Tag Archives: breast cancer blog

Re-learning food

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Food by

So today I go into the grocery store to buy lunch and dinner. Lately I’ve been ‘popping in’, which is the least economical way to grocery shop, but it’s because I’d like to make a change in our diet and have almost no idea how to start. At home on my table (we don’t have a kitchen table, dining table, end table – just a table) are some cookbooks that focus on healthy eating and a paperback entitled, Anti Cancer.  They are calling out to me: “Eat Healthy, Eat WAY Less Meat, Eat Broccoli!” and I don’t know how to answer back. It’s not in my cooking repertoire.

Right – back on track, so I go into the grocery store today looking for a healthy meal. What’s a healthy meal? I don’t know, something that involves watercress, broccoli, cauliflower or kale and something that doesn’t involve gluten (for some), sugar, preservatives, trans-fats, phosphoresces etc.

Okay. So I go into the grocery store looking to buy some food. And as I get to the dairy section I recall that Mario recently dropped off some Mexican hot chocolate that is grade-A tempting to make. Therefore, I’ll need milk. But not just any milk, ohhh no. Not anymore. According to this book, Anti Cancer, if you’re going to have milk it needs to be organic and grass fed, which balances the Omega-3 and Omega-6 somethings. And, preferably, in a glass container.

Well Waitrose is good, but they’re not that good. All the milk is in plastic.

Strike one.

Next up – I look at the organic milk, which is promising. Organic equals good, right?

Right?

Ah! I don’t know. Because new questions are now forming in my mind: what do these cows eat? Do they get the proper nutrients? Do they eat organic corn, or organic grass? I start to doubt the organic milk. Strike two.

Therefore I turn to the label. Oh copyrighting, you are wonderful, and there is a small blurb about how Dutchie Organic milk adheres to the standards of So-and-So, but no mention about being grass-fed. Strike Three. I put down the milk. Maybe we’ll make soya-milk hot chocolate instead.

My point: A trip to the grocer’s is no long a trip to the grocer’s. It’s a freaking obstacle course of questions and confusion.

BUT this is how I look at things. At work we just switched to Windows Seven. It’s my guess that workplaces across the country are switching to Windows Seven – nice layout, pretty pictures, handy tools – so perhaps you can relate? Anyhow, the computer receives its upgrade and suddenly everything appears different. All the old programs are there, nothing has changed in regards to content, but my thoughtless everyday interaction suddenly dosn’t work. Once again, like the grocery store, I need to start thinking.

When I think, my brain grows new muscles and in time that behaviour becomes second-hand – this is inevitable (thank goodness!), and makes things go back to their quick, thoughtless, and wonderful ways. Sooner than later trips to the grocery store will not take fifteen minutes for a carton of milk because I’ll know what to evaluate and how to proceed. No more run on tangents about the books on my table, the lessons I’m learning, the food for the cows. I’ll know. I’ll recognize. I’ll be healthy with ease.

And those are good things.

Killer whales and cancer

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Radiotherapy Treatment, Treatment by

My Disney Land perception of whale behaviour was shattered last week when Marcelle told me a story about killer whales attacking mother grey whales and their calves. *Sigh* Nature is ruthless . . . Beautiful, but ruthless. In the end it’s about survival. If the mother whale pushes back against the orcas, then the attacking group will retreat. If not . . . hard luck for the baby.

So why am I writing about this? Good question, which I’m ultimately wondering myself – but having promised a discussion on whales, I’ve got to deliver.

Here Mom’s take: Nature is ruthless, and if you want to survive you need to push back; same with cancer, same with any illness. Passivity doesn’t pay. This extends to all corners of life (e.g. trying to negotiate internet fees, getting a refund, etc.). If you want to win, you have to fight.

Thank goodness there is help, because it’s one thing to tell a newly diagnosed patient to ‘fight fight fight’ and it’s another thing to know what that really means. How do you fight cancer – how can you fight something without knowing the cause?

It’s the eternally frustrating question that still haunts my twenty-eight year old, no family history, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, and exercises regularly, diagnosis. What am I fighting against?

Initially it’s the problem: fight the cancer. Push back against the tumour – surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, hormone therapy. The surgeons, oncologists, nurses all helped me to fight, and I’m thankful for their expertise.

Next there are the emotions: Fight the saturation. Cancer seeps, it seeps into your life – like a stain on the carpet that’s sunk deep and low. It spreads, it settles, it stains your mind. Fighting means connecting with other survivors, letting family and friends support you, talking about the depression or the fear, finding release when life gets too heavy. Stress is linked to illness, and I’m sick of being sick. I fight back by talking about my feelings, releasing that stress. Thank goodness for my support network, they’ve been incredible.

Okay, and now treatment is nearly over and we’re left with this window of possible reoccurrence, what is there to fight? Fight the cause. I do not know what caused my breast cancer, but nevertheless, changes must be made. From taking supplements, re-examining diet, going home, pursuing writing, chasing dreams, and having fun. Change will be the name of 2011, and hopefully it’ll be a really healthy year.

Screw those killer whales (though they are lovely creatures). I’m pushing back. We’ve got to push back.

Relearning how to be alone

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life by

This weekend was an interesting case study. Having done a BA in psychology (with no follow up) I love to think of my experiences as personal case studies. And here is another for publication . . .

Zsolt, my wonderful husband, spent all of Saturday fixed to his keyboard pounding out thesis corrections. I spent all of Saturday with my ass fixed to the sofa, doing little else. Contrast that to Sunday where I left Zsolt and his thesis behind and headed out to Tragos to meet a friend, which was followed  by having another friend over for lunch, to finally topping off the day with a little Zsolt/Catherine Donkey Kong Country marathon.

So, time to guess – on which day did I fall into a depression?

Finding A: Getting out of the apartment is my favourite non-writing activity in England. What to do on the weekend? Get out of the apartment. Doesn’t matter if you go down the road, to the tea shop, or visit the tip – if it’s out, it’s good, and for me, typically involves family or friends.

Finding B: I need to starting being active alone. If friends are busy, if Zsolt is occupied – who’s to blame that I collapse into sulksville? Me. A hundred percent me. And that is a problem.

Anyhow, getting out is good. Being with friends is better. Sharing time with my husband is awesome. But what about being alone, acting alone? When did I stop enjoying my self? Back in highschool I used to take walks to the football field and sit by the playground, watching the kids play soccer while I picked blades of grass. Sometimes I would lay in my backyard and count the sparrows that flicked overhead. Other times I tried to shrink the clouds by projecting warm thoughts in their direction. And then at night, if no one was around, I’d wash the dishes and sing with my reflection in the window.

Now that was quality alone time. Something has happened to make even visiting the tea shop difficult when solo.  And I don’t like that.

I love being with others and I love going out. But, it’s about time I loved being alone.

Conclusion: It’s nice to realize this problem – because a problem identified is on the way to resolution. At least, it’s a start. Zsolt has a lot more thesis to go, and I don’t want to fall into that chemo depression all over again (or make him feel guilty).  For some reason ever since chemotherapy I hate to be alone, but that’s over now; time to resolve the fear. Sometimes the best option is simply to step forward, take the risk. Hopefully next weekend when Zsolt is busy working and my ass has returned to the sofa, I’ll remember this post and get up – get dressed – and GET OUT.