Category Archives: Life

Snow day!

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Life, Treatment by

Last night it snowed in Southampton, and today it’s still on the ground. This winter miracle has stacked up over fifteen centimetres and warranted a university closure just as I was due in to work. As normal, southern England is shut down by a mild snow storm . . .

Yay!!

It’s so beautiful outside, the trees are coated in white and cold fluff. If I had the energy (and the equipment) I’d cross country ski through the common and have a hot chocolate at the Cowherds. I’d throw snowballs at my husband and complain when he returned fire. I’d boil maple syrup then spread it over snow.

Reality: I took a bus to the hospital. Wohoo!

But even if I didn’t do all those lovely winteresque activities, this change in scenery is good for the soul. White, fresh and beautiful, covering all the grey;  I really like snow.

Happy snow day, everyone.

Customer service

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Travel Log by

Hmm, I just called up Air Canada to arrange wheelchair assistance through the airport.

First, I must admit – it feels strange asking for a wheelchair. Wheelchairs should be for people who are really sick, or much older, or unable to WALK. I’m a 28 year old woman and I can walk . . . I just can’t walk for very long. My legs start feeling thick, I get tipsy (literally tipping over), and of course there’s fatigue.

I can understand someone’s surprise at my needing a wheelchair. But what I do not understand is being made to feel like an idiot for asking.

Calling the UK Air Canada customer service line today, I requested a wheelchair. The conversation went something like this (following the conversation about my reservation number, which was difficult in itself but quite possibly my fault):

Me: When I fly on the 14th, I’ll have just finished chemotherapy and will be really exhausted. Is there any kind of assistance I could have through the airport?

Lady: What kind of assistance do you want?

Me: Maybe a wheelchair or something?

Lady: Oh, wheelchair assistance.

I think the idea clicked into her head here. Before she wasn’t certain where to place me.

Lady: Is there any medical reason you need a wheelchair?

Me: I’ll have just finished chemotherapy and will be exhausted. I can walk a little, but not for long.

Lady: But is there any medical reason?

This is where I start to feel like an idiot.

Me: I’ll just have finished chemotherapy. I’ll be exhausted.

Lady: So you’ll need a wheelchair because you’ll be exhausted.

What is going on here? How many times do I need to say ‘chemotherapy’ and ‘exhausted’? Thinking about this now, I probably should have said: ‘I’m in the middle of chemotherapy’ – but totally forgot that fact during our conversation. But regardless, to have just finished chemotherapy and to be in the middle is essentially the same, because the effects are still felt a week or two (or more) after treatment.

Lady: I’ll put in a booking— sorry, a request for a wheelchair.

Me: (in my head: a request?) So I won’t know till I arrive if I have assistance?

Lady: That’s right.

At this point I want to cry, and don’t stand up for myself. Instead I say ‘fine’ because I feel like such an ass for even having asked.

Isn’t that crazy? Being challenged really throws me off; I totally lose my train of thought and can only say, ‘yeah, okay, fine’ like a stupid lemming. Mind you, if Zsolt is being challenged and asks for my help – no problem, I can tackle that issue. I’m a tough woman in other people’s battles. Not so great with my own.

Essentially, because I didn’t receive any sympathy from the Air Canada woman, I didn’t know how to handle myself. She treated my request like a form to be filled, which isn’t horrible, but at the same time – I’m not a form, I’m a person. My medical reason (apart from having been stated four times) goes beyond ‘exhaustion and chemotherapy’  – it extends to the fact that I need help, and I need it badly enough to ask.

Who asks for a wheelchair unless they need the bloody chair?

But she’ll put in a request.

Bah! It pissed me off enough to write, and maybe it’ll piss me off enough to call back later, when I feel less sorry for my passive self.

Though honestly, I had expected better.

Warrior watercress

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Food, Treatment by

The University of Southampton recently published a study suggesting that watercress may help stop the reoccurrence of breast cancer. Isn’t that convenient?

Apparently they had a small group of women fast 24 hours and then eat a cereal bowl of watercress, after which blood samples were taken. The results were promising.

Findings suggest that watercress blocks a signal vital to tumour growth. You may or may not know, but cancer tumours need a lot of blood to grow. When scanning the body and looking for tumours (e.g. with the MRI, etc.) they are looking for splotches where an abnormal amount of blood has developed. Probably there is a lot more to this body-scanning science, but I’m happier without the details. Point is, tumours need blood. When they use up the blood around them, they send out a signal for more. Like waving over the waiter at a restaurant.

But in this case the cancer cannot signal the waiter. No blood arrives. Tumour dies. DIE TUMOUR! AH HA HA HA!

Obviously this is just the start for watercress research, and is only one of the many studies with many possible cancer solutions.

But it’s been published at my university, and it targets my particular problem. I’ve taken it as a sign, and have now started eating a small cereal bowl full of watercress per day.  Because, like I once mentioned, 50% of the pizza is not enough. I don’t want to play with my life expectancy like someone flips a coin. Screw that.

So along with everything else, I’m eating watercress. Add that to my pile of cancer fighting treatments, supplements, and therapies. Fifty percent is bullshit, though better than the ten percent they first quoted. Bit by bit I’ll raise my chances. By the end, we’ll eat that entire freaking pizza for  dinner, and a watercress salad on the side.