A Post for the Rainy Days

23 May

This morning Zsolt and I walked over to the Shoppers Drug Mart to pick up my Tamoxifen prescription. We had a conversation before leaving the house that went something like this:

Me: “Don’t forget the umbrella.”

Zsolt: “Yeah, take the umbrella.”

And then we were off to the shop. This morning’s itinerary consisted of the following items.

1. Pick up Tamoxifen from Shoppers’

2. Go to the LCBO and buy some cider for a dinner get-together (our second in three days) tonight.

3. Go to the convenience store and buy some bus tickets.

4. Go  to the Metro and buy whipped cream and cream cheese so that I could make a cheesecake for the evening’s social event.

We made it as far as the LCBO (four different cans of cider later so Zsolt can sample the Canadian landscape of cider) before it started to rain. At first it was really light. Kinda like English-rain, fizzy rain. We invested some time at the cross walk, with me pushing the ‘cross’ button repeatedly because a kid I once worked with told me that pushing it a lot hurries things up. (But this was a very stubborn light.)

Now the rain was no longer fizzy. Now it was wet rain. Wet rain raining down on our heads.

“Take out the umbrella!” suggested Zsolt.

“I don’t have the umbrella!” I replied.

“I told you to put it in your purse!” he shot back.

“I told you to take it before we left the flat!” (Regarding narrative, You must have seen this coming.)

Anyhow, the light finally turned so we crossed the street. In hindsight, maybe we should have found shelter in the LCBO.

Right, so we are walking, and my husband – just so you know – is in fact made of sugar. He melts in the rain, it’s a tragic condition with plenty of concern over things like ‘my shoes are getting wet!’ Maybe he’s related to the Wicked Witch of the West? Except he isn’t green.

We’re basically running towards home, which is at least a 10 minute walk/run away, and I reckon this is crazy. So as we pass by some random house, I hop up onto a random sheltered patio and after a moment of two of convincing my melting husband, he joins me.

And then we stood there.

The rain went from wet to strong to roaring down. The street flooded up with thick rivers of water and leafy debris. Water poured down driveways and miniature rapids formed across pot holes. The air was cold and wet. We were cold and wet. But nevertheless, it was wonderful. At some point Zsolt stopped complaining about being caught in the rain and we just watched the storm together.

Storms can actually be rather beautiful.

It makes me smile to find myself in those moments, you know? To find myself, me, the person who is alive and connected to the world rather than the woman who is running with a shopping bag over her head. I love that reminder that even when things get messy, things can still be beautiful.

We waited. And we waited. And then finally the rain dialled down to ‘fizzy’ level, and we walked home together. (All other plans abandoned until we retrieved a proper umbrella).

You never know where those moments of joy will come from, but when they arrive I say it’s a-okay to stand still for ten minutes and simply enjoy.

And that is my story about that.

Posted in life after cancer | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Book Review: Kicking Cancer in the Kitchen

7 May

Living at my mother-in-law’s home (okay, and father-in-law’s home) in Hungary for the past several weeks has totally shanghaied my way of eating. The food is amazing – AMAZING! But I would not call it a cancer-fighting diet, and I definitely wouldn’t say it’s gluten free, and no way could it be called a sugarless experience. Therefore, Sunday morning when I woke up around 5 am after having flown the day before while returning from Europe, I decided it was time for a tabula rasa.

The empty fridge became my blank slate.

So, wrapped in my husband’s bathrobe (a very masculine black robe with dark stripes of red and blue running vertically, and totally fuzzy – he was fast asleep in bed, so I took the liberty of warming it up for him), I sat in the early-morning light of the kitchen window and flipped through the pages of Annette and Kendall’s beautiful cookbook: Kicking Cancer in the Kitchen, getting ideas for groceries and meals.

Having finished chemo and treatments about two years ago now, some parts of the books that would be extremely useful for the newly diagnosed (like how some friends stick and others don’t after diagnosis, losing hair, being kind to yourself, navigating nausea and side-effects) don’t apply to me. But then my fingers flipped to page p.103 entitled “What’s Your Food Groove”?

And I was like, “YES, my food groove! That’s exactly what I need.”

(While in Hungary I had been in ‘visiting-family-mode’ and eating way too many pastries and loads of gelato. Why didn’t I insist on more turmeric and cruciferous veggies? Though those bacon pizzas were amazing.)

Thinking this over, and remembering all that ice cream and pizza and cottage cheese pastries, guilt threatened to set-in. But Annette and Kendall’s cookbook had more to say.

The text went on to read: “Don’t think you have ever “slipped up” too badly or too long nutritionally, and that you might as well just give up. Life’s not about how many times you fall out of the saddle, it’s about how persistent you are at getting back up in it again. And sometimes again. And again.”

Yeah, that’s for sure. After chemo those years back I had to reclaim my kitchen again, and again, and again. Then today (not the same situation thank God, but I was still totally knackered), I was challenged to do the same: Cook something healthy that made me happy, and for the love of all that is good – keep it simple!!!

So I flipped through the pages of Kicking Cancer in the Kitchen. Page 226 had a simple recipe for kale with garlic, and page 234 had a simple explanation for roasted beets. I thought ‘throw in some trout, and this will be lovely.’ Interestingly, there’s no fish recipe in this book, nor are there chicken, beef, pork, game or anything other kind of meat. It’s all vegetarian, (or so it appears, please correct me if I am wrong) and I love that. Truth be told, I know how to cook many different types of meat – what I really need, and would much enjoy, are more meat-free options, so this is an idea-bank for reducing my meat and upping my yummy veg.

There’s also a recipe on page 312 for a watermelon smoothie. With the current summer heat I’m thinking of trying it later this week.

Fast forward a few hours into Sunday after we grocery shop and I work magic in the kitchen, and we’re eating a lovely meal of kale, beets and trout. There’s something about eating good, garlicky, salty, roasted, tender, juicy, YUMMY food that really makes me smile.

And there’s something about it being easily done that I really like too. Kicking Cancer in the Kitchen is full of different ideas for you to eat, and really nicely broken down into how it might help with nausea, fatigue, immune boosting, dehydration defending and mouth sore soothing. It is great to see healthy made simple. Kicking Cancer is definitely a book to give to those newly diagnosed, or to order from Amazon if you are looking for some food inspiration. It’s like having tea with your girlfriends and receiving some really good advice, as well as some really yummy recipes. What surprised me the most about this book was that three years after diagnosis, I still find it relevant. Eating well doesn’t go outta style, even if I need to reboot my food groove after a vacation of indulgence. It’s good to have these reminders of ways to creatively get my cancer-fighting-nutrients, and as I said before, it’s really good to have a veggie and protein (but not meat) focused cookbook. It’s a first in my kitchen, and about time too!

Pros: Simple to follow, Veggie-focused, Breakdown of benefits, Conversational Style, Yummy and simple food

Cons: The dishes waiting to be cleaned! Mind you, that’s my husband’s problem. ;)

(A little while back I wrote a guest post for Annette and Kendall on their blog, The Kicking Kitchen. Feel free to read about how my dad once poured tomato sauce over me!)

And now I’m really hungry, so I’m going to go and eat something!

Catherine

Posted in cancer, health, life after cancer | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Kitchen Tables and Travel Stories

19 Apr

Jimminy Crickets, it’s been a while since I’ve written. But I’ve got a story for you, a spur of the moment decision story of going to Italy. Here’s how it happened:

Later in the month, Zsolt and I  will be taking a train ride (a damn long train ride) to Prague to meet with friends and have fun. But we had the idea that Zsolt’s parents, Anna and Laszlo, could come along with us a couple days earlier and explore the city. Zsolt’s parents don’t speak English, so it limits their ability to travel. (Also, Anna gets really nervous when going to new places. She reads every single bit of travel information available, memorizes words from the dictionary, makes lists of translations . . . and then still gets completely lost whenever we arrive in town.)

Anyhow, while they wanted to go on a trip with us, they really didn’t want to go to Prague. This is so weird. My cousin told me it’s one of his favourite cities in Europe. He said, “You have to go to Prague.” I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews for this city. But Zsolt’s parents don’t want to go. And actually, Zsolt’s not so bothered either. Apparently it’s less charming because it’s Eastern European . . . less exotic for them, less alluring . . . also, Zsolt says it is a tiny city and there’s not much to do.

But it’s PRAGUE! It’s beautiful. What else does one need?

Anyhow, they suggested we go somewhere else. So there we are at the kitchen table, sitting around the plates of cheese, kolbasz (salami-like but better), peppers and bread, wondering were we could go. I suggested we just go up to Budapest and enjoy the baths and very inexpensive opera. But then somehow the conversation wound it’s way to other places . . . places that would take hours and hours by car, which then led to “Why don’t we fly somewhere?” But where? “Italy!” Which is when Zsolt’s dad become very, very excited – saying he’d do anything to go to Italy. I might not understand everything they say, but I know Laszlo is excited when he starts speaking really, really fast and then jumps up from his chair – runs out the room – and calls back to us that he’d “do anything to go to Italy!” (I can’t remember why he left the room. Let’s just leave that hanging.)

IMG_20130414_085348So, of course we look up flights and Ryan Air is having a sale. Maybe people in North America don’t know about Ryan Air. I’ve always been a bit suspicious of them, since their prices are so stupidly low . . . they are the lowest of low cost airlines in Europe. I think the owner once proposed to have people standing up on flights . . . it didn’t pass of course, but that just gives you an idea of how cheap they are.

Right. Anyhow, Ryan Air had a stupidly low price on flights to Pisa. And wham, bam, thank you ma’am, we are booked and flying to Florence! One second we’re at the kitchen table eating kobasz, the next we’re on the plane flying to Italy. Crazy!

It was an extremely fast trip. We arrived in Pisa, took a train to Florence, spent a day and a half in Florence, took the train back to Pisa, went up the leaning tower (where I had vertigo . . . it felt like there wasn’t enough room, and I was going to fall over, and nothing was safe. Mind you, every other person up there seemed just fine. That’s me in the picture trying not to have a breakdown, and displaying my conditioning to ‘always smile for the camera’), walked through a very exciting market where I bought a tiny (and wonderfully cheap) piece of art that I think will look fantastic alongside my other bits of art, grabbed the return plane and flew home.

Knackering! But also, a real privilege. It is such a privilege to see the world, to enjoy other cultures, to hear stories from Italian women about the sons who married English girls and now live in Scotland, to walk these ancient roads, to see masterpieces first-hand, to eat gelato non-stop, to explore . . . it was lovely, and it was a privilege.

So that’s the story of that. And there will be more travelling to come. I’ve been trying to fit in my work between flights, trains and car rides, and I have to say it’s great to be flexible in online engagement and ghost-blogging, and assistance giving. I love that I can live anywhere and still have a working life. That’s quite the privilege too. The hard part is that my computer screen totally died. This is the third time ACER COMPUTERS (if you are reading this post), and while I love the speed and convenience of my laptop . . . staring at a black screen makes it rather difficult to work. But it’s all being managed. Once back in Canada I’ll replace the screen.

On a side note, my drawing pad also died. I’m not sure if it just needs a new battery . . but time will tell.

So all of this wonderfulness was experienced this past weekend, and I’m very grateful.Then last Monday in the night I read about Boston and the bombings. And I have to ask, how does any of it make sense? How? This world is a gift. I’ve seen people be saints and savours to one another. Working in the online community of support, I’ve seen strangers comfort strangers, and compassion shared freely. Walking through the amazing streets of Europe, I think of all the beauty that’s been poured in here . . . and then at the same time, the wars, the holocaust, the massacres. . . I think of the goodness and the evil. And I don’t know what to say.

All I know – right down deep inside me – is that people want to be good, and people can always be better. The bombings were heartbreaking, and my thoughts are going out to the city of Boston. I know within that madness people were proving just how good they could be. But it still breaks my heart to hear of the hateful things.I just don’t know what to say.

I’m glad for what I’ve been given in life. And I hope that kindness, art, exploration, openness and compassion win-out over that dirty and destructive word, ‘hate’.

And that is the end of this post!

Posted in life after cancer | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Loops, Hoops and Family Circles

1 Apr

It’s hard to be caught between two long-distance families. It’s hard not only for us, but also for the people we leave behind with each plane ride back to that slippery concept of “home.”

The other night Zsolt, his mother and I were at the kitchen table looking at some stitching she had done. Anna is very creative, and she’s been working on a beautiful pillow case of red flowers. It’s taken her several months to stitch, on and off as she watches television in the evening.

Anna Stitching Hungarian

Anyhow, there we were yesterday evening. The dinner had been put away, and we were sitting at the table just talking, which is a bit of a rarity since normally it’s a choice between playing cards, watching a movie, or me escaping to our upstairs bedroom where I can watch some English webseries and chill out.  Frankly, I’m not a fan of the movies, and while the games are fun I get tired of them easily,but talking . . . talking is very, very interesting. Even if it’s all in Hungarian.

Anna was telling us about all kinds of things. One was that she had wanted to be an architect, but ended up in banking instead because her parents thought she was too skinny to do the co-op necessary for architecture that took place on a construction site. (She says she could have done it, but her parents worried she could not.) And so she studied accounting instead and ended up working at a bank.

Interesting no? I’m accustom to seeing my mother-in-law as a mother. Cooking, caring, and fussing all the time – that’s what I see. I’ve never met the young woman who had aspired to design buildings and dared to get married in a miniskirt. But I bet we would have gotten along, had we been able to understand one another.

And then she said what somewhat struck an even deeper chord within me. Anna related that back when she had children, (back when she was working 12 hour days at the bank, coming home late at night and only seeing her kids on the weekend – it was communism in Hungary back then, very work-focused rather than family-centric. . . had she been given the choice, I suspect she would have stayed at home more often) – back when she had children, she had wished they’d hurry along and grow up already. And now that she is older with far more time, she kinda wishes the reverse, that they could go back to being kids again.

I guess it’s empty nest and missed opportunities. And it made me feel a little bit frustrated with our own lack of children. We never talk about the baby stuff with Zsolt’s parents. They understand we need to wait before trying. But part of me would love to scoop up all those grandmotherly vibes and pour them over my own kids. I feel as though there’s a circle of life here, and we’re missing an essential loop.

Because really, Zsolt is never going to be four years old again. And, I reckon, instead of wishing him back to childhood, it should be wished that he become one heck of an amazing man, which he is – supportive, loving, caring, and growing; I think that her loneliness is more a result of family being far away, then her children no longer being children. At least, that is my guess.

Of course, I’ve known for a very long time that Anna sees Zsolt as her little boy. It makes all the sense in the world. She’s so full of love, and it’s the sort of thing that needs to be passed forward. But at the same time, I shouldn’t worry about her empty nesting, should I? That’s her journey to navigate. Though it is still a little heartbreaking.

Children grow up, parents step back, and families continue in a way that spreads outward rather than closing back inwards. It’s a theme I’ve written about in this blog, and loads in my fiction – and to be honest, since leaving Canada those many, many years ago for England and therefore taking my first steps ‘outward’, I have been just a little bit heart-broken. Once you step ‘out’ you can’t step back ‘in’.

Kids won’t solve long distance. But that’s not why I want to have children. I simply feel like we’re ready. It’s time. Let’s continue the circle. And not for the grandparents, though they are in my heart too, but because it’s right, and Zsolt & I want it. And frankly, we’ve got a whole lot of love to pass forward as well.

So, I’m counting down. April in Hungary. Then May in Canada. Scans at the hospital in June. If all goes well, then I need to wait three more months before trying. And then we try. And then we see.

And I have no idea what will happen next.

Posted in life after cancer | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Hungary and the Head Cold

22 Mar

Well, we’re in Hungary!

After 10 hours of flying, 12 hours of train-riding and a few days spent in Budapest, Zsolt and I have finally arrived in the beautiful Pecs. So be prepared, because the next little while on Bumpyboobs is basically guaranteed to be adventures in Hungary-land (i.e. Magyorszag if you want to say that in Hungarian).

Our first adventure in this country of fruit, paprika, barking dogs, salami, red roofs and a language that continues to baffles me:

Catherine and Zsolt’s totally awesome adventures of getting SICK!!

soupWe’ve never been sick at the same time before, and I have to admit, we handled it rather differently. Zsolt was cheery as anything. I was full of WTF!! anger, at least on the first day when I felt like a heavily congested achy grumpy zombie lady.

I ought not to go into specifics. . . but I will just a little. Ever since chemotherapy (I don’t like how often that line reappears in my stories), I’ve been avoiding getting sick. My mantra is “Happy, Healthy and Cancer-Free.” Though lately I try and remove cancer from the equation entirely, and just say, “Healthy & Happy.” Therefore, this means keeping a minimum two or three meter distance from sick people – and running away as soon as possible, not touching anyone who is sick, not using the same cutlery or food, and just NOT getting sick. Because sick reminds me of being sick. And I never want to be that sick again.

So I was rather pissed when I caught this cold. But it’s only a cold, and I was being stupid. However, no matter how logical my brain was in saying that, my emotions were throwing me all over the place and were desperate to lay blame, and simply not-feel-this-way-anymore.

Zsolt, meanwhile, was sipping his tea and wearing his comfortable clothes, and enjoying this little reprieve from the business of life. He says to me, “We’re sick at the same time!” like it’s cause for celebration.

So I decided to try and lighten up. These stupid colds are going to happen in life. And when I’m a mother, I reckon it may become inevitable. Holding so much deep rooted anger toward illness isn’t going to do me or my body any favours.  It’s my personal take-away: I need to address this source of anger.

But in the meanwhile, we’ve been eating meat soup, which is really chicken soup. Oh my goodness it is delicious. Zsolt’s mom puts all kinds of vegetables into the broth (e.g. carrots, radishes, broccoli, potato, brussels sprouts, turnips, garlic, onions, etc.) along with the chicken, and then she strains everything out so what’s left is this golden tasty broth that might of well have descended from heaven.

This has been our medicine for the past three days, and it’s basically all I’ve eaten (chicken and veg bits thrown in).

I’ll tell you what, when the body is feeling down, there’s nothing better than chicken soup. Actually, yes there is! Chicken soup that I didn’t need to make for myself. Add some paprika potato chips to that arrangement and you’ve achieved perfection.

Anyhow, this is really just the first adventure. And while it might not be a typical travel-log experience, it was actually quite revealing for me. I still have no interest in voluntarily getting sick, or ever getting sick, but it would be good not to get so angry about life’s small & inconsequential bumps.

Interesting Magyar (Hungarian) Fact:

It is chive season in Hungary at the moment. People are allowed to pick the chives (cut the chives?) from the forest since it grows there all over. However, each citizen is restricted to 2kg of chives.

Now, isn’t that interesting?

One of my favourite things about Hungary (yeah, I might be saying that often), is that the year revolves around a calendar of food and/or occasions that honour that food. Some day I’d like to make a calendar of all these lovely seasons, just for my own pleasure. Forget the months and the days – live by the seasons. :)

And that’s all I got for today! See you later :)

Posted in life after cancer | Tagged | 4 Comments

The Artist Who Began to Paint Again

7 Mar

Once in a while things go right with this blog. Every now and then we (i.e. you and I) strike a chord that really resonates. Between us, the post starts humming so loudly, and with such familiar tones that the writing – the story telling – creates a change.

And sometimes, that resonance really surprises me.

I’d like to share one reader’s experience. She’s given me permission and has been so generous in sharing her work.  I’ll keep it simple. Here’s an excerpt of our exchange from the blog post “Writing the stories that don’t have an end” after I’d written about reconnecting with our passions/hobbies/joys . . .

Karen wrote:

“I am a painter, and I approach my work in exactly the way you do with writing – I never plan it. It’s the PROCESS that I am so in love with and I love every finished painting like my own child. I can’t even describe where I go and who I am when I am painting – probably it’s much the same as your writing.  But since my husband was dx’d with cancer in 2009, then me with BC in 2011, I haven’t picked up a brush. I keep promising myself, I’ll do it, I’ll do it…I’ve wondered what’s holding me back. I think it might be the fear that I might not be able to lose myself in total bliss like I used to. But Catherine, thanks to this incredible post of yours, I realize I can’t let fear hold me back. I’M GOING TO DO IT AND KICK CANCER’S BIG FAT ASS, enjoy the anticipation of setting up the easel and paints and just have at it.

girl, you da bomb! thank you so much – I can’t wait to tell my husband I’ve got my mojo back to paint – he’ll be soooo happy for me.

love, xoxo

karen, TC”

Catherine  (i.e. me) replied:

“Karen – your comment has me teary-eyed and so happy for you. Go and set up that easel, make your arm and your body start moving, and paint onto that canvas. No matter what the results, you’ll be tapping into something you love. And I bet the more you do this, the easier it will become to reconnect with getting lost in the project. Who knows, after all you’ve been through there maybe some big ideas waiting for expression.

Please let me know how it goes – here or in the forum or by message.

Good luck and happy painting!!! :) THANK YOU for your message.”

And then, several days later . . . Karen wrote:

“Dear Catherine,

I DID IT! I PAINTED, and I loved it and felt so into my old “zone” of blissful, exciting creativity, and I ADORE the painting. All the while I thought of how you gave me the encouragement and incentive to not allow cancer to take it away, and I thanked you in my heart for that now I wish I could show it to you, but haven’t a clue of how to do it. will have to snag my tech guy (son) to help me.

love and much gratitude, xoxo,

karen, TC”

And here is her painting. :) What amazes me – AMAZES ME – is that she was able to reconnect with a happiness that had been disconnected. Not only that, she’s willing to share with us the result of her work.

So to Karen, to Nancy, (who went back to work and decided to pick up the clarinet after having left it during treatment) and to anyone who has felt a disconnection from themselves – I wish you action, effort, persistence, and results that you love. Sometimes, even when it doesn’t feel natural anymore, we just need to start moving. The reconnection can happen. Karen’s wonderful story is a proof of that potential.

Thank you Karen! I’m totally honoured to share your vibrant painting and inspiring story!

Posted in cancer, cancer community, healing, life after cancer | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

How do you stop worrying?

22 Feb

About two years ago Zsolt and I travelled with some amazing friends to Corfu, Greece. That was one crazy trip – particularly since we booked a non-refundable room in the cheapest hotel available, which happened to be in the craziest, loudest, most vomit-covered town on the island where British University first-years went to get sloppy.

ANYHOW. :)

We arrived in the evening and departed our flight. The goal was to flag down a taxi and ride to the most southern tip of the island, which would be about a 1 hour drive considering we had to weave through villages. So, there we are with our luggage and flight-exhaustion, and we find ourselves a taxi driver. He takes our bags and starts packing them into the car before we can even ask the price of the ride. (Zsolt was not happy with that!) But he quoted as we expected, so in the end all four of us piled in and set off into the night.

It was warm, early summer warm, and the windows were down as we drove. Or rather, as the taxi driver drove.

And here is the important part of this story: The taxi driver, an amiable man, thought he was a freaking RACE CAR driver. We started off normally, but as soon as he hit the weaving coastline road it was an all-out rally drive. This man was zooming down these 2-lane roads (one for each direction) going 100-120 Km/hour . . . which might have been okay if no one else was out there, but this is a MAIN ROAD passing through many villages – there were people on the street, mopeds galore, four-wheelers, bikers, trucks, buses, cars. But hey, that was NO PROBLEM for our taxi man! That two lane road became three lanes as he passed slow cars while oncoming traffic zipped by, and then FOUR LANES as he passed a car passing a car while oncoming traffic pulled over into the ditch.

And all the while he was jabbering on about Corfu, talking about how you need to be careful on the road (as we passed by an accident scene with cops, people and glass all over while one fellow swept at the mess with his broom).

It was crazy. CRAZY. But you know what – it was EXHILERATING. I had FUN. Maybe it was the jet-lag, or the darkness, or the Mediterranean effect . . . but our taxi-man’s driving didn’t scare me. It was just so freaking fun, we couldn’t stop laughing the whole time. I remember watching the road and feeling plain excited as he confidently swerved and veered around all the obstacles.

And you know what – the result of that trip was that we made it to the crazy-party-town in one piece. If I had been terrified the entire time, flinching with every pass and acceleration, you know what the result would have been? We would have made it to the crazy-party-town in one piece.

Looking back on that memory, it really makes me sigh.

I tend to hold worry right in my middle. It stays there, it makes me anxious, it makes me miss the joy of the ride. Instead I’m thinking: “What if it comes back? Crap, we’re going to die one day! What if we never get preggers? I hate second-hand smoke! What if we never become fully-formed adults (i.e house, dog, RRSP savings, investments)? What if everything in life goes wrong? I have no control!”

This isn’t ‘new challenge’ worrying like when you travel or accept a new job, and everything turns out wonderfully. This is just ‘pointless and without-good-reason’ worrying.

It is a serious buzz kill.

Something really needs to be done. Life is one crazy ride, I’d like to find it exhilarating rather than exhausting. At times, I’m enjoying everything and then at other times I’m stuck in a rut of worried thoughts. I blame it on hormones . . . does tamoxifen cause anxiety?

Some people turn to meditation. I’ve only really tried it once and the instructor kept talking the whole time – telling us not to move, no matter what, as my leg shifted from uncomfortable to numb to tingling to painful. . . Don has written about mindfulness before, as has Stephine, and that sounds alright to me.

Cleaning makes me feel really good. Not scrubbing the toilet, but dusting the flat on a sunny day and getting lost in my thoughts. Is that mindfulness? I don’t know. But it feels really good. Walking feels really good. Deep breaths. Cups of tea. Yeah, that stuff is all fantastic. I guess the real trouble is that when I’m anxious, I often forget about all these things because I don’t realize I’m anxious until it’s been going on for a while, building up inside. You know?

So I’m looking for some inspiration today, because I’d rather be a thrill-enjoyer rather than a worry-wart.

How do you manage worry when it happens? What’s your cool-down trick? And why do you think something triggers us to worry while other things don’t have that impact?

Advice, ideas and personal stories are very welcome.

Thanks!

Catherine

P.S. Not worrying is also how I met my husband, because in normal non-travelling through Europe life, I’d never approach someone that good looking!

Posted in healing, life after cancer | Tagged , , | 13 Comments

Writing the Stories That Don’t Have an End

12 Feb

So I’m here in Ottawa after the big snow storm of last week, looking out the window and thinking I’m just going to write what’s going on, not construct this post around a particular theme. Stuff has happened the past few weeks. Stuff that isn’t about facing cancer, but rather about facing life – good stuff, hard stuff, get-going kinda stuff.

(The postman has just arrived and I can see him through my window. He has a moustache! Well, some ladies love the lip hair.)

Way back before I was diagnosed, my husband and I were thinking about trying to have kids. (I’ve already gone on about that topic, so no – this isn’t about fertility. Not today at least.) To get ready for this I started writing a novel that looked at life-changing moments during pregnancy for nine generations of women.  But then we had to wait on pregnancy after I was diagnosed.

Damn it.

And, as you know might know (?), it can be hard to write during chemotherapy. At least, it’s hard to write about anything else other than the battle. (Of course, I was still writing, but more about Bumpyboobs than the heroic journey.) But I bet you can understand that, because it’s hard to think of anything else during cancer treatment. Cancer & chemo just start doing some obnoxious dance in the middle of your mind – shaking their butts, moon-walking back and forth, doing the twist .  . . it’s hard to focus beyond that all-encompassing experience.

But after treatment, I made it my mission to get the groove back and start writing creatively again. It was difficult at times, but I persevered. (With dry spells occasionally, cause I’m human and watch too much television.) So, 2.5 years after starting I’ve finally finished a polished first draft. A draft good enough to send to agents. (Yes! Air Punch!)

You know what I do when writing? It’s not practical, but it is a lot like life; I don’t plan out my story. It just comes, and it twists and turns, and the endings surprise me. The writing is more about the journey. Of course, it’s also about the finished product – but that’s a result of the journey. The characters become more real the more I throw at them. Maybe we’re the same in our non-fiction lives? Maybe we become more real the more life throws at us?

Anyhow, that book is now at the end of its first-draft journey, and I wanted to let you know because this is something that’s totally not about cancer. This is something that cancer tried to stop (or at least, the side-effects and emotional roller coaster made impossible for me, plus the blow of not being able to try to get pregnant and all that other fertility stuff). This story was something that I had to reclaim, reinvent, and came to love even more as a result.

Do you have something like that? A life away from cancer that you’ve had to fight for? Maybe it’s your family, or your passion, or your work . . .

Now I need to find an agent :) That’s the next hurdle.

So that’s been on my mind.

Another thing in facing life, a big thing, is that three weeks ago my husband parted ways with his workplace. It was inevitable. For more about that, you can read my totally fictional fairytale and infer the details for yourself. Anyhow, now we’re reconstructing once again.

It’s okay. While that job wasn’t the right environment for Zsolt, he did gain some awesome patent-related skills. And with a shock like he had, we’re reminded to prioritize our values before all else. It’s not a horrible time whatsoever  – it’s exciting and full of potential. For some reason, I’m not worried about his career.

(Of course, I was quietly freaking-out three weeks ago, sick with worry. But then I thought, “Hey, Catherine, you and your man are healthy, warm and fed. YOU GUYS ARE A-OKAY.” And he’s out of a bad situation. It’s all good.)

I don’t know how the story ends. God, there have already been happily-ever-afters, unexpected twists,  startling revelations, etc. But that’s okay, because that’s part of the experience.

I asked it before, but I’ll ask it again. Was there anything that a cancer-diagnosis pulled you away from in your life? Do you think you’ll return to that passion/love/hobby/job, or move on to another pasture? I would LOVE to hear your stories, so please don’t be shy to share.

Till next time :)

Catherine

**OH and best of luck to our fellow Facing Cancer Together ladies, Terri, Katie and Alex. They are off to India to volunteer for Terri’s foundation, A Fresh Chapter Alliance, and have a life-enhancing adventure. I cannot wait to read those posts!

Posted in life after cancer | Tagged , , | 7 Comments

Boob Shopping & Battling Nerves

23 Jan

Today, we’re going to talk about boob shopping. Boob as in a single breast (i.e. a prosthesis). Last week, Zsolt and I decided to finally act upon my long-desired craving for a breast that properly fit my body. Therefore, after waiting and waiting for an opportunity (i.e. insurance) we decided to go for it.

SO! I called up my local mastectomy boutique, aptly named Kelly’s Boutique, and arranged an appointment with Diane Hayes who owns the shop. It’s easy to tell that Diane has her heart in this business. The shop itself is named after her sister-in-law and youngest brother’s wife, Kelly, who lost both breasts to imflammatory breast cancer and later passed away from the disease. Diane herself seems to genuinely thrilled when she can help a woman feel better about her body.

. . .

The appointment was made.

Fast forward to the next day, Zsolt and I get on the bus and head to the St.Laurent area. We hop off near the St. Hubert Chicken Restaurant (drool) and cross the road to Kelly’s Boutique.

Now I’ll be honest. I almost cancelled this appointment about six times before actually walking through that door. Zsolt had to talk me down . . . he told me it was okay. Everything would be fine.

Why was I so nervous? I don’t know. I was worried about filling out the insurance since I’ve never done that before in my life, worried about whether I should get a properly-fitting breast form at this point, stressed over something else that had just happened in our lives that I’ll mention another time (sorry that’s so cryptic), and just worried in general. It is my natural tendency to worry.

So we arrive at the boutique, and step into the store.

Sensory overload! Suddenly I went from anxiety to full on “shopping!” mode: There were scarves, hats, BRAS, bikinis, and bathing suits everywhere. The place is PACKED with colourful and varying product. And while I totally avoided the hats .  . . because they kinda make me shiver with memories of chemotherapy, I gravitated to the bras.

Bras-Bras-Bras! Pretty bras that you wouldn’t have seen three years ago when I was first diagnosed. There was one particularly black and purple number I really loved. The price tag was beyond my range, since my insurance doesn’t cover clothing for mastectomy, but I am nevertheless so glad to see that designers are finally catching on. Women want to feel attractive, even after their breasts are taken away.

Okay, so I was playing in the land of bras and bikinis, when Diane’s assistant let me know that Diane was done with her previous client and I could come along now.

Come along where, exactly? (My nerves were rising again.)

We were led to a backroom with a fainting couch (apparently, I’m not the only person who gets nervous) and a full length mirror, and possibly a feather boa – but that could just be from my imagination. Zsolt and I went into the room and waited.

Soon, Diane came in. After a few questions about what I was looking for, (“a boob?”) she said, “okay, let’s see.” So that’s how I found myself, once again, exposing my chest to a stranger. Oh my goodness, if I had a dollar for every person who has seen my chest – I could at least buy 3 pints of Haagen-Dazs ice cream.

Again, I was nervous. But Diane was so professional and so certain in what I needed that the nerves lightened. While she disappeared to pull options, I waited on the sofa wrapped in a slippery bathrobe and took pictures of the place with Zsolt’s phone for this blog post. Then she came back and we looked at her pick.

The BOOB of CHOICE: An Amonea breast form that sticks to my chest!!! We played with the sizes till we found the perfect match, and then she showed me how to stick on the breast. It’s fascinating stuff – and it’s not itchy at all. I was so freaking thrilled with my new boob, I was pushing out my chest for Diane and Zsolt to judge the shape. The two of them (my breasts, not Diane and Zsolt) just looked so very pretty inside that black and purple bra.

Sold! I took the breast.

Do you want to know the very best aspect of this stick-on breast? Well, because it sticks to me and doesn’t sit inside a pocket within the bra that means –

Hold on.

Drum roll.

That means . . .

I CAN BUY ANY BRA I WANT! WoooooHooooo! Bring on the pretty zebra stripes, satins, COLOURS and cheap frills that LaSenza and LaVieEnRose can offer. It has been over three years since I could walk into a lingerie shop and not despise the rows upon rows of unattainable bras representing a part of me that couldn’t be reclaimed. (Not without reconstruction, and I long-ago choose never to reconstruct.)

But now, with my stick on & not-itchy & not too heavy breast – I can afford to feel pretty in my undergarments.

So that’s the lovely news.

It was a good experience, and I’m so glad I didn’t cancel that appointment.

If you are in Ottawa, and want to visit Kelly’s Boutique, here’s her website with all the needed information: http://kellysboutique.ca/

Posted in life after cancer | Tagged , | 4 Comments

I HATE Cancer: A small, but reasonable rant

14 Jan

Do you know what I really, really hate? I really, really HATE cancer.

I HATE it. Today, I hate it more than other days. Sometimes I think, ‘oh, it’s not worth hating cancer because then it wins in the battle over my head-space’. Other days I think, ‘cancer sucks – as in it’s no good, not useful, and I don’t want to hang out with it’s stupid self’. Then there are the days when I’m all hopped up on happy sunshine, and I’m like – ‘well cancer, I don’t like you but you are sure a crazy kinda motivator. Like the personal trainer from hell, pushing me to do what’s most important in my life.’

But today I just hate cancer.

I am SO angry at CURSE-WORD cancer. (but physically I’m fine, so please don’t worry about that.)

Look, I realize that living in a perpetual state of hate is basically living in a perpetual state of harsh chemo treatments – dripping poison into the body with one emotion or thought at a time. I get that. I hope you get that too. Let’s assume we all understand that it’s not good to be stuck in that ‘hate space’.

But there’s also something to be said on the side of honesty, and giving ourselves the chance – on occasion – to really, truly vent the frustration, the sadness, the injustice, the ANGER. And just – for a glorious moment, really hate something.

I hate cancer.

Maybe next week I’ll just think it sucks, and maybe eventually I’ll find some forgiveness – at least forgiveness toward my body. But I can’t forgive cancer for taking away people in the prime of their lives.

Part of me is really torn between sharing this post and bringing people down. I don’t want to bring anyone down – I’d rather this hate/anger, which is admittedly reducing in intensity as I write, was staged on some grand scale like Les Miserables with beautiful actors singing poignant lyrics that are full of sorrow and yet, somehow, full of the rousing sensation of life –leaving the audience on their feet cheering  despite the fact that the story truly centres on misery.

But unfortunately, I’m not in the opera biz.

Where am I going here? Only to say that being allowed to hate cancer and get angry and rant has been helpful. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it’s helpful. And while we are all generally trying to move forward with the very best attitude, I think it’s occasionally fine to have a good cry and admit that cancer more than sucks . . . it CURSE-WORD blows, and there are times  when I see people suffering that I just hate it.

CURSE-WORD!

But sharing really helps. For some reason, some crazy miraculous reason, it really helps. So if you’re suffering – maybe join me in writing an angry rant. (Get even more angry if you like. If this wasn’t such a public page, I’d probably be exploring curse words in a variety of languages and maybe doodling some pictures of stickmen annihilating cancer in various comical ways . ..  comical because I can’t help getting silly with stickmen.)

Better out than in, eh?

And because I’ve now shared . . . even if the anger still exists . . . I feel less likely to burst apart, and instead I think I can turn this energy into something with more purpose  - something that maybe helps another, or let’s them known they’re not alone, which in turn means I am fighting cancer in the best way I know how.

Better out than in.

Now please excuse me, I’m going to go and punch something. Probably the air. And probably in the ladies’ loo because I’m currently in a public space.

Posted in cancer, healing, life after cancer | 8 Comments