this homeopathic spray I used to help me calm down. It’s called rescue remedy and it’s to encourage relaxation. Being homeopathic, it’s not a drug and shouldn’t interfere with chemo stuff, but you should check with your doctor if unsure.

Physical Stuff: When feeling exhausted it’s difficult to be motivated. That is where YOUR support is so important. You are the motivation. Take her on a one, or two, or ten minute walk – whatever time she can handle. Walking helps to clear the drugs, so ultimately it helps her feel better. I like to play Just Dance with Zsolt, so there is another idea.

Same for drinking. We chemo people need to drink a lot (if possible) after treatment. This also clears the drugs. The nurse told me at least 2 litres a day, but that is hard to manage and when I’m sick it feels impossible. So again, bring her drinks – and have a variety in the home like juice, tea, water, etc. It will make drinking less of a chore.

I really depend on the support of others in terms of my health. My mom chases me to take supplements, and thank goodness she does. Without her I wouldn’t recover so well.

Mental Stuff: Another way you can help is by simply ‘visiting’. Come over and talk about your day, what you’ve done, the funny things you’ve seen. Her mind may be on cancer – but I’ll tell you what, the minute it stop fixating on that problem the nausea and fatigue becomes less. Just being there for a visit helps. Topics like chemotherapy treatment, needles, nausea, etc. shouldn’t be fixated upon unless she brings it up (and then, please do talk about it as much as needed). I have a gag reflex to the words ‘chemo treatment’ right now. I’d much rather talk about my friend’s new kittens, or Zsolt’s thesis, or what I put in the goulash to make it so awesome.

Housekeeping: Cooking and cleaning take energy. Until we chemo people have energy again, it is such (SUCH) a relief to have help. Making meals, preparing snacks, cleaning the bathroom – they’re like little miracles that help us along. If you can assist in these areas, please do.

I think that carers take on a lot of responsibility and emotional stress. Groups like Macmillian have support for you if it is needed. Otherwise don’t forget to talk with people about how you feel. It is okay to be overwhelmed, we all are. The key thing is to push on and find relief for the stress. There will be happy moments filled with love (laughing over a memory, sharing a hug, going somewhere familiar); savour those times, they are your life boat and a reminder that this will pass.

I hope that helps. Anyone with ideas toward supporting people going through chemotherapy please take this opportunity to share your experience with someone who needs it.

Thanks 🙂