Tag Archives: breast cancer

Just Dance

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Fun, Treatment by

Last week Zsolt and I gifted Anita with a new Wii game: Just Dance. (They  – Anita, Berci, Anna and László – have given us so many wonderful gifts; in fact I’m wearing the new blue bathrobe from Anita and Berci right now, and this morning I woke up in the incredible sheets Anna and László made possible. So our gifts to them seem quite small in comparison, but it’s all done with love.)


Has anyone played this awesome game? I guess it’s comparible to games like Rock Band etc, in that multiple players need to hit certain movement according to the screen instructions. For Just Dance there are different song choices, and then a dancer on the screen who acts out the moves (dances). And we, as the Wii players, hold the remote in our hands and follow along.

Awesome. You know why theWii is so incredible? Because there is no age limit, no skill qualification, no language barrier. The whole family was up and dancing – I have video proof, which will not (never) be posted online.  Instead I’ll post some other ladies to illustrate my point. . . . (point: it’s fun!)

Who cares about being tired when Ring my bell is blasting through the speakers, or Can’t touch this, or Surfing Bird? As a post-chemo exercise, this game is excellent.

So, family fun with the Wii. And I just loved seeing my father-in-law, László cut a rug. Great.

Prosthetic Breast

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

My mom is packing for Canada. I can’t imagine this taking too long, she’s been living out of a suit case for the past six weeks. But then again, it’s my mom – and when does a job, she does it right. So I may have a little while to type.


But today I won’t talk about how Mom is leaving after six weeks of being here, giving her love and support. And I won’t mention how incredibly grateful I feel to have spent this time with her. So there is no point saying she’s incredible, and I’ll never be able to thank her enough.

There is time for all that tomorrow, because tomorrow I’ll probably be thinking of nothing else.  (Last time my mom flew out from Heathrow, I left her at the departure area and returned home on the bus. Once home, I realized I had no key for the apartment. Being locked out I tried to call Zsolt, but my phone had no credit. While heading to the shop in order to add credit (couldn’t do it on the bank machine because I didn’t have a card with me, just cash), I dropped my phone down five flights of stairs. Suffice to say, I cried like a baby once Zsolt asked, “how you doing?” and it wasn’t because I was locked out, or dropped my phone, or was exhausted – it was all about my momma. But on the plus side, I can absolutely say that those basic Nokia phones are tough stuff. FIVE flights of stairs!)

Anyhow, I won’t go into any of that. Not even a little bit.


Today we did something fun, and now I understand why men love breasts.

Grabbing a taxi to the hospital, Mom, Zsolt and I called in on the breast care nurse (I had an appointment). We were taken into a room with many boxes – similar to the back of a shoe store, only more hospital-esque, and were asked to take a seat. The nurse then asked me to pull out my bra, which I did (giant A cup mastectomy bra) and we began to try on prosthetic breasts (I tried, others watched; it was a group effort).

I had to swap my pre-bought bra for an on hand sampler because my bra had padding. Therefore, I was wearing a non-padded bra, and we were slipping in different size prosthetic breasts.

What does a fake boob feel like?  It’s a bit like a Ziploc back sealed with water inside. . . if you hold the bag up and touch the bottom where all the water pools . . . it’s kind of that sensation, only softer. Anyhow, it feels good. Really smooth to the finger.

Trying on, trying on – a little smaller, a little bigger, a little here, a little there . . . till we hit the perfect shape.

“Run your hands over both breasts. Give them a good feel,” suggested the nurse. Wow, did that ever feel good. Not like “ohhhh yeah” good. GOOD. It felt real, really real. Had I not known otherwise, it’d be easy to forget there was a difference between the two sides (except for the temperature). And I was fascinated, I could have spent the entire day stroking this soft boob that wasn’t really mine. Not mine, but mine.

So I get the fascination. Mind you, I still don’t have an urge to oogle or stroke anyone else’s breast . . .

Summary: fun day boob shopping. It was a good change.

[Upcoming preview: next week Zsolt’s parents will arrive, shortly followed by his sister Anita and Berci-in-law. Who will sleep where? How much Hungarian will Catherine remember? And will Zsolt be able to work on his thesis? ]

Chemo cherries and Pac Man

Posted in Bumpboobs, Treatment by

Every morning I wake up and drink the most horrible concoction of wheat germ gross. Well, maybe it’s not exactly wheat germ  – it’s a Hungarian thing that is meant to boost the immune system and help kill bad cells (aka, cancer cells).


Combine that with the chemo drugs and we’ll have a game of Pac Man. The little ghosty cancer cells (if they’re in my body still) will be floating around the grid stalking my healthy Mrs Pac Man with her pretty pink bow. But BAM – here comes a chemo cherry and now it’s going wild. She’ll gobble them whole, boosting up on immune system lives, and send them all to ghost prison where they die-die-die. In my game the ghosts never come back; I always hated how the nasty buggers were allowed to escape the centre box. In this version they are eaten and then disappear from the entire series. If you proceed to the next level it’s a breeze because all the ghosties have been eradicated, and Mrs Pac Man is welcomed to chomp in a healthy, cancer-free grid.

So I’m taking the terrible wheat germ stuff. Every morning I wake up and shoot it down with a quarter glass of almond milk. At first it was a twist in my arm, but now I’m beginning to own the habit.

My mom often talks about ‘owning your space’. I know others who do this well, so can imagine what she means – wherever you go, whatever situation, you make your place. I’ve been so anxious about entering the chemo room, with its numbered chairs and cancer patients, and I’m a little concerned that it’s the anxiety, not the chemo, that may send me into freak-out mode.

MRI and the dizzy dye was exactly the same. I had a mediocre peanut butter sandwich but that was no reason to faint on the nurses, almost take an ambulance ride, and vomit my guts up after the scan. It was all nerves. All nerves.

We’re practicing ‘owning spaces’ but it doesn’t come naturally. Another thing on my to-do list: visualizations. Every time I even imagine the treatment room butterflies start to flutter. Nerves again, needing to be conquered.

Honestly, I’m terrible at Pac Man. But with the supplements and drinks and treatments and consultations, I’ll jam that grid full of cherries. It’s time to go fruit salad.