Worst dressed list

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

No one can accuse me of having fashion sense, particularly when I still – almost thirty – insist on wearing different coloured socks. But you can’t say I’m a clothing monster, either.

Like most people, I have a few favourite pieces, a favourite season and a time to shine (summer dresses, summer tops, summer shoes = yay!) and alternatively I have outdated tops, bottoms that deserve the garbage and sweaters that do not flatter my shape.

Whatever. Winter and fall have never been my good seasons. It’s my philosophy to simply keep my head down from the wind, wrap that scarf tighter, and for goodness sakes put on a toque. And for this reason, and this reason alone, I’ll never win best dressed actress of the year.

However Zsolt has another award he’d like to bestow upon me: worst dressed chemo patient ever.

Do I deserve this? Hmmm . . .

Today we arrived for the TENTH treatment. ¡Ay, caramba! Time has granted my request and started to fly. Only six more sessions and that green chair will be history.

You know what, I’m incredibly lucky. There are people in that ward who don’t know when their chemo ends . . . chemo ends when it ends; things either work or stop responding. Who’s brave? They are brave. This lovely women was chatting to me today and she was giving such a positive front despite this being her second round to clear cancer. “We don’t know how long I’ll be here” she said, then quickly mentioned this was her second attempt. And all the while she smiled – now there is bravery.

Things are coming along. It’s funny because the nurses still expect me to get sick. This one lady was changing my picc line and talking about how AC chemo was difficult. “I just hated giving you that red stuff,” she said, which was surprising. The nurses know what’s coming, yet they do their best to chat about the weather, wear that ‘this is normal’ face, and make the experience pleasant . . . as pleasant as possible . . . I had never realized they might just hate what they’re inflicting.

That was an insight.

So was my husband’s response to my ‘Going to Chemotherapy to Kick Breast Cancer Ass’ outfit. It’s not the first time I’ve worn these cloths, but it is the first time he’s noticed.

Going to Chemotherapy to Kick Breast Cancer Ass Outfit (worn every Friday since the second dose of Paxlitaxol):

Really thick socks.

Shoes – preferably with shoe laces undone, if remembered.

Sweatpants. (the more loose, the better)

Tank top.

Giant husband-sized hoodie (sweater) discarded by Zsolt due to faulty zipper. (Zsolt’s main cause for protest)

My wolly toque.

Oranges in the mouth.

Frankly, the only people dressed more causally are the C5 patients in their robes. But this outfit has purpose! The socks keep my ankles warm; the sweatpants don’t restrict movement so I can lift my legs while sleeping; the tank top gives me a choice between warm & cold (hot flash protection); the SWEATER keeps me warm with its excessive size, and also the arms are so big that I can wear it and my picc line remains available for the drip; the toque blocks out light so that I can nap happily.

It’s a thoughtful outfit, despite looking terrible. Zsolt doesn’t understand, and I guess none of the other chemotherapy patients do either – many of them actually show up looking GOOD. Fashion as defiance in the face of adversity. Well, I tried that and couldn’t sleep properly in the chair.

So award for the sloppiest fashion in the chemo ward goes to me. It’s an honour.

Who doesn’t love a great outfit? But there’s a time and place – and when I feel tired, well frankly, I don’t give a damn.

It was a good session. 🙂

P.S. I’m waiting on my oncologist to send a letter to the doctor in Ottawa. It seems my file was misplaced, so they didn’t have the needed information. Enough of that – I called the secretary on Thursday and gave her the missing contact details. On Monday I’ll call again to confirm that the letter has been sent.

Making time

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

This past weekend my parents ran their annual ‘Wake up’ seminar – so that meant they were crazy busy and we didn’t talk on Sunday.  Didn’t talk on Sunday, and it wasn’t till late Monday that we actually met up on Skype.

Somewhere between Sunday morning and Monday night I realize the following: I’m hooked on talking with my parents.

I kept checking skype for that little green bubble to appear beside their names – over and over, compulsively.

It never used to be like this. There was a time that we’d go a week or two between conversations – I was busy, they were busy, no one had time. But then I was diagnosed with breast cancer and that all changed.  We talk every day, either working together on my issues or just chatting. Even though they are in another country I still feel their support. Actually, I depend on it.

Who knows what will happen when the chemo and radiotherapy is over. Chances are we won’t chat every day. I’ll be busy, they’ll be busy, there won’t always be time. But this has been a very good experience. In some ways it brought me closer to my parents, and I’m really thankful for that.

It’s a heavy thing to take care of someone, but it makes a difference. From Zsolt doing the dishes, to friends bringing food, to talking with my parents – it’s all made a difference. I guess I’m hooked on the support, but for now that’s okay. For now I can let myself be supported.

And then, when this is over, I’ll do what I can to show my thanks.

What’s up, doc?

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Life, Treatment by

Last Friday, Zsolt and I met with the lead oncologist. We arrived with a list of questions, but before I could even mouth the word  “Christmas”  we had to first cover the basics.

The basics

Doctor: How are you feeling?

Me: Fine.

Doctor: Any mouth sores?

Me: No .

Doctor: How are your fingers and toes?

Me: Good.

Doctor: And your energy?

Me: Still tired.

Doctor: How’s your mood?

Me: Okay.

Doctor: And your bowels?

Me: Fine.

Doctor: What about nausea?

Me: No.

. . . . .

Doctor: Okay, let’s talk about Christmas.

FINALLY! So that ended the basics. Basically, I’m coping with chemo and plugging along. I get tired, I get sore, I get better, I go to work and proceed as normally as possible.

The conversation then shifted to how many doses of paxlitaxol are ‘enough’. Honestly, he gave the same vague answer that all the doctors have given – in that, studies are based on twelve doses, reducing that dose might/could/possibly make a marginal difference in my chances, but he can’t say for certain. It was his opinion, however, that I finish the entire course.

Blah. Okay, fine.

It was also his opinion that finishing chemo in Canada is entirely possible. He would send an email to the hospital in Ottawa, and we’ll see what they say. Nice!

I realize that travelling during chemotherapy will be exhausting. I am aware. But I want to go home, and this is a compromise.  So, if everything works out on the Canadian side of things, I will be able to see my family over the holidays. That means a lot to me.  Zsolt will drive me to the airport, an airline rep will take me through the airport, and then (with thanks a whole lotta air miles) I’ll fly first class home – where I’ll be helped off the plane and delivered to my family. It will be exhausting, but at least I’ll be supported. Plus Air Canada has those pods up in first class, so I’ll be able to lay back and sleep.

Next week we should hear more – hopefully by then the ball will be rolling.

It’s good news that satisfies everyone.  Zsolt is happy, I am happy, and hopefully the journey isn’t too difficult.

Thumbs up for a good meeting! Yay!