Monthly Archives: September 2011

A touch of late night nerves

29 Sep

Oncologist appointment is tomorrow. This is my first in a long, long time. Actually I think I’m overdue for a scan. My doctor in Ottawa is absolutely great – great. He radiates great. But nevertheless I’m just a little nervous. Know the feeling?

Everyone feels this way during their yearly MRI or mammogram or whatever you get to confirm the cancer is still gone. Can’t tell you how many people I know who have spoken about those nerves playing on their mind before appointments. So I guess tonight I’m falling into that group. Holding my breath like everyone else.

Waiting to breath. Waiting to release.

No, this isn’t a freak out. It’s not a panic attack. Nerves are not overcoming sanity. But there’s a feeling. Anticipation brewing.

You know?

And it’s almost eleven P.M.  I’ve stayed up way too late watching a recorded X Factor episode (Paula and Simon – they’re so much better together) and my appointment is tomorrow morning at nine.

So why am I writing this post? Well two reasons. One, I’ve already posted twice on my Bumpyboobs.com page, so don’t want to pester any subscribers with a third little note. And two, if anyone’s gonna understand this feeling  . . . this ‘oh boy, here it comes’ feeling, it’s going to be you guys.

Next week I’ll write and tell you how wonderful everything turned out. But tonight I appreciate the company as my mind flickers forward with a slight degree of concern. But that’s all I’ll write about that. It’s time to sleep. Now that’s I’ve shared, it shouldn’t be too hard to catch some Zzzzs.

Thanks very much. And good night!

Posted in cancer treatment, finding support, life after cancer | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Learning to shine beyond my doubts

28 Sep

Let me introduce you to my two Catherines.

Catherine A (let’s just call her ‘Ay’) is waist-deep in life and loves every second. She writes, she laughs, she licks her fingers after eating  ribs, sings as she drives, dances in the kitchen and she never passes up the opportunity to chat over a cup of tea.  Ay knows herself, and she’s thrilled to be here.

And over there, standing a little in the back, is Catherine B (aka Bea). And she’s a variation – she’s me being watched by other people. Bea has a tendency to choke on her words, blush to near-purple colours, feel dizzy with nerves, and avoid the spotlight as though it was really a laser beam sent from aliens hovering above earth to blow her into smithereens.

Frankly, I cannot stand Bea, and yet she’s always coming out at the very worst of moments. Just when Ay is gearing up to be brave, bold, and undeniably awesome – in swoops the alter ego, and out swoops the verve for life.

If you can relate to this division, I think that’s because it’s really rather rather normal forpeople to have some degree of split between their preception of self and the reality.  There’s the ‘real you’ the ‘ideal you’ and I’d argue, the ‘scared you’. Though never before had I stopped to consider the drastic contrast between, for instance, me as a writer, and me as a person who talks about her writing. Totally different Catherines. When I write  – I’m free. Words are better than chocolate, better than water, better than wind in your hair. Yet go ahead one day and ask me in person, “So Catherine, what do you write?” and I’ll get quiet, anxious, and mumble something about a blog, some copywriting, and a little fiction too.

A little fiction? I LOVE writing fiction. So who is this nervous wreck who can’t admit to her joys?

Well I guess she’s just scared. Timid. And frankly, she’s also incongruent.

Okay, okay. It’s weird to talk about myself so extensively in third person. Maybe I should have used a lemon merigne pie, sliced into various portions instead. But I had hoped Ay and Bea would illustrate the division. The point is, sometimes we’re fabulous and sometimes – in my case when it comes to pursuing goals in person, beyond the screen, face to face — sometime we crumble into idiot dust. And today I suddenly realized that division between who I am (healthy, cancer-free, and creative), and how I act.

It’s simply not on, to spin it with a British phrase. And not acceptable. Certainly hiding what I love, and how I love, does nothing in my favour. But for some reason there’s a “freak out” switch when it comes to aligning my goals and my behaviour.

Now please, ask yourself – right now: Who am I? What do I value most? And is that congruent with the way I present myself to others? Do I live, breath and project the very essence of myself, at all times, in all company, against all doubts?

Whether it’s health incongruence (feeling optimistic, yet scared about cancer), objective incongruence (having a dream, but not admiting it aloud), life incongruence (Loving your life, yet feeling incomplete) or whatever kind of incongruence you might have . . . it’s a hinderance, don’t you think?

And it means things need to be fixed. Realigned. Addressed.

Anyhow, practice makes perfect. So in my case, if you do meet me in person and we have a lovely conversation – please ask about my writing, and about my health, and about any darn thing you think I might be hiding. And if you like, I’ll ask you about your goals too (though you’ll need to let me know what they are first). Cause the only way to get over the anxiety (at least for me) is to face it head on.

So that was today’s mini ‘ah ha’ moment. Next up comes the follow through. And that’s a whole other blog post.

*Exciting news! My first review as a blogger for the Ottawa Writer’s Festival is being posted today. Follow this link to read my thoughts on Chef Michael Smith’s Ottawa appearance, and why he’s way more than a tall, handsome fellow who knows how to cook. Like a lot of us here on facingcancer.ca, he’s got a story and he’s passionate to share. Read it here! Woohoo!

Posted in healing, life after cancer | 1 Comment

Love the new hair, but what do I DO with it?

21 Sep

Back in England I had a really great hairdresser. She gave me my last haircut pre-chemo, and my first haircut post-chemo. There was a trust. So when I visited her for the final time before moving – hoping she could help tidy my bizarrely curling re-growth, she gave me the following advice: “Catherine, just let it grow.” Just let it grow.

Four months later I’m at this computer with mop-top hair; it’s thick, it’s curly, it’s straight, it’s blond, it’s brown, it’s crazy.

I don’t know about you, but I crave longer hair. Once in a while I dream of my once straight, chin-length hair and think, “fantastic, I can pull it into a ponytail” only to wake up and realize that no – I can’t. Not yet.

But you know what people keep on telling me, and I bet many of you who have completed treatment hear the same: ”It looks great short. You should leave it that way.” My cousin told me the other day that I standout more with short hair.  Well, if I pop with this short hair, I must have kaboomed with my bald head last year.  There’s nothing like being totally bald to totally get noticed. Combine cue ball looks with the dark nail polish I wore everyday (in hopes of keeping my fingernails) and I was downright punk chic.

And actually, I’ve known women who keep their hair short following chemo and look fabulous. Cause short is really cute, and often quite fresh looking. But for me, I just think back to when the hair started returning . . . that moment a shadow appeared across my head (Zsolt pointed it out in the bathroom one day), and it was hair. Forget about winning the lottery – hair growth is an incredible feeling.  Happy dances are followed by tears – tears leaking through my newly grown micro-lashes, being whipped across my face and soaking  my newly grown micro-brows. Those first few strands are a promise of normality. The possibility of looking like yourself again. Know what I mean?

Back then at that moment, if felt like a promise from my body that everything could pass. A new Catherine was growing.

Anyhow, maybe in fifteen years or so I’ll cut it short again. Variation is the spice of life, and I do like my life with flavour. But for now it’s got to keep GROWING. Just because it’s confusing the heck out of me at the moment (is it curly, is it straight, should I cut it, should it grow – is that a MULLET behind my neck?!), doesn’t mean I’ll abandon my goal for achieving a cute, chin length style.

It’s not exactly about looking fabulous – well, okay, it’s always about looking fabulous – but it’s also about moving on with my life. For me, at this time, short hair is linked to a bad year behind me. And so the mop-top needs to grow.

(But, if anyone has any tips on how to grow hair, or what to do with it between acceptable lengths, please pass along your slice of genius. So far I’ve considered the headband (child-like), hair clip (a good idea though I left them all in England), headscarf (but nixed that idea – too chemoesque) and just letting it go wild. Wild has the best results, but as time passes . . .  I’m thinking it’s a little too crazy.)

Check out my personal page (www.bumpyboobs.com) – full of conversations, stories, and breast cancer ass kicking. Also, tweet with me on twitter (@bumpyboobs) and check out facebook too.

Posted in chemotherapy, healing, life after cancer | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Pressing the panic button

14 Sep

So there I was beside the tub (not in it, but beside). Zsolt  – my clever husband – had suggested I take a hot bath to calm my cramping and it had sounded like a good idea. Except suddenly the cramps became really strong, like really strong, and neared my ‘this is not okay’ pain level threshold. So there I was at the edge of my threshold when a scary, ever-lurking thought popped into my head: “what if it’s ovarian cancer?” and next thing I know, I’m kneeling on the ground (hadn’t even managed to run my bath) of my parents lovely white tiled bathroom, trying not to pass out – not from the pain (though geeeeez it was uncomfortable), but from the fear.

Now, I’m not exactly familiar with the panic attack . . . but figure that the whole “I’m going to pass out” thing is a symptom of the event. And it’s not like I’m unaccustomed to some cramping. Every since my period returned, there has been a steady four week cycle of off then on cramping. Period pain isn’t abnormal (though should it be normal, I’m not sure.)

Therefore: Why did I almost pass out onto the floor?

Sigh . . .

Because as mentioned in other posts, I’m a wee bit haunted by last year’s breast cancer diagnosis and the implications. And now, when things go wrong (yesterday’s situation revolved around strong cramps that wouldn’t let up . . . okay, so about forty minutes after they started everything had subsided, thank goodness for hot water bottles, but that was one heck of a forty minutes moment.), when things go wrong, even if I get a weird looking pimple or feel a bump on my arm, my initial thought is almost always the same: What if the cancer is back?

And then, yesterday, I had a second thought as well:“is this what labour feels like?” But you’d have to tell me, cause I have no idea about labour.

Clearly I have issues (and yeah, I’ve decided to get some help working through my emotions). Despite ‘finishing’ treatment, there’s still a long way to go and there’s nothing like dipping back into fear and pain and memories to reiterate the fact that this journey isn’t over. Maybe you feel the same way? Some days we can forget, other days we’re hyperventilating. Anyhow, I guess in the ‘cancer’ process there’s a certain order: diagnosis, treatment (which is a blanket way of covering the surgeries, drugs, drips and hormones) and then, if you are fortunate, comes healing.

Today I’d argue that healing is an equally important phase compared to any other. It’s how life gets back on track. It’s how we learn to let go and live. Honestly, I had hoped to be beyond the fear by now, but obviously that hasn’t yet happened. Though it’s coming, I’m sure that good place, that warm-fuzzy-feeling of release is coming. It’s happened for other surviors; it will happen for me too. Sorry to keep bringing up this anxiety (continuing on from last week, only this time with phantom labor while attempting to bathe). Clearly it’s a larger issue than I’d initially realized.

Now is my time to heal, and that’s a self-exploratory job in itself.  Which is why, and yes I guess I occasionally need reminding, Zsolt and I returned to Canada. Time to heal, baby, heal. Make it all feel better.

But isn’t life itself a work in process? We’re always healing, always growing in some way or another, which is a comfort.

One step at a time, that’s my mantra, one step at a time and a few dance moves thrown in for good measure. And jiving, stepping, and feeling the way forward, this worry will be conquered. This worry will be healed.

Check out my personal page (www.bumpyboobs.com) – full of conversations, stories, and breast cancer ass kicking. Also, tweet with me on twitter (@bumpyboobs) and check out facebook too.

Posted in cancer, cancer treatment, healing, life after cancer | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Warning: I’m stuck under a darker cloud this week

7 Sep

Can diagnosis be forgotten? At what point is it possible to say, “I won’t worry about cancer,” and really, truly mean it? You know I’ve heard more than once that after a diagnosis, people simply want to escape. Maybe they cannot handle the sudden mortality, or illness, or the fear of chemotherapy and further measures . . . maybe the sudden flip of that switch (you know, that big red switch on the wall reading “healthy” and “unhealthy” that clicks back and forth with every cold, flu, and cancer diagnosis) from a perfectly normal life, to life suddenly on alert . . . maybe it’s too much.

I’m just trying to wrap my head around this today. I can remember being told about the cancer, I can remember the acute fear that filled my thoughts . . . I can even remember wanting to run away. But you know what? I never, not for a second, actually humoured the idea of leaving well enough (or poor enough) alone.  Something had to be done. I had to do something.

But what if I hadn’t done anything? What if I’d said no to the surgery, or no to the chemo (after the doctor tells me I’ve got a 90% chance of recurrence if I don’t get further treatments . . .)

Would it have been courage or cowardice?

Because for sure I consider this past year of my life, while both revealing and defining, to have incorporated a challenge to identity, joy (not always, but sometimes it dried up and the depression ran deep), and independence.

Would it have been right to pretend the cancer didn’t exist? There are people who don’t get treatment – no matter how far things have progressed, and right deep in my heart I cannot decide if it’s the damn bravest thing I’ve ever heard, or the craziest.

I suppose the answer to that rests in the individual. Everyone gets to decide what is best for their life. Even if it means battling odds not stacked in your favour. Everyone should (though I know we all feel pressure) decide how their treatment is administered, or whether it’s administered at all.

Today I walked into the office of my General Practitioner. I’ve know her for about 23 years. Back when I was six my parents sent me to her for an ear exam. “She never answers when we call,” they said. My doctor thought it was probably nothing, and after a series of tests the results came back in: “She hears perfectly well . . . she’s just ignoring you.” (Though I’d argue it’s selective hearing.)

Point is: there wasn’t any problem. I was ‘Catherine, the little girl with no problems’.

Today I walked into the office of my General Practitioner. Today I was there to renew the drug that helps fight estrogen-loving breast cancer. Today I was a cancer survivor.

And it felt strange.

For one week – one lovely week at a cottage along the St Lawrance – I had nearly forgotten. And for a moment today, just a twinge before heading to the medical office, I wondered: “Could I just forget about everything? Wouldn’t it be great to not have a follow up, not be reminded of recurrence, not remember that I have an oncologist, and my GP is prescribing anti-cancer drugs, and I need to sign up for a drug plan cause, yeah, I’m not yet in the clear.”

Aren’t you ever tempted to forget?

But the only person we can answer for is ourselves. Anyhow. This week has made me wonder about courage, decisions, and forgetting. Wonderful things have happened too – Zsolt got a bank card, I set up my desk with paintings of Gatineau and Nice and wedding photos, and the entire family got together for a Sunday meal – but the back my mind has been ticking. Wondering. Reasoning. Coping. Wanting to understand.

And for today, that is all I can say about that.

Pssst! Check me out on twitter (follow) and facebook (like). To read posts-as-they-happen, plus the start of my breast cancer journey, visit www.bumpyboobs.com.

Posted in cancer, cancer medication, cancer treatment, facingcancer.ca, healing, life after cancer | Tagged | 5 Comments