Category Archives: Life

Scandal and the bikini boob

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun by

Earlier this summer as we set to leave England, I spread my bathing suits and bras across the bed (accumulated over about six years) and began to say goodbye. Goodbye slippery pink cups, goodbye plain white t-shirt bra, goodbye your clever push-up, goodbye string bikini top . . . goodbye. Everything went in the bin (or the charity bag, depending on condition) except for my ancient O’Neil red string bikini – and not because I could wear it to the beach this summer . . . cause really, those triangles are small, but rather because of the memories.

Which was, if you consider it, what the pile of lingerie also was – memories. Memories of boobs. And the deed was done, I had myself a good cry.

But today was lovely. Today-today-today I bought a string bikini. Not a bandeau wrap across the chest, those they are nice too post-mastectomy (particularly since I bought two for eight pounds at Matalon, though I think, perhaps the price is reflected in the quality of my butt-in-bikini, which is why I was on the hunt today for a new, discounted, end-of-the-season quality designer suit.).

Oh, I feel so naughty. Girls with only one breast aren’t meant to wear string bikinis. At least, according to the post-mastectomy land of lingerie product catalogues we aren’t. And I can see the point. Firstly, if we could all get away without the false-breast pockets they would be out of business. Secondly, most women don’t have tiny boob(s), and the difference between right and left would be like staring at a single hill in the middle of a plain. Something like that giant red rock in Australia.

But after going shop to shop and not finding any bandeau style, I just said, “screw this” and tried on a few cuts I never imagined acceptable.

Gosh, I’ll tell you what. If I still had both boobs (say I had reconstruction, or old rightie magically grew back), I’d have scandalized Lake Balaton this summer with my risqué so-damn-near-to-the-nipple outfits of string and fling and bikini hotness, it would have been awesome.  And while that hasn’t happened, I have happily noticed that despite having a neat and tidy scar running across my right chest, it is, one year post surgery, less noticeable.

So I put on this striking blue triangular thing (O’Neil has such fine quality suits) where the area isn’t quite so close to the nipple (which is good, because I’m down one of those) and BAM – Sexy bathing suit Catherine has returned from her summer of cheap, Matalon frumping. My ass looks great; my eyes are popping; and best of all – BEST of all – my boob, while looking small, is not strikingly missing.

Okay, if you know it’s missing, than you aren’t going to miss the ‘missing’ness.   (Am I misusing the miss?)

And I know it’s not cool to brag. Hey, my body isn’t 22 anymore, so yes, I’m fully aware of those cellulite jiggles and mystery circles rippling out from my thighs. But fuck it. I feel pretty. I feel like all those stupid bras and bikini tops last May thrown into the bin (or charity bag) weren’t discarded because I can’t wear them . . . they were tossed because I’m a spanking new woman who needs flattering, lovely clothes.

After all, it never hurts to feel good about yourself. And I never imagined a triangle bikini would ever again make me feel so freaking good.

This post is so absurd. I know it’s all ‘me, me, me’ but I’m excited. It’s like being told you can wear miniskirts again after thirty five (not my rule, I took it from ‘What Not to Wear’ so if you don’t like it, please refer to Stacy and Clinton), if you’ve ever been inclined to wear miniskirts – which, to Zsolt’s disappointment, I’ve never been.

Anyhow. Maybe I look just like any girl on the beach. But Zsolt thinks it’s beautiful too, so there you go.

Happy days, and just in time for my trip to Greece. Boyah! Great stuff. Sorry for so much self-indulgence, but I really needed to cheer.

And to top off this lovely day. Zsolt found a brand of clothing that suits his tall, lean frame and actually makes him look like . . . like a man. Like, a hot man. Like I could just grab him with both hands and sweep him away to never, never land. His outfit, in my opinion, is money well spent.

(Whew! Just had a wee scare. I had dropped my computer-drawing pen and thought it fell behind the radiator, so started groping the ground underneath and stuck my hand right through a thick spider web. Gross. Thankfully, with a second look, the pen actually only fell behind the computer screen. But still, my hand is totally grossed out. And I bet the spiders aren’t too pleased either.)

Captain Super Bucks

Posted in Canada, Finding Home, Life by

Zsolt and I are playing a waiting game. Well, at this very moment we are sitting by the lakeside of Balaton – Zsolt on my Acer with the LCD screen half blacked out, me on his tiny Samsung hoping his patience holds out till this is posted – but we are, despite the appearance of beach bumming, waiting.

What for?

Two things.

Moving to a new country involves so many details, there is the visa, the shipping, the accommodation, the job-hunt, the unsettling upheaval, the anticipation of new things . . . and then there is the money.

Six years ago when we first moved to England, Canadian/UK currency exchange was at about two to one. For each two Canadian dollars you’d get one pound. Not a glorious exchange, but it did suggest that when (if) we ever moved back to Canada our one UK pound would be worth a brilliant two Canadian dollars.

Then the recession hit. Whi8ch still wasn’t all that bad, because we reckoned we’d stay in the UK regardless so no exchange was necessary. Then cancer came knocking.

And so plans changed and – as you know – we’re off to Canada at the end of this month. What money we have (used to have far more before one year of treatment plus Zsolt writing his thesis, but nevertheless I think we’ve still managed to get away with a reasonable chunk of savings. Certainly we could have lost far, far more if we’d been studying/treating in say, the US.) is now worth less than it might have been six years ago.

So now we are watching and waiting. First we need the card reader – a nifty device provided by the banks so that secure transactions can be conducted without coming into the branch. The card reader looks like a calculator. But beyond that I know nothing, because while we’ve order the card reader maybe two weeks ago, it still hasn’t arrived.

Card reader is essential. Without this, we cannot move our money to Canada.

Second we are waiting for the exchange to improve. Unfortunately, the only way the UK exchange with Canadian dollars can improve is if Canada puts out some negative reports on the economy, or if the US goes bizerk. I’d rather neither situation happen since we’re moving there. Cause, seriously, with a strong economy we can earn way more than our current savings . . . but nevertheless we are watching the exchange.

It’s like watching a horse race. With every advance of the exchange we cheers. With every drop we groan. Overall I’m still hoping that Canada stays strong strong strong, but when it comes to watching your money shrink or grow, sometimes it’s hard to look beyond the end of my nose (aka bank account) and into the future of ‘potential earnings’.

Maybe this is a bit boring. It’s actually rather exciting, the freaking exchange is high right now, at least, higher than it’s been all year, but our hands are tied until the card reader arrives. Every morning we’re checking the mail box, and ever afternoon we’re looking at the dollar, the business news, and trying to create some make-shift amateur forecast of what the dollar is doing.

Alternative. The exchange could work in our favour not because Canada is suffering, but because the UK is doing great. That would be nice for everyone, except the Canadian exchange students.

Anyhow, enough about money. Things not to talk about during polite conversation: politics and money. But I figured this blog isn’t always so polite, so it wouldn’t be a problem.

Now, back to the horse race. I am, quite honestly, curious to see what happens.

(And back to the grassy beach. Zsolt said to me the other day: “Anyone who wants more than this is crazy. We’ve got a beautiful view, beautiful water, beautiful weather and here we are together. Can’t get any more perfect.” To which my mind began to image how else our lazing on the beach could be more perfect . . . but you know what, all that other stuff is speculation. In that moment Dr Samson was correct. We’d be crazy to want anything more. We’d be crazy to alter that picture with any wishes or wants. It was, as it is right now, a very lovely time on the beach.)

(PPS. Speaking of Zsolt. He is totally hooked on the game ‘hearts’. That’s good news for my Dad. Finally he’ll have someone willing to play round the table after dinner. Add on the fishing to come, and Zsolt’s like the perfect son-in-law.)

(PPPS. Man, I love it here.)

(PPPPS. I realize the title has almost nothing – or rather, entirely nothing – to do with the post. But I thought it was fun.)

The old Turkish bath

Posted in Life, Travel by

Yesterday afternoon Zsolt and I continued our exploration of the Hungarian bathes. Yes, we’re still in Budapest (Erd) and haven’t returned to Pecs . . . the plan after his graduation was in fact to just go home and get to work in Pecs (sorting immigration stuff, getting paperwork in order, doctor appointment arrangements, going for ice cream, drinking tea, etc) but instead we were lured by the promise of a spa-filled weekend to stay on at his sister’s a little longer. So essentially I’m computer-less and sketch pad-less, meaning this post will be short because I’m on borrowed time with a borrowed computer – and Zsolt’s fingers are itching to get back and check the latest sport news. By the by, Hungary won and gold medal for some kind of swimming race at the world championship. Thumbs up for Hungary.

So, yesterday afternoon we rode the bus, then the tram into Budapest and walked along the Danube toward Rudas, an old Turkish bath erected (1550) during the era of Turkish occupation in Hungary. Hungary’s past is filled with troubles, the Turks being one of them . . . but I’ve got to say, the introduction of these hot-water baths was certainly a GOOD thing for the country. All the wars and deaths and strife: very, very bad. Hot water to float in: good.

We’re walking along the Danube toward this decrepit building that I had assumed was abandoned. The windows were blackened with dirt, panels of glass broken away, and the exterior walls had many crumbled patches. This was, in my mind, another instance of beautiful architecture neglected. Budapest is stuffed full of beautiful architecture, but unless you’re talking ‘city center’ it’s almost guaranteed the striking buildings and boulevards are in desperate need of paint.

Anyhow, we arrive at what I’d assume was an abandoned building until Zsolt says: “This is it,” and we head through some grimy glass doors into what I’d describe as the entrance to an old movie house . . . bad rug, ticket tellers, a waist-height gate guarded by a teenage girl looking at her nails, pop music blasting from the snack bar. Not so charming. Not so spa-like.

But hey, apparences can be deceiving, and we’ve seen pictures of the interior – so with hope and curiosity, two bath tickets were purchased.

And in we went.

Whew. Beautiful. Creepy. Beautiful. It’s like you’ve suddenly transported in time and come back to a place, long long ago, when rooms were built not for purpose but for impact – and it was believed (much like old churches) that the aesthetics of a room can create spiritual awakening. Walking into the dark, humid bathing room (unlike other spas, this place is centred around only one room – and not too large either, just enough for maybe sixty people to comfortably mill) there is a round pool in the centre with posts all around, and above the pool is a dark dome with holes along it’s ceiling coloured with stain glass. Sunlight shines through these holes, and depending on where you stand, beams of light and colour shine into the bath like rays through a cloud. Quite impressive. And around the large bath, one for each corner of this square room, are smaller pools ranging from 28, 30, 33, and 40 degrees in temperature. Plus the steam and sauna.

So, in this dark space with colourful beams of light, we dipped in and out of the water, making circuits. I’d say it’s a cozy little bath, and far better than I’d expected based on first impressions. The only missing element – something I so miss from the Nordic in Canada – is silence. Without the acoustic damper of open sky, everyone’s voice bounces and resonates around the bathing room . . . the only escape from the voices is to either arrive really early, or stick your head under the water (not advisable in a 40 degree bath!).

But regardless it was lovely and we had a wonderful time. Today we’re going to some place called Gellert. I again have little idea what to expect. But hopefully it will involve more floating. Life is better when floating.