Tag Archives: chemotherapy recovery

Dr Canada and the hug

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Today was a nice experience. Around new year I’d received a letter in the mail advising me of an appointment with Dr Canada on the 11th of January. The letter didn’t specify what this meeting was about, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess it was a follow up visit.

So this morning, way too early, Mom and I hop into the car and join the highway rush. Why does traffic slow down? What’s happening on the road that so many cars needs to clump together? Anyhow, we drove to the General.  Mom (Marcelle) had awoken me early for a shower with the idea that I ought to look good today – and she is right. I ought to have looked good, and despite my lack of hair,  puffy eyes (too sleep deprived from a certain younger brother who kept me awake while he had his midnight snack), and groggy expression, this morning’s effort paid off. With a bit of blush on the cheeks I looked . . . hmm . . . acceptable.

But wouldn’t you believe it – first thing Dr Canada says to me as he walks into the room (with me having been weighed and observed), “You look pretty today.”

Wonderful man.

Though honestly he is excellent and I consider myself lucky to have him as an oncologist. Both he and his assisting medical student checked my breast. Like my mother, he suggested my itchy nipple was due to hormonal changes – “keep it moisturized”  he suggested.

And then we got onto the topic of radiotherapy. I presented him with my options: 50 grey over five weeks, or 40 grey over three weeks, with grey being a measure of radiation. According to him, there’s little difference between the two. In some cases there is a worry about toxicity and the heart for 40 over three week, but because I’m having my therapy on the right side (away from the heart) it shouldn’t be a problem.

Little difference, but ultimately less radiation and a shorter time span . . . why wouldn’t I choose three weeks of radiotherapy over five? Maybe there  are reasons, but they’re not shouting out.

Which led my mother to ask, “are there any supplements she should take/avoid during radiotherapy?”  and Dr Canada suggested avoiding vitamin E during treatment, but deferred to my mom, saying that she was the expert in that area.

Expert in that area! You know what that means? Mom was totally googled.

And yet he was quite cool about her alternative health background – not the least bit condescending or on edge. Instead he gave us his opinions about which supplements help, which to avoid, and which are rather unclear in their effectiveness. He also followed this up by suggesting I read some books on diet because while they may not be proven methods, they have sense behind them. “There are some well thought out ideas.”

AND then! So surprising – he gave me a hug and wished me luck. Seriously, no joking, we hugged. It was nice. Considering the heavy implication of our conversation, the reason for the visit, the fear I’d experienced last weekend, his hug was curative.

Medicine mixed with compassion, it’s the very best treatment. Today was a good visit, and it’s left me highly impressed.

Tea and a muffin

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Well, guess who got in touch? The lady in the red-brick house who had breast cancer, and I am quite glad she did. Yesterday afternoon she stopped by while canvassing and left her number with my parents. So of course,  happy to see this slip of paper as I arrived home, I called her right away.

Fast forward to this morning, walking through the snow back up my favourite street and being greeted at her door. With an invitation for tea, we got together and had a chat (and some lovely gluten-free, lactose-free muffins). Honestly, I never imagined this scenario; it must have been over ten years since I was last in her home to babysit. One time while she and her husband were away (and I was ‘on the job’) her son and I somehow managed to get locked outside of the house. Desperate not to look like an idiot, I asked the neighbours if they had a key – but no luck. Instead  they had a ladder. . .  essentially I broke in through the window and climbed into the kitchen sink (then crawled along the floor to deactivate the alarm).  Yeah, that was a bit embarrassing overall, but also rather resourceful now that I look back.

Anyhow, never in my life would I have imagines a conversation about breast cancer taking place at the home where I once crawled into the kitchen sink. But life is surprising (with breast cancer being a surprise for everyone involved) however, it was real pleasure to sit down and compare experiences (and catch up; funny how it’s so easy to lose track of someone’s life, even if they only live down the road).

Despite some differences in treatment and diagnosis, both systems seem to move quickly. I guess that’s a reassurance to women freshly diagnosed in both Canada and England. You will be attended, and it’ll happen right away. In England my medication was all covered, in Canada a drug plan is very helpful. In Canada they have a nurse designated to help during chemo, in England they have a nurse designated to help with overall breast cancer. I think it’d be ideal to have both types of nurses available. When first diagnosed questions swirl around and it’s useful to easily find answers, and chemotherapy is such a tiring process that having a contact would be reassuring.

Anyhow, we compared notes. Talking was such a pleasure, and talking over tea made it all the better. It’s very nice to connect with someone who has been there and done that. For various reasons I’ve never been to keen to join support groups, but chatting with a neighbour was different.

Overall, I’m quite glad she had guts to start the conversation. I should learn from her example.

Chemotherapy is OVER

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

DONE! WOOHOOO! AHHHH! YEAH BABY! YES YES YES! OKKKKAY! And a big thumbs up! Ahhh – no cause for another infamous swearing streak, today is only for happy words. HAPPY! JOY! RELIEF! RELEASE!Mom and I went in for chemo today. The hospital called our house at 7.30 am inquring whether we’d like to push our appoitment forward. Seven thirty felt a bit too early, so we arranged it for sometime before 11. “Any time before 11.”

So, at about 10 am we rolled into the deluxe chemo clinic. Again, things went well. That is a pattern I’m glad to have maintained during the paxlitaxel. The nurses seemed in a fine mood (but they would, as of the 25th they’ll have a 4 day weekend), one was even dressed in red with an elf hat. Very festive.

Chemotherapy took two and half hours, pretty normal. Afterwards the nurse removed my picc line. Let me tell you – removing a picc line is no big deal. Inserting the thing is a procedure (needles, x-rays, heart a pounding – though worth every second) so comparatively this was a walk in the park. Here is what they do: a heat pack is placed on the arm to ‘relax the vein’, the picc bandage is removed, and then the nurse gently pulls the line centimetre by centimetre till out, after which she presses down with gauze for a few minutes so the hole seals and no air can enter my body. Actually, I only realized half way through that she was pulling the tube from my vein. It was hardly noticeable. Why can’t all procedures be like that?

After my arm was released, we packed up the standards (oranges, pretzels, sweater) and GOT OUTTA THERE. Eighty sixed it – outtie five thousand – see you later alligator – hasta la vista – let’s blow this pop stand – I’m gone! High fives for everyone.

At the house Mom and Dad had a surprise gold star waiting for me. It’s a helium balloon in the shape of a star and is currently floating beside their bed. Pretty clever. Also there were lovely gifts from a few friends, and that was a wonderful surprise too.

Now I’m in the kitchen. Daniel and JP dragged the mattress upstairs so I could sleep yet still hang out. I’d tried sitting in a chair before but ended up sliding my tired ass onto the ground for a nap. This, clearly, is better. Mom just finished making red onion preserve and Daniel is sterilizing some jars. There’s festive music in the background and I’m sitting (sleeping) pretty. Lovely.

Sixteen down and no more to go. Over. Good bye Chemotherapy. Let’s never meet again. Never.

Next up is a vacation, followed by radiotherapy. After that it’s all about reclaiming my life. We’re starting now, which is a great reason for my being here. Marcelle is making sure I eat properly, Tony is treating me, and JP is putting me through a chemo-recovery routine.

If Zsolt were here it’d be absolutely perfect.

About 15 treatments ago I looked at the chemo schedule and thought, ‘how can we get through this?’ Talk about your obstacles; treatments felt like an uphill battle. But look where we’ve gotten – look at the view from the top of this mountain. Big goals were set (are set), and afterwards life became about the baby steps. One week at a time and you can survive. Survive to thrive. This next part (after the radiotherapy) is all about getting better.

I’m so thankful for everyone’s support. Thank you thank you thank you. Your thoughts, prayers, words, and food have been wonderful.

Right – time to lay down. Someone break out that cake! WOHOO!