Getting a grip on the ice

Posted in Canada, Finding Home, Fun, Life by

For all your ice and slipping needs, Dr Zsolt (not a medical doctor) recommends DRYGUY GripOns. He’s been strapping these studded things onto his boots whenever we take walks lately, and while I think it’s 100% goofy, they also appear to be incredibly effective. Plus, really, they don’t look bad. I’m thinking of getting some myself.

While this cannot be counted as a ‘real’ post, it’s nevertheless important information for anyone tolerating a minus zero winter. If slipping is a worry, get yourself some studs.

And no, no one paid me to say that. That would be awesome if someone had, but no, no one did. Full disclosure. My opinion is purely based on ‘wow’ results.

Plus I’ve been editing this entry to a writing contest all day long – thus my brain, in terms of writing articles/posts/stories/conent, is slightly fried. Truth is with these literary contests that little ever comes from submitting, BUT this contest is for Canadians under 35s and has no entry fee. Now that’s my kind of contest. So whether I A) Win! or B) don’t win, I’ll still have a finished, short-story length piece of writing which I feel is quite strong (and therefore worth submitting to literary magazines). So I feel this has been a very productive day. It’s not often I managed to sqeeze a story into 2500 words. Frankly, I feel quite proud at having mastered it this once.

Therefore, yay for studs on ice and hammering out a short story. Two unrelated items, one feel-good post.

BRCA testing and genetics

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Treatment by

Sooo…today I did two things. One: tobogganed behind the house and slide into the school wall several times. (Does that make sense? There’s a school behind my house at the bottom of a hill. We slid down the hill. We slid into the school’s brick wall – our sleds were just that fast.) Two: went to the CHEO hospital in Ottawa and had a visit with a genetic consultant.

Let me tell you how it went.

Having braved the Canadian winter morning and arrived at the hospital, we headed up to level three and checked in. Apparently there was some blip with my health card, I have no idea what was wrong, but as the receptionist frowned at the screen I waited patiently. In my opinion when things go wrong, so long as I know I’m in the right, there’s really no reason to worry.

Eventually she fixed the problem. Something about the number being entered improperly.  And we were escorted into a small office.  In came the genetics consultant – a very pretty woman about my age, and so we had our meeting.

Q) She asked me who my doctor was and why they referred me.

A) My doctor is Dr Canada, and he referred me because he reckons I ought to be tested (see my Queen Victoria connection for the reason why).

Q) And having had no history of cancer in my family, why do I want to get tested?

A) So I know. Once I know, I will know. I get why people delay getting tested for the BRCA mutation when they’ve had it in their family . . . say you are told you have it, then what? Then you need to make some huge decisions. Personally, I’m in absolutely no rush to cut off any more body parts, but nevertheless, knowing one way or the other would be useful. I guess.

Q) Did I study biology?

A) Yeah . . . in highschool.

Zsolt was with me, holding my hand. He had also studied biology in high school. Therefore, everything seemed to make sense as the lovely consultant took out a binder and gave us a page-by-page presentation on how cells have chromosomes, and those chromosomes have two bits (like shoelaces have two bits that tie together) that spell out who we are and sometimes those genes can have a mutation. The more mutations, the worse off the cell . . . worse off, as in, cancerous.

Did you know that the BRCA gene is a GOOD thing? It PREVENTS tumours? And here I was thinking it was a bad old gene that caused a lotta trouble. Nope. Not at all. It’s when both dangly bits in the gene have that bad mutation (effectively stopping BRCA from killing weird cells) that things become a lot more risky.

Q) And have you considered the implications of this test? On your well-being, your treatment options, your life insurance [by the by, my life insurance is essentially shot – except I may already have some thanks to Mom and Dad – but otherwise ticking that box of ‘cancer’ on an application isn’t going to get me anywhere too quick. Mind you, the consultant did say that if I get this test and it comes back negative for the mutation, there are some Canadian life insurance companies that will take that into consideration. ]

A) Yes I have. (Well, kinda.) Please give me the test.

Well heck, like I said in a previous post – what am I going to do? Having already gotten sick once, I’d be crazy not to investigate further. And my well-being has already been challenged. Fact is things are as they are; knowing or not knowing isn’t going to change the way things are. Therefore, I choose to know.

Maybe that’s why Eve ate her juicy Red Delicious. She figured, hey, what’s the harm? And then – BAM – kicked outta paradise!

Ignorance is bliss to a large degree. Not knowing I had cancer was easier than knowing. But it certainly didn’t do me any favours. Sometimes (rarely) I imagine what it would have been like to have found my bump earlier. Would I still have a right breast? Would I have needed months of chemotherapy? Anyhow. I want to know – regardless of the possible difficult decisions that may or may not follow.

I have decided. Give me the test. I want to know.

(And in four months I’ll get the results. Talk about building the suspense.)

(OH! And good news for Zsolt and I, the test is covered by OHIP because I’m absurdly young for this disease. My ‘freak of nature’ status has worked in my favour this time. Fantastic.)

(One final thought. Please keep your fingers crossed that result come back negative: nothing found. I’d rather still wonder, “why the heck did I get cancer,” than know a BRCA mutation was at the root. Much rather.)

Echoes upon echoes

Posted in Finding Home, Fun, Life, Love by

The temperature has dropped to minus twenty degrees (-20) here in Ottawa. Zsolt is ready to board a plane back to Europe. Having recently acquired a long, kick-ass jacket I’m not minding the cold so badly. Yeah, it’s freezing. But yeah, we’ve also got a cosy fire here in the basement. So in my opinion, as long as we don’t step out of the house during this cold snap, everything will be okay.

Mind you, the hill behind the house is deep with snow and those sleds are just waiting in the garage . . . how cold is too cold to toboggan?

Ever since Christmas, Zsolt and I have been vegetating. It’s not like we’ve been leading extremely busy lives, but nevertheless looking for work does have its own kind of pressure. So we’ve taken a few days off from the search. But very soon we’ll be back at it. No point going on too long in the land of holiday and diet-breaking.  (I’ve eaten cookies, cinnamon buns, bread and more cookies  –  none of them being gluten-free. But hey, it’s only over Christmas. Today I made two healthy meals and feel quite good about the proactivness.)

One distraction we’ve been indulging in heavily is RUMMY-O. You know that game? My grandmother used to play it obsessively. Well, maybe not obsessively, but she was always up for a game. Right before she passed away, like a month or two, she had my cousin play with me, Zsolt and Daniel so we could all learn. And since she’s passed, we’ve played upstairs in the living room more than a few times. Like many times. A whole lot.  Bunches. It’s a quiet game of thought and puzzling . . . except for when my Dad plays and begins to sing during everyone else’s turn (after that game of his loud serenading, I totally banned him from joining again unless he promised to maintain silence. Now he only sings when it’s his turn.)

And as a memorial to Lulu (at least, in my mind) we say the very important words that follow a person’s turn.

If you pick up a chip because you cannot play, you say: “Je piège.” And pick up the chip.

If you choose to play your chips and not pick up, once you’ve played all your chips, you say: “J’ai joué.” And the next person is allowed their turn.

These are very important cues that Lulu used to insist upon, and frankly I can see their advantage. When we forget to say ‘je piège’ or ‘j’ai joué’ after a turn everyone just sits there waiting, thinking the person is still contemplating their move. Everyone except my dad, who instead begins to sing.

So I guess it’s a nice way of passing along a bit of her memory. Little habits like that carry on. Another would be slicing the cucumber. My mom, when slicing the tip of a cucumber, then rubs that bit against the remaining vegetable until a froth emerges (oh my word, this sounds inappropriate. But really we’re just dealing with vegetables). I watched her doing this as a little girl, and now when I slice a cucumber, I do the exact same thing. Well, guess what? Lulu did the very same thing. And I reckon my daughter will also pick up the habit.

Anyhow, I have no point in this ramble about habits trading one generation for another, except to say it’s a little bit amazing how we pass along our story, bit-by-bit to those who love us most.  Chances are ‘j’ai joué’ and ‘je piège’ go back several Rummy-loving women in our family. For sure the cucumber slicing does. I can just imagine my great, great grandmother handing a cucumber and foaming it’s tip.

It’s little things like that which I find so inspiring. Things like that make me love the story I’m currently writing – a story which is nearly there, apart from the editing and rewrites, and has been along for quite a ride over the past two years.

The idea that we can know those who have come before from simple habits, simple ‘tendencies’ is really quite awesome. Did my father’s side of the family always sing aloud? (he sure does, and so do I – just not when playing Rummy.) Did my mom’s side always play games? Did we always clean our vegetables like this? Could we stop if we wanted to? Are we just like our ancestors, or only a gentle impression of their habits?

And so we’ve been playing our game and enjoying the holiday. I hope you have as well. Stay warm, stay safe, and I’ll see you in the new year.

Happy holidays!