Three nice things

Two really nice things happened to me this past week. Firstly I was given a pint of daffodils at work from a colleague, which are now sitting in my kitchen window (I was walking home from work on the day these were given and stopped into the grocery to pick up some bits – essentially, I was sloshing around with a pint glass filled with water and flowers, trying to look like this was business-as-usual. The security guard did a double take, but I find if you act as though nothing is wrong people will generally assume all is well.) And secondly I was given a bag of gluten-free goodies from a specialty bakery.

When there are great little shops like this bakery catering to special dietary needs, gluten-free becomes a whole lot better. Yesterday I ate a piece of vanilla sponge cake that was awesome. Not a bit of wheat in the thing, and you would never have realized. And today I’m going to (about to) sink my teeth into a brownie sans gluten. I’ll have to eventually remind myself that just because there’s no wheat doesn’t make this beautiful food any less like a dessert (with all that sugar, cream, and sugar and cream). Oh well, I’ll probably still eat that brownie.

Isn’t food the ultimate comfort? From a nice meal  you didn’t have to make (speaking of which, just ordered another load from Cook!), to crafting a new concoction (last night it was ‘everything in the pot’ with miso for flavour. Turned out surprising well), to whipping up dessert (the choice fuel for Zsolt’s thesismobile), to a hot pot of tea. Yum.

So those were the two very nice things that happened to me last week. And now here we are in a new week. What nice thing has happened? Well, I’m 2/3rds through radiotherapy – so that is awesome. My chest has turned pink, and sometimes feels slightly sore. I’m thankful for my two days away from radiotherapy because it’s a good chance to rest.

Honestly I don’t have any more to write. All I know is that Lulu was waiting for a blog post – so here it is, Lulu! Good food and Radiotherapy updates.  Write more later, so stay tuned.

Post Mastectomy Recovery

It’s funny when they advise that mastectomy recovery takes 2-4 weeks, because  my mind automatically assumes that I’ll have this beat in one week, tops.  Four weeks of recovery? Sorry, but I don’t think so; not this girl. Didn’t you hear? I’m a fighter.

Destroying breast cancer

And I am a fighter. But one week post surgery I can now see this taking a while. Yes, I am out of the hospital, and yeah, I’m not falling asleep on the floor, but my side is still tight, my wound is still numb,  my energy is still low, my arm still aches, and the bandages won’t be removed till next Monday (aka my birthday).

Like I said before, it’s not a terrible pain but it is persistent. I’m all elastics that won’t stretch, and pulling gives that ‘about to snap’ sensation.  But there is my routine, thank goodness for small miracles. My routine, and my mother, are pushing me along.

So here it is, Catherine’s Feel Good Ready Recovery Mastectomy Routine – check it out and apply as needed:


Wake up! It’s a good start to another good day. Your alarm clock will most likely be the postman with a delivery, a result of ordering way too much from Amazon because it’s hard to leave the house for over twenty minutes, and stir crazy = online shopping.  Wrap a bathrobe over your body and answer the door. Say hello, share a smile, and sign an electric pad with your scribble.

Eat! Now is the time to bulk-up that body.  Here is breakfast, here are the vitamins, and here is the protein shake that Mom has whipped together (after many rejected trials we have settled for a mixture of powder, orange juice, and carbonated water, sometimes she makes protein powder crepes, and those are the very best).

Exercise! There is a list of exercises from the nurses that must be done three times a day. They are as follows: neck rotations, chicken wing lifts, chicken wing circles, beach ball, spider, behind the back, and up the wall. You may prefer to forget about these exercises (a reminder that moving is difficult, plus they’re totally boring to do), but persist regardless. Apply mother’s insistance if necessary.

Walk! Get out of the house, even if only for a short time. Whether we just circle the street or have a drink at Tragos, getting out and moving has been exhausting – but day by day it is becoming much easier.

Relax! Aka, come home and crash into bed. Don’t move because the arm is swelling, pulling and threatening to snap. Lay still for twenty minutes till sensations subside. Then, read a book for twenty more minutes because you can, and why not relax while work has you signed off? I’m right in the middle of Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett and hate to leave it untouched for long.

WORK! Throw bombs, do visualizations, and try right-hand/left-hand writing. What do we want? All cancer to die! Who’s gonna do it? We are! What are we aiming for? The best news ever!

Next Wednesday is my consultation, a result of med students and treatment specialists putting their heads together and discussing whether it’s worth blasting the shit out of my body over the next year. And it’s possible, because I’m young, they’ll lean towards ‘yes’. BUT I’m putting all my energy into them changing their minds, because miraculously the cancer is dying and the margins are very safe and, my goodness Catherine, it’s disappeared all together!

We aim for the best. All I can do is take things one step at a time, and either I sit here in anxious anticipation of a terrible year, or I let my mind and body start fighting. So I’m fighting: throwing bombs and punches at any fear, doubt or preconceived notion that enters my mind.  A lot of bombs have been thrown. A lot of shrapnel has gone flying.

Rinse and Repeat! Do it again, wussy! Get up and hit those targets – afternoon and evening, with a few substitutions and a gradual tapering off of activity.I get sore the longer I’m active, and the miracle of caffeine only lasts a certain amount of time. But each day stretches further than the last, and that is so encouraging.

It’s taking time. I’m not out saving the world yet, or even riding my bike. But things are getting better,  and they’ll keep getting better.

I am a fighter – I am recovering – and I’ll keep doing both for however long it takes.

P.S. HAPPY CANADA DAYYYYYYYY — WOOOOHOOOOO! CANADA!!!! I miss barbeques, fireworks, body painting, and aimless downtown wandering while draped in red and white.  However I did set myself a goal on Canada day, which was to make it to a friend’s art exhibit opening. It’s inspiring when friends succeed, and giving them support brings us all further. So on July 1st I put on my too-tight recovery bra and a dress, went with my mom, Zsolt, Ulrike and Darren, and visited Ian Kirkpatrick’s Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger solo exhibit. Ian and his wife Sara have been good friends since we met in Gower, check out his exhibit details here (being shown till September in the Michael Andrews Building at Southampton Solent University); he has a very impressive graphic design portfolio. Actually, Sara also has an impressive archaeology blog. Look into the past here.

Anyhow, thirty minutes there and I was a cooked goose – couldn’t stand a moment longer with my arm throbbing at my side (I miss my lymph nodes). Zsolt touched my back during the opening speech and was surprised to feel sweat – yeah, I was sweating; being there was an effort, but a worthwhile one. After taking a tour of the work and chatting with the artist, we all piled into the car and took off back home where I popped two pain killers and went directly to bed. But it was worth it; my goal to visit the exhibit was achieved. So that was my Canada day, and it felt pretty good.

There was a little girl

A long time ago, in a land far, far away (a magical nation of poutine, ice hockey and toques) I was a little girl who occasinally became sick. And when I was sick, if I really was sick, my mom would make chicken soup, and my dad would bring gingerale, and they’d say while stroking my forehead, “It’s no fun being sick, eh kid?”

And those few words, whether I was nauseous or feverish or sniffing with a cold – they always made me feel a little bit better.

Just like now. My mom is here, and she’s making me meals, bringing me supplements, and pushing me to exercise. She hasn’t said it’s no fun being sick, kid (that was my dad’s thing) – but she’s told me it is okay to be angry, and okay to be sore, and okay not to be okay all the time.

And that makes me feel a little bit better. Actually, it makes me feel a whole lot better.

So FYI Mom – your help has been invaluable. INVALUABLE.  And FYI Dad – your treatments are really helping, really, really. I’ve been able to cope with so much more after working with you both.

And while there is more to say, and more that’s gone on, these two deserve a post of their own.

Thanks Mom and Dad.