Tag Archives: breast cancer

A whole lotta love

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

This post is for Lulu, who worries when I don’t write. Bonjour, Lulu!

Things are coming along. Friday was treatment, today Zsolt and I spent the morning in bed talking. It’s easier when he is here to distract me with chit chat. My thoughts are really the problem  – they trigger the sickness to become overwhelming. And for some reason this round of chemo is more difficult than the last. Probably because we didn’t stop the nausea in time.

But this has been a nice morning. I am now eating a few slices of cucumber and Zsolt is in the kitchen with the dishes. It’s 11.30 am, we’ve been up since 8.30. The ability to rest together is a good sign for a relationship, isn’t it? Back in the day Zsolt and I would spend entire (and I mean entire) morning in bed just talking. We still do of course, but not every weekend. Sometimes there is work, other times there is treatment, and others we have company. I really cherish our morning – plus it gives me something better to type about than nausea etc.

The past couple days have been draining. Keeping food down  is a challenge, which frustrates me because my weight was just starting to rise again. I’d like another three weeks off, please. I’d also like a house in Balaton and a house in Canada – since I’m in the asking mood. And a promise that this cancer will never, ever, ever come back.

My mother and I have made a list. Nicole had suggested making a list of things to look forward to (see comment from past post Help for those helping) and I’m quite glad we did. Here are a few things that Mom and I look forward to doing:

Going to the spa.

Making Christmas cookies.

Sharing a poutine.

Playing cranium with the family.

Visiting a tea shop.

Putting up the tree.

Seeing family again.

There are more things, but that’s a taster. It was really fun to make the list; mom would slowly read it back so I could imagine each activity. There is much to look forward to, and I’m trying to keep my mind focused on those goals. But thank goodness for the people around me. Without them I’d be drifting back to chemo, the room, the syringes . . . and that’s no good, believe me.

The doctors and nurses keep offering me mood relaxing drugs. I keep saying no. What I really need are positive distractions and a whole lot of love. A whole lotta love. Luckily it’s all around.

*Once I feel better I’ll write about the picc line – but give me a couple days yet.

Support from NHS

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

How is your experience with the NHS? That’s a question people often ask me.


Mostly it’s good – they acted quickly, were very supportive, and while things felt in crisis they were a reliable crutch. And mostly it’s still good. But this past week has been rather frustrating. I had wanted a picc line put in before my next chemo and tried calling to and arrange an appointment with a doctor. Maybe one week was too short notice and couldn’t be done – I don’t know. How could I know? I only spoke with an answering machine. And it wasn’t very chatty.

Tomorrow I go in for my blood, and will finally speak with a doctor. I realize it’s a very busy unit – but this week I felt hit-my-head-against-the-wall unsupported. It’s too bad they don’t have  a ‘chemo nurse’ like the breast care nurses. The breast care nurses are a touchstone for women (and men) who are trying to cope with the trauma of breast cancer. Losing a breast, realizing your life is at risk – it’s difficult to manage sometimes. But so is chemotherapy. It would be nice to have contacts who aren’t receptionists, aren’t giving treatment, aren’t juggling so many obligations that you feel bad for interrupting. It would be nice to have that support.

It’s been a head-shaking week. I’ve felt somewhat cog-like . . . fit into my slot; if I try to jump out of place the entire system breaks down. Did you know that England only has 12 chemotherapy facilities? Twelve for all the people who may get cancer. I wonder how many Canada has?

There are a lotta people (the waiting rooms are stuffed full of patients and their significant others) and a lot of demand. But I still want my picc line. Friday is coming – my veins will have to suffer the ache of another round of AC treatment. It could be worse. I do realize it could always be worse. And I’m happy in knowing that eventually it will be better.

Another round. This past week has been a bittersweet vacation, with its ups and downs, much like all the other weeks this summer has offered.

Next up – blood test and consultation. Here we go again.

Pyramid Lake

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

There is a lake in Jasper at the base of a mountain . . . well, not quite the base. If you are in a car, it’s an easy uphill drive along a winding road to reach beautiful water that reflects Pyramid Mountain above. And at that water you can rent canoes, take them out and paddle – quietly, peacefully, happily – to your heart’s delight.

Nearly ten years ago, while living in Jasper, I had that pleasure. But I didn’t have a car. Instead, a group of friends and I set out on our bikes to peddle to the base of this mountain, where the lake waited with the canoes on shore.

Jasper is high, and biking up a mountain makes it even higher. To reach that water meant physical turmoil. Our group of friends became separated – those who were stronger pushed ahead, those out of practise fell behind.

I fell behind: panting, swearing, aching. Cars whizzed past, and I considered sticking out a thumb, but didn’t because it was too embarrassing. Instead I simlpy pressed onward despite thoughts of giving up, because I knew – I just knew – that canoeing in that beautiful water, out in the open air, laughing and cruising, and being part of that incredible grandness was going to be worth it.

So bit by bit, with frequent breakdowns of determination and the occasional ten minute rest-stops . . . I finally made it to the base of that mountain. And my word, it was good.

It was so very, very good.

I wish that at the end of this chemotherapy there was something like that waiting.  My pink mountain with the canoes all tied up. Actually, there is – another chance, a plane ticket home, a break from this crap. But right  now I’m struggling uphill, and it’s getting pretty damn difficult.

Bright side: I received the expensive drug, and this weekend has been much better. Apart from Friday the nausea was little to gone, which makes the whole thing easier. Instead of suffering from illness, I slept away the weekend. This was a positive experience . . . and yet I can’t help feeling down. Thinking about all the treatments to come – all the needles and drugs – it’s like biking up that mountain and turning the corner, only to see more of that uphill climb.

I know this will be over in a matter of months. This part of the cancer ride will come and go, and I pray it’ll never be needed again. Somewhere ahead is that symbolic lake, though I do wish there was an easier way.

The weekend went well. That is what matters. But I feel this is a greater challenge beyond ticking off the treatments, and unfortunately there isn’t much choice . . . I just need to keep on biking.