Monthly Archives: November 2011

Twenty five ticks till Christmas

30 Nov

It’s November 30th, 2011 – tomorrow is the first of December, 2011, and in my household that means the start of Christmas. Now whether or not your celebrate this occasion, everyone has moments designated to celebrate life and family and spirituality and peacefulness. For me, that’s Christmas.

But there’s another layer of importance I tend to give to this season.  Maybe it’s something you also recognize?

During chemotherapy last year I had a countdown going. It started in August with my very first treatment, and it created such drama in my life I hardly knew how to cope. The countdown calendar was labelled Sixteen ticks till Christmas.  Because if I’d I stayed on schedule I would have finished all chemo before Christmas, and I had this crazy idea that once chemo was over I could fly to Canada and spend the holiday with my family.

If you don’t know, I had most of my treatment in England. Away from family, except my husband, and so throughout those months I was dreaming of home.

Anyhow, if you’ve had chemotherapy you know it often doesn’t go according to plan. Things get delayed for whatever reason, be it weight, or scheduling, or infection, or blood count. And so my chemo finish date was pushed further and further back. It soon got to the point where it was a choice between not finishing chemotherapy and not seeing my family for the holidays.

And maybe that sounds like an obvious choice – be practical, right? Finish treatment.

Well . . . I kinda go where my heart takes me, and at that time I was so desperate to be with family that even when the doctors told me, ‘You’re not going to be able to go home.’ I kept saying, ‘but there must be something we can do.’

Turns out there was, and a plan was hatched that got me to Canada, let me finish chemotherapy, and most importantly, reunited me with the family who I hadn’t seen since before the diagnoses crashed into our worlds. It wasn’t easy to get home in time for the holidays, but I fought for it. Pushed for it.  Pestered for it. And with the encouragement and organization of my parents, my doctors, my husband – we achieved that goal.

For someone who feels totally blown out by the chemo, it feels awesome to have a win.

It was quite a journey between England and Canada, and really hard to bring the reality of cancer to my family in Canada who had, in some ways, been protected by distance from the difficulties.  But  last year may have been the most important Christmas of my life – even thought my heart ached without Zsolt, my head was so bald, and the energy was lacking . . . being home was the best kind of healing gift I could have ever received.

I guess when you fight for something, it takes on a higher kind of importance. Just like we fight for our lives and come to see that everyday matters; the wonderfulness of life takes on a new edge  – a sharper focus – a spilling of colours.

So here we go into December and the madness of the holidays. Bring it on. I only see one thing on the horizon: time with family and friends, a vibrating, shining, untouchable time when things are good because we have love. It’s all about the overflowing love – hard to describe actually, but for me it’s quite potent.

Anyhow, I know this all sounds very Hallmark and such. But hey – ‘sentimental’ may as well be my middle name, and besides, isn’t sentiment what the holidays are all about? I reckon so. Lots of love, lots of great food, and loads of sentimental behaviour.

P.S.

Speaking of sentiment, here’s a song that kept running through my mind last year, pulling me back toward the idea of home. You probably know it, it’s a classic.

P.P.S. If you’d like to read about my journey from England to Canada during the Christmas season (when I fought and pestered to get someone to let me go home) here’s a link back to that story. Really, it starts earlier (with my first crisis happening when chemo was delayed due to low blood counts) but you can start here.

Posted in breast cancer, cancer treatment, chemotherapy, finding support, healing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Living the impact at Mirror Ball, 2011

23 Nov

Last Sunday morning about 8.00 am, I woke up totally buzzing with Mirror Ball, and I was like, “Catherine, you’ve got to write about this, now.” But then another part of me couldn’t even see straight since I’d stayed up till 2.00 am the night before, and Zsolt was beside me in bed still 100% asleep. I’ve tried before to type my thoughts out while he sleeps . . . but it causes him to wake up grumpy.  This is a shame since there’s no better time to write than when inspiration hits, but the thought of click-clacking too early and his reaction was enough to make me say, “Catherine, wait a little bit.”

Therefore I am today, Wednesday afternoon, at Starbucks. Not the local library, not the basement of my parent’s house, not Tim Hortons (for sure not  – that place is crazy)  . . . but Starbucks, with my green tea and laptop out. I feel very productive and stimulated (thanks to the jazzy Christmas music in the background) and ready to recount the weekend.

Okay, for anyone who doesn’t know – because if you don’t work in the Canadian cosmetics, fashion, media industries, or live in Toronto, (or read any of Sherry Abbott’s or @cancer2gether’s tweets), why would you know? I never knew until told . . . Anyhow, for those of you who don’t know, the Mirror Ball was originally named the Look Good Feel Better Ball, but was recently rebranded to incorporate Facing Cancer Together. :) This is a gala that raises funds for women with cancer. And wow, they raise funds in a big, big way.

So the party started around 5.30pm, though I didn’t roll in till 6.00pm (and Zsolt about 6.30pm, I left him upstairs in the hotel while Chantal took us around and showed us (i.e. Katie, Terri and me), where we’d be standing during our testimonials).  The event was held at the Royal York in Toronto, which has a fascinating history tied into the Fairmont chain and being connected to the wonderful Canadian Pacific Railway. When I see a Fairmount in Canada, I think about the history and roots of our country – the formation of not just colonies but a country, you know? People had a big vision when they began to unite Canada – and I admire big ideas (with positive results).  Anyhow, our history isn’t all puppies, kittens and choo-choo trains, but nevertheless visiting a Fairmount fills me with the fuzzies. So that was cool. Though I still wish they had free wifi.

After the technical bits of seeing where we’d talk, Zsolt and I grabbed our silent auction machines (handheld devices for bidding and donation making) and began to walk around the hall. Amongst the donated products (decanters, hammocks, paintings, Canada Goose outfits, wines, holiday packages, laptop chargers) a vaudeville theme was happening. Flappers seemed to be everywhere, and then there were the mimes (Scary? A little), contortionists, and so on. Mixed in with waiters serving drinks and savoury treats, Zsolt and I had quite a good time walking around seeing how much people bid on various items.

Oh yeah – quick aside, Zsolt wore his beautiful charcoal suit originally purchased for our wedding, and I wore this strapless black dress originally purchased for a PWC Christmas party (like 6 years ago). Going strapless with a prosthesis is slightly tricky and involved several safety pins strategically placed, but I think I pulled it off. And I wore heels, but barely . . . with the help of Zsolt’s arm and a decision to ‘walk very slowly, all the time, no matter what’ I wore heels. My mom knit my shall, and it received several compliments.

And alongside this lovely silent auction and party was the Twitterball. Did you catch that, by any chance? I was assaulted with a Ipad to give a ‘hi & hello’ to the Twitterball participants, so hopefully pulled that off okay. You know I would have loved to have gotten in on the tweeting, but have no means of social media’ing’ when away from the laptop. That will soon be corrected, but I need to wait till Christmas.  My parents were at home following along and trying to stream the event. It’s just amazing what technology is doing nowadays. My brother’s graduation had the same thing: round the world live-streaming.  So everyone can join the party. :)

This post is so long. But the night didn’t end here! I’ve got to keep writing! And you are invited to continue reading.

After the auction and milling and meetings (I finally meet the lovely and charming Both Sides, aka Dr Alexandra Ginty. She is so full of life & verve. AND I met Chantal, the community coordinator for Facing Cancer Together and my regular e-mail correspondent – she is as lovely in person as she is in the forums. It’s so wonderful to actually meet the women behind the writing, you know?), it was time to eat dinner in the dining room . . .

Oh boy. So we walk into the dining room and it’s all dim, and black velvet and sparkly. The walls around this giant room have equally giant screens showing the progress of the silent auction, the stage is by the far wall, and the tables are set with more wine glasses, plates and cutlery than I’ve ever seen on a table. We had the honour of sitting with fellow blogger Terri from a Fresh Chapter, Terri’s friend – who I loved talking with across the night, Chantal, some young women who had been involved in the LGFB program (and looked stunning!) and several photographers for the event.  It was so fascinating to speak with Korby and Jodi about photography. Korby Banner has this whole philosophy on how to bring out beauty with his makeup application and photography. I always find it inspiring to speak with someone who clearly adores their work – but even more so, throws themselves into it with the idea of becoming the best. That’s a good way to do things, no?

Anyhow, we were having a great time at our table. And then the soup arrived.

That’s when my heart basically exploded.

You see, Katie, Terri and I were giving one minute talk/testimonials that evening, which meant getting up in front of that giant crowd of professionals and baring a few scars. (Though not literally, because I’d worked really hard to get that strapless dress to stay in place.) To me, this felt rather different than my presentation in Orillia. In Orillia, they were nurses and who doesn’t feel comfortable around a kind-hearted, albeit overworked, nurse? Last Saturday night had ‘industry people’  . . . hmm, I didn’t know what to make of that.

My heart began to race.

So after the soup we were led from the table and snuck around backstage. Sherry Abbott (who looked stunning in her gown) took to the front of the stage and presented the Tamara Wig, then introduced us as we came up. And then, one by one, we gave our stories.

It was incredibly touching, my fellow bloggers are inspiring women – high five to Katie and Terri! After the testimonials Sherry called for donations and in about 5 minutes we raised just over 30,000 dollars.  My goodness.

And for the rest of the night these successful industry people who had so intimidated me came up and shared their story. They had been involved in the Look Good Feel Better program for over 20 years. They had posed for the first cover of the LGFB magazine after fighting cancer. They had lost a wife to cancer. They appreciated our honesty and bravery.

And for me, with all the wonderful glitz and glam, those moments were what made the night. Cancer doesn’t just impact people in a certain area of the world, a certain age group, a certain social or economic sphere . . . cancer simply impacts. And the explosion hits you, no matter what your situation. Every person in that room had their connections, their stories, their experiences. We had more in common than I had realized.

(So the next time you feel intimidated, just remember what you’ve endured, and how this disease has hit so many. I guess we’re all survivors, in a way, whatever the story or situation.)

The rest of the evening involved fantastic food, a decadent dessert, magic, comedy, more contortion, and late night dancing (first time in forever I’ve danced late into the night and not felt like a zombie. Amazing! And in heels, too!).

I feel honoured to have participated in this Mirror Ball, and glad to have helped raise more funds. For sure, Look Good Feel Better helps women reclaim their identity, and for sure, Facing Cancer Together forms a bridge for relationships and connections.

The Mirror Ball was a great night for a great cause. And it certainly deserves this extra long post.

Psst! Want to hear about the rest of our exciting weekend? Check out my personal page (www.bumpyboobs.com) for more stories and posts – Also, tweet with me on twitter (@bumpyboobs) and check out facebook too.

Posted in cancer, facingcancer.ca, finding support, healing, life after cancer, media | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Look Good Feel Better: Canada

17 Nov

Last night after fighting the Ottawa rush hour traffic. (Oh my goodness, the traffic was never-ending!) I arrived at the Maple Soft Survivorship Centre for my first Canadian Look Good Feel Better seminar.  Look Good Feel Better is a seminar designed to ,”put you back in control of the way you look during your cancer treatment.” And guess what, it’s free and easy to sign up for.

My very first LGFB encounter was back in England. That was about one month after I’d finally finished treatment, and it was quite an emotional experience. I hadn’t felt ‘pretty’ in a darn long time, and looking into the mirror meant seeing someone who was hairless, pale and bald. Getting that makeover, seeing colour on my face again . . . well, I guess you need to experience firsthand to know what an impact that can make.

The really fantastic news about LGFB is it’s for all women going through cancer – regardless of your place in the journey. So as I walked into the room with my full head of hair and obviously full eyebrows, the volunteers were immediately welcoming.  I was given a spot at the table and a volunteer joined me, Alexandra – she was just so fun, and on top of knowing her makeup tips, she also knew how to make a person laugh. Ease and humour make for excellent icebreaking.

Now I’ll be honest. Not because I want to be, but because my ‘full knowledge’ of the Canadian LGFB seminar starts about 20 minutes into the session. That is to say, I was late. But who knew it took 50 minutes to cross the city during the peak traffic period of the day? Not me. (Though I clearly qualify as an idiot in this situation.) I had expected everyone to be leaving downtown, not heading into that workplace mess of cars and red lights. Okay. So I missed the introduction. Alexandra told me it was largely about hygiene – which is so incredibly important to a woman in treatment. Considering our immune systems become so compromised, learning about makeup hygiene seems a good idea to me.

So I sit down, and we’re applying concealer. Dab it on with your ring finger, apparently, because that’s your weakest finger and therefore the lightest of applicators. So I dab.

The nice thing about these workshops – one of the nice things, another awesome thing: all the makeup you’ll need for a while – is that you learn about application. That might sound stupid since most of us have been doing it since age thirteen (when I bought a Dollar Store Lamborghini red lipstick, and I remember my babysitter gave me a look that said, ‘you’re crazy’) but there are so many tricks and methods that you could only know if you A) studied every lifestyle magazine and made a scrapbook of their makeup suggestions or B) worked in the makeup industry.

So we learned how to draw in eyebrows, create the look of lashes, bring colour to our face, help the eyes pop (with beauty) once again, etc. And very much like my UK experience, I began to see transformations around the table. There was a lady sitting opposite me with partial hair loss – but you know what I noticed after the session? How stunning her eyes looked. Again and again, I could see the pizzazz and spark in these woman as they laughed and tried mascara and coloured the lines of their lips. Okay, so perhaps we won’t apply the full course meal to our faces everyday – but at least they now know how to reclaim their looks.

And then there were the wigs. Seriously, I should have attended one of the LGFBs before getting my chemotherapy, or at least in the early days.  I’ll tell you about the LGFB wig session, but first let me  quickly explain the Bumpyboobs (that’s me) method of wig selection.

The Bumpyboobs method of wig selection: Hating that I even needed a wig, I dropped into a high street shop and decided to try on styles. The sales girl was okay (the first to approach was horrible, but then she went away),  the wig was okay, everything was okay. I bought the wig, went home and realized after about three weeks of not wearing it, that I was never going to wear that wig. It didn’t fit right. It didn’t look right. The whole thing made me feel , ‘blagh’.

For your own good, do attempt the above method. Instead try this . . .

LGFB method of wig introduction: Last night the lady who was the wig expert used two participants to show various wig options. There are so many possibilities, it’s almost ridiculous. But the part I remembered most was how she could see a head, a face, a woman, and match her up to a hair prosthesis that was absolutely complimentary. These ladies who were hairless suddenly became stylish. They were transformed – and you would never even know they were in treatment. With the hair and makeup combined, wow, what a difference.  Going to a professional hair fitter, talking options, having guidance, well I think it can make an enormous difference.

I imagine the ladies who will most benefit from this LGFB experience are those just diagnosed or entering treatment, but as someone who is nearing one year post chemo, I still had a great time learning tips and tricks for looking good. Honestly, if you’ve been diagnosed – not matter where you are in the journey, do consider treating yourself (for free) to two hours of fun. The seminar is a fantastic base to establish safe practices on hygiene, makeup application and wig  care. But more than that, by sharing time with other women, you can look across the table and literally witness the transformation. And guess what? If you’re there in that chair, with your volunteer, enjoying the seminar – then you are transforming as well.

How great is that, eh? Pretty freaking great.

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

Happy birthday, Facing Cancer Together

9 Nov

Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, Facing Cancer Together, happy birthday to you! One year old this week, FacingCancer.ca is still fresh. However, I’d almost forgotten it’s an initiative announced only last year. Time keeps flying by, and soon we’ll be celebrating its second, third, fifth, and tenth birthday.  Maybe we should pull out the camera and capture these moments of youth and innocence? You know, for the photo album?

Snap goes the camera! How did you find facing cancer?

For me it was through a tweet by Sherry Abbott (@SherryAbbott). She was calling upon lady bloggers who might contribute to this new webpage, Facing Cancer Together. Honestly I had no idea what that meant, but clicked on the accompanied link and began to poke around. The colour scheme was so appealing (this from a woman who picks cars based on which metallic shade looks more like lipstick) and I was fascinated by Terri’s blog, A Fresh Chapter. She was, at that time, the youngest woman (other than myself) who I’d ever known to be diagnosed with breast cancer. And there was also something striking in the tag line: For everything else you’re going through with cancer – It seemed like a fresh perspective to the cancer journey.

This was the first ‘cancer’ website I’d visited that didn’t leave me feeling overwhelmed. And so I applied to become a blogger.

“Say Cheese,”  – and Click! What’s your favourite part of the website?

Honestly, I love the stories. Whether it’s blogging or in the forum – people pour their hearts out. I think that bloggers are fairly comfortable airing dirty laundry online, but the most raw posts often come from anonymous women who are struggling with a cancer diagnosis. They are the ones who pull at my heart and it’s almost not enough to simply write back an encouraging response. But it does help, I think it really does help when people respond to your moment of desperation. Because almost everyone on this page has coped with at least some aspects of cancer, and so we know how to survive and live again with joy.

Now, smile big for the camera! What would you like to see on the site in year two?

I’d like to see the community grow, interact and learn more from one another. Maybe virtual workshops could be arranged ( from ‘Look Good Feel Better’ to ‘How to cope with chemo’ to ‘how to reclaim you life’ and even bits from people who have simply pushed and thrived and overcome even if not cancer related. That might be uplifting.), more articles on health, and an area that might feature members more prominently. I love the bloggers here – but there are so many other people interacting on this forum, and I bet everyone has a story to share. Maybe there could be a virtual ‘bill board’ where people post their needs (i.e. ‘Chemo patient in need of someone to shovel her driveway’, or announce their projects, or post a walking club in a certain area?) But all this interaction is truly the difficult bit. Why and how do people get involved online? What makes a person want to join a conversation? And can you even manage to contribute if you’re in treatment?

Okay – one last picture: Cheese! What was a highlight from your first year on Facing Cancer?

Okay – this site is for anyone dealing with any kind of cancer. But personally, this page helped because I could hear from other young women diagnosed with breast cancer. Until then, I felt quite alone in my diagnosis. Of course, I knew I wasn’t – but it was meeting and reading the stories of others. Like I said before, I love the stories here. I love the relationships fostered. It’s that personal connection which I’ll always be grateful for. Oh, and the article in Glow magazine. That was totally awesome too.

And that’s all the photos I’m taking for the album. But I have to wonder, what are your impressions, your memories, and what do you get from this site? At the moment this photo album is really limited (since I just whipped up this post and didn’t bother actually emailing and asking everyone their experiences). So you’re all welcome to contribute, if you like – I’m very happy to share the comments section below.

A  lot of things have been happening to me these past weeks. From losing my grandmother to going for MRI scans and now waiting for the results (I get highly suspicious with every phone call to the house, and hope to heck it isn’t the hospital). It’s almost too easy to become lost in my own personal bubble. And so I’m thankful for community, for this page, for twitter, for facebook. Yeah, okay, I’m a social media junkie. But whatever it takes to be reminded that the world keeps turning, eh. Another trick is to go outside and take a walk, which I’m about to do right now. Here in Ottawa it’s pushing 18 degrees, and that’s just plain crazy. Crazy awesome.

I hope you have a wonderful, warm and interactive day. And once more: Happy birthday, Facing Cancer Together.

Posted in cancer, facingcancer.ca, finding support, healing, life after cancer | Tagged , | 3 Comments

Eating apples with my grandmother

4 Nov

This week took me back into the Tremblant hills, and frankly my mind is still there despite having returned to Ottawa. In Tremblant the leaves have fallen, leaving the forest a mixture of bare grey and coniferous green. And up one particular dirt road, along which you’ll find slews of frozen water (where Zsolt and I threw rocks to break the ice), past the scattered houses with lights on in the windows, up , up, and up to the top of a forest-covered hill – that’s where my grandmother is staying. It is my aunt’s log cabin in the woods. Smoke pours from the chimney, fire crawls in the hearth and conversations are whispered. This week Zsolt and I kept them company. Together we waited. And we are still waiting, even now as I type this in my parent’s kitchen in Ottawa, now away from the chalet.

My grandmother, Lulu, is ninety two years old, and for all the wonderful things she is, has been, may become – right now she is dying. And that is hard for everyone. Hard to even write about.

But it’s wrapped up in my mind, so what choice do I have? This week I don’t want to blog about cancer or homecoming or Canada or my husband. I’d rather write about Lucienne, or Lulu, as I call her.

The other day I walked into my grandmother’s bedroom and sat down opposite her. She said her ‘Bonjour’ and so did I before flipping open my laptop and beginning to work while she stared across the room. And then I pulled out an apple that was in my pocket (no bananas), polished it off, and took a bite.

Lulu smiled.

I offered her a slice, since suddenly she was watching me, but Lulu declined.

“I can’t eat it.” Her teeth are no good for chewing hard fruit.

“Do you mind if I eat it?”

“No, no.”

And so for a while it was all: type, type, type (I was working on a project for my parents. This week they are hosting this large workshop and I was sussing out some inspirational ideas to write on cards.) and chew, chomp, crunch.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Apple juice running down my hand, being wiped on my pyjamas, spraying into the room with every juicy bite. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

And she turned to me – which she doesn’t do too often anymore, and she smiled.

“I like that. I like to hear you eat it.”

“Does it feel almost like you’re eating it?”

“Yes. I like the smell. I like the sound.”

And she laid back smiling as I continued to eat that red McIntosh. Eyes closed. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Sour sweet juice.

What she thought about with those eyes shut, I have no idea. My French is not fantastic, and her English isn’t incredible (but it is good). We normally manage fairly well, though lately she’s having trouble so I avoid in-depth questions like, “What is it you’re imagining right now?” or “What is it you remember when I eat this apple?”

But whatever it was, it made her smile. And maybe in that moment, maybe it took her somewhere other than the bedroom in my aunt’s Tremblant chalet. Somewhere she felt more herself. Maybe –and this is me being sentimental – maybe it took her back in time, to when she and Benoit would sit on the veranda of their Montreal home after the girls had been put to bed. And they’d lean back on their lawn chairs, side by side, and laugh as the apple juice dripped down their fingers. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

That’s what I’d like to imagine.

Sometimes we feel so helpless seeing other people suffer. And as things progress, that helplessness builds for everyone. It’s a familiar picture. Last year I was on the other side, the one in bed and beneath the blankets, and even now I need to say: ‘Catherine, you are not sick. This is not you. You are fine and done with that garbage. Done, done, done.’

But nevertheless, whatever side – there is a helplessness. And so I’m thankful for the small moments. The smell of an apple, the gift of a memory, the comfort of company.

If I could do nothing else, as least I could help her smile; it’s one of the most lovely things in the world – and hopefully, for at least that moment, she felt lovely within herself.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Psst! Do check out my personal page (www.bumpyboobs.com) for more stories and posts – Also, tweet with me on twitter (@bumpyboobs) and check out facebook too.

Posted in finding support, healing | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments