Stressing over stress

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs by

Zsolt just walked into my makeshift ‘office’ in his sister’s old bedroom here in Pecs, Hungary, and asked if I could take a break from my work. (Quick aside: this isn’t work. I love doing this – writing, blogging, social mediating, and all the while enjoying the breeze through this large open window before me and listening to the sounds of the neighbourhood – mostly dogs, a few cars). And since Zsolt never walks into my makeshift office asking me to take a break, I immediately listened to the man.

“I sent you an email,” he tells me.

Catherine opens her email.

There in my inbox is an article link.  It’s a piece from the Huffington post by David Katz, M.D. on the “super six” – his list of factors to help prevent recurrence (or occurrence) of cancer. With the inevitable reminder that “lifestyle practices are the ship and sails, but there is still the wind and waves”, which I thought was a rather well-put reminder. Do what you can, but there are no promises. However, we can at least do what we can.

Anyhow, here are the six factors suggested by David Katz to give attention when trying to fight cancer – feet (exercise), forks (diet), fingers (no smoking), sleep, stress, and love.

And then Zsolt says to me: “You’ve got all of those covered, except for your stress.”

Ah! Nailed.

Before diagnosed with cancer I was stressing over ‘where will we live’ and ‘where do I belong’ . . . then came the cancer (a stress-pie in itself) . . . and Zsolt’s application for residency in Canada . . . and now that we’re finally here in Hungary, enjoying our summer of time and leisure, and I’m stressing over our move to Canada and how things will go at the border and how we’ll settle into adulthood in another new country (new for Zsolt, and I’ve only ever been a student in Canada, so this will most certainly be different).

Now I realize this post is essentially a written rant on worrying about worrying. And Zsolt has just told me that he’s getting worried over my endless list of concerns (poor man, I don’t want him to be dragged down). Plus, I’d hate to leave you with the impression that all day, everyday my brow is furrowed and I’m ruminating over the next difficult hurdle (because really, and I know this, every hurdle is surmounted whether you want to climb that obstacle or not. During chemo I thought, “this is impossible” and yet – it’s done.) but it’s just a realization reminder: In the words of my husband, “Catherine, you need to relax.”

This entire summer was constructed with the idea of relaxation, but it seems location and convenience alone are not enough to master the art of calm. My mind still picks on the wriggling points of uncertainty – Will we have problems? Is the paperwork arranged? What will come next?

Same thing it’s been doing ever since I was a kid.

However, I also learned a new trick this past year. Talking about said stress – writing, blogging, journaling, releasing – I don’t know how that factors into the ‘super six’ but for me personally it’s a great help. I let out the pressure . . . which is a start.

Anyhow, with the conclusion of this post I will try and not worry any longer about worrying. Instead, I’ll google meditation classes in Ottawa I can slip into once we arrive in the country.  Like all other aspects of that super six (particularly diet and exercise) I’ll feel better – physically, mentally, emotionally – once this issue is challenged with some proactive behaviour. And in the meanwhile, maybe I’ll go for a walk. That’s meant to be stress relieving, right? Never mind the barking dogs – they’re all stuck behind their fences. Everything will be just fine. (As she breathes in and out, now anxious to leave this post behind.) Everything is fine.

I need a cup of tea.

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. 

Aunt flow pays a visit

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fertility by

Whew – touchdown. We’re finally back from the graduate weekend. Zsolt is officially Dr Zsolt and we now turn, to borrow a phrase from Terri, to a fresh chapter in our lives. He is no longer a student, instead, he is officially unemployed. Ha! I am joking. At the moment our status is “we’re on vacation so leave us alone.” Employment can wait a little longer (though not too much longer).

Oh, big surprise this weekend. With the steady decline of my hot flashes (essentially disappearing with the heat wave some weeks ago) followed by a bout of cramps and what I could have sworn was ‘Ovulation Catherine’ – you know that woman, Ovulation Cindy, Ovulation Grace, Ovulation Anna, Ovulation anyone who is ovulating, craves chocolate, feels emotional and is above all horny. Following these signs (plus a week of absolutely no signs, except perhaps a tender abdomen), last Sunday after a particularly happy weekend where I visited so many friends and had such a good time, well – there she was in the morning: Aunt Flow.

She arrived promptly in the AM with bagfuls of luggage. Heavy luggage. More luggage than I’d ever seen in my life, which frankly was worrying, because after a year of no luggage, to have so much suddenly was quite a shock. I was off to the pharmacy every two minutes buying bulkier and bulkier supplies to deal with the onslaught. It was a very interesting day.

All the while (as we tour the Isle of Wight with Zsolt’s parents, who kindly never asked why the heck I kept disappearing) I’m wondering to myself: “is this normal? Is it menstruation or a sign of ovulary cancer? Am I about to bleed to death?” But then I looked at the obvious: flow with no dizziness, pain or fatigue . . . everything was normal.

Normal! After a year of menopausal mayhem in my twenties, suddenly something normal was happening. It felt weird.

So bye-bye menopause. Except, of course, for yesterday in the plane ride back from England where I was riding successive hot flashs as the plane descended for landing. “Zsolt, is it warm in here or am I having a hot flash?” Apparently my body in currently in limbo between menstruation and menopause.

So – babies, anyone? This is absolutely confusing now. If I have my period, then it must mean something ovulated. Whether it’s a usable egg is unknown . . . actually, the entire thing confuses me, which is why I’ve decided to rely on the words Zsolt’s lovely friend said to me the other day (as we sat on Margaret Island and watched the fountain rise and fall with the Mozart soundtrack). This is what she said, and I found it incredibly touching: “Catherine, you don’t have to worry about having children, because I pray for you everyday.”

Very touching.

And so, for now, I’ve decided not to worry. Her confidence is reassuring, and while everything can be so confusing (test results, my body, menopause, menstruation) I prefer to take refuge in faith . . . even if it isn’t always my own.

So I try not to worry as my body switches and questions come soaring into my mind. It is a constant struggle to stop the anxiety, but then I remember her kind words and suddenly life becomes calm.

Calm like the glassy turquoise ocean round the Isle of Wight, gently peaking with tips of froth and deep in that ‘swim in me now’ color. And I listen as the waves lap against the shore, and a lone seagull in the sky – calling – dives away from sight.

Calm like a moment in the sunlight, with nothing but horizon and quiet and blue.

Calm.

I love me a little Calm.

And so, my body tumbles forward, changing toward the normal. It’s a good thing.

(And as you can see, gets me going rather lyrically. I can’t help it – really, I can’t. Writing taps into my heart, and my heart is abundantly sentimental. I cannot help the tone. It’s a little cheesy, but then, I do love a strong slice of cheese.)