Category Archives: healing

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

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

Writing a Letter to my Past: Life Changes

4 Jan

(Starting Note: I’m listening to an Abba Album on repeat, swaying to Fernando!)

A while back – before the holiday spin overtook my brain with turkey, mashed potatoes and bottles of champagne, I received an interesting email from Kristi Harrison, founder of the “Life Changes Foundation” which is raising awareness after the diagnosis of Kristi’s friend, Katie Morris Kyser, who was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Krisiti’s concept of Life Changes is really interesting, particularly since ‘new normal’ and losing the person we were before diagnosis is often discussed online. The fact is, life changes – we cannot go back and for me, before engaging in Kristi’s project, ‘back there’ was a place of innocence lost and reality biting very hard. Okay, yes, I have SO MANY wonderful memories before being diagnosed that I cherish (for instance, the ‘how we met’ story with my husband that is excessively romantic and entirely over-shared). But if I cling to who I was before diagnosis, it makes me sad about who I became immediately after. I guess that’s because the experience held was more physically and emotionally painful than anything I’d ever dealt with in my life. And once felt you can’t go back, so I prefer to look forward and punch things out occasionally.

But then Kristi challenged me with the project she’s leading that focuses on writing letters to your 14-year-old self. She asked if I would get involved by writing a letter. (Hello, write about myself? Challenge accepted!)

What surprised me in writing the letter is that I still love the girl who was once 14. She doesn’t make me sad, even though her style choices are *ahem* regrettable. In fact, she makes me look forward to having a daughter. Isn’t that weird?  She doesn’t fill me with loss or a mourning sensation . . . I’m simply proud of her and know she’ll be okay despite anything and everything.  And if she’ll be okay, then maybe I’ll be okay too.

Perhaps ‘new normal’ is really just a point (a point that happens and again and again and again) on the continuum of life? And we’ll all be okay, despite whatever crap we encounter – even death. I have to have faith that whatever happens after is just what is meant to be, we’ll go back where we came from, and be whatever we were before. AH! I’m going too deep. No excessive philosophizing will be tolerated on a blog entitled “BumpyBOOBS“

(Okay, I turned off the Abba because those previous 2 paragraphs were deep, and I can’t do deep with Abba. However, I’m now turning it back on.)

So, if you are interesting in joining Kristi’s project, you can find her Facebook page right here: https://www.facebook.com/LifeChangesFoundation

Get in touch. See what happens.

And now the moment you’ve totally been waiting for (righhhht), the letter to my 14 year old self. Enjoy!

Click to read the letter at the Life Changes Foundation page! I laughed like an idiot while writing this.

Posted in breast cancer, cancer community, healing, life after cancer | Leave a comment

It’s Good to Laugh: Little Pink Book of (mostly) Cancer Cartoons

10 Dec

I’ve been a big fan of author and cartoonist Kate Matthews for some time now, following her hilarious posts on facebook and sharing them with the online Bumpyboobs and Facing Cancer Together communities – so when I saw she was offering up a free ebook for whoever could guess what was in this picture, I jumped on the opportunity.

Like, I literally jumped. I was all, “OH! OH!” and somersaulted to my personal Bumpyboobs facebook account to give my response. And, high-five everyone, it was totally correct.

That’s how I connected with Kate beyond just the Facebook fandom. She sent me a copy of her ebook, the Little Pink Book of (mostly) Cancer Cartoons and I had a hoot flipping through the e-pages and enjoying her witty take on breast cancer diagnosis, treatment, coping, relationships, LIFE, etc.

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She gets it, you know? She really gets it. From booby heaven, hair loss replacement options (i.e. silly string), things people say, mastectomy, lymphedema, pink suffocation, and trying to feel normal. She gets it and she made me laugh. What a beautiful combination.

But then Kate wrote me and offered to send along (in hardcopy – woohoo!) her other book, the Little Green Book of (Mostly) Happy Household Cartoons, with an ebook version to wet my appetite  – and I realized she doesn’t just get it, she really gets it.

It’s a pleasure to flip through the normal-day-and-life cartoons Kate has created alongside and after the breast cancer diagnosis. Life goes on, and yes we can be haunted by the circumstances, by NED wire walking, by the worry . . . but life moves forward and the little things become so wonderful. My life with Zsolt has me laughing daily, and Kate’s life reflected in her cartoons reminds me of those family moments, those lazy moments, those ridiculous moments (I’m thinking cockroaches here, though she just has spiders), that make each day so lovely.

And you know what the incredible thing is? Kate admits that before she started the cartoons, she couldn’t draw. Okay, so the women and men of the Little Books aren’t Disney-animation perfect, but they’re almost better for that lack of perfection. Life isn’t perfect, we are not perfect . . . but expressing your story despite all that is pretty darn awesome.

Anyhow, I just read her “Adam/Even and the apple full of antioxidants” comic and it got a burst of laughter. So, because I really believe in creativity and quality, and I love to support a fellow writer – if you are looking for a charming book this Christmas to stock a reader, tablet, hold in your hands, or just treat yourself – check out Kate Matthews. She’ll have you laughing through cancer (a freaking miracle suitable to the time of year), and she’ll have you laughing through real & wonderfully normal life.

Now if you’ll excuse me. I think I’ll go back to my reading . . . and my giggling. Happy holidays everyone!

P.S. I did get some free book bling, but I’ve been a fan of Kate for ages. She’s a great cartoonist! Oh, and she’s on facebook if you’d like to follow.

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How to STAND OUT during chemo and beyond

19 Nov

I don’t know why I’m writing about this today, except that last week I met and chatted with a women who is going through chemotherapy. We met in a coffee shop, and while it’s clear from our chatting that there is much going on with treatment and life, I couldn’t stop thinking how lovely she was looking; she undoubtedly stood out from the coffee shop crowd, and it was largely because she choose to be striking with her clothes and makeup alongside her bald head.

All of this made me think back in time, as I realised, “Geez, like this beautiful lady (she has a name, I’m just not using it here), I really stood out after chemo with the bald-to-short hair.” Which led to other thoughts like, “Should I cut my hair short again?” (NO!) “Didn’t I promise myself to be fabulous ever moment possible once my body had recovered?” (YES!) “Maybe I should write a post about standing out.” (Which I’m doing right now.)

Here’s the thing about chemotherapy – it knocks you on your ass. And frankly, if you decide to leave your home, which is rather inevitable during treatments, you will attract attention even if you’d rather be invisible to the world.

Let me say it again. You will attract attention.

And after treatment there’s still months upon months of very short hair. Once again, you will attract attention.

But is that a bad thing? If you are going to stand out, then why not do it on your own terms? And hey, why not use the months following chemo as a practise trial for standing out for the rest of your life? Let it be a warm-up for becoming a spectacular presence in your everyday life – a unique energy people can’t help noticing.

Personally, this is a big challenge for me since I grew up being the too-tall-for-the-boys constant wall flower. But the more I try with things like pink glasses, big blue rain boots, funky jackets, pretty clothes, blond highlights to come . . . the easier it becomes. No joke, practice makes this easier, and really satisfying too. Every wall flower wants to be noticed.

Therefore, I present to you, with an invitation to add your own ideas in the  the forum!: Six ideas for standing out during chemo (i.e. whenever you can manage the energy) and beyond!

1. Find some beautiful accessories, e.g. scarves, bracelets, statement necklaces, earrings. Remember, scarves are not exclusively for your head – these can be worn around your neck as well. The lady in the coffee shop wore a beautiful combination of a pale pink scarf wound around a gold thread scarf. The result was so complimentary, I just kept looking at it and thinking how pretty she looked.

2. Smile at people. If they are going to be looking at you, look back at them. Smile, nod, say hello. I’m not saying you need to stop and converse with everyone about cancer or whatever else is on your mind that day, but smiling makes you instantly more relatable. It’s the universal ‘hello’ and everyone is better looking with a smile on their face.

3. Invest in an interesting and impeccably flattering piece of clothing, make it different from the crowd . . . you could snap up something from a local designer, or search a vintage shop for some old-time charm. If you don’t have the energy to shop, no worries – just keep a general eye out, and in the meanwhile look for daring pieces in your closet you’ve never had the guts to wear before this moment in life. (But obviously wanted to, cause how did it end up there otherwise?) Maybe it’s a jacket that’s tailored to your curves, maybe it’s an asymmetrical dress or shirt – I don’t know. All I know is it should be well made and different from anything else you’ve been seeing on the streets.

4. Embrace the short hair . . . at least for a while. I had mixed feelings about my short hair, but while it was there – I tried to style the blond curls (throw-back to my baby hair) sky high like Kramer from Seinfeld. Why not? Having pixie short hair is such a unique experience, and it instantly marks you from the crowd as a daring individual. Instead of hating the hair – love every second of your re-growth, from punk-rocker shaved to Natalie Portman sweet. . . you will stand out with that short hair, so make the most of the experience.  (Speaking of which, I really need to get some highlights put in. I’m aching to go BLOND again!)

5.Embrace colour. Please resist the urge to hide behind black or grey on a daily basis. Okay, I agree that black and muted tones can be very flattering . . . but if you want to be striking, find colour that flatters your skin tones. Couple darker tones (if that’s your comfort zone) with pops of coral, strong blue, light pink, oranges & reds with with blueish tones, green or yellow. Combine those colours with your statement piece, and lady, you’ll be smoking hot – and not because of the menopause!

6. Attend a Look Good Feel Better Session. If you want to learn about that, check out this post, but basially it teaches you how to be hygenic and pretty during treatments and beyond. The volunteers and sponsors work miracles that go beyond the physical – tapping right into  and healing your cancer-damaged self-esteem, and it’s free. Sign up through this link, if you like.

I have this blue jacket that I wear whenever the weather allows . . . it’s cut quite uniquely, has polka dots and is rather flattering. People say to me often enough, “oh, you’re the girl in the polka dot jacket. I’ve seen you before!” You bet your ass they have. Chances are they’ve seen a lot of people before, but not everyone stands out.

You are fantastic, you are alive, you are YOU. So I reckon take the attention and twist it in your favour. Everyone deserves attention, why not use now to practise how to be present and seen? It’ll get you off to a running start for all those lovely and healthy days to follow treatment.

And that’s my two cents about that!

Catherine

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

World Mental Health Day: Depression Blahs

10 Oct

So I spend a whopping load of time online chatting and poking and liking and sharing, etc., and today it was brought to my attention that October 10th is indeed World Mental Health Day, and the theme for this year is Depression. This topic makes me shake my head; depression is so prevalent, and so often left without discussion. . . and after having cancer touch your life, there’s pretty much a giant whopping chance depression is going to touch it as well, at some point.

I can remember feeling entirely depressed. It was bizarre.

Okay, so I’ve known people who wrangle with ranging depression, so I’ve seen how a low day can change their behaviour and reactions. (No names, of course, because that their personal journey and they handle it accordingly.) And going through life I’ve tried to have compassion towards people whenever I realized that they were in fact coping with their own depression – but I didn’t exactly get it. You know? I couldn’t emphasize because I’d never been so incredibly down. My character tilts the other way, toward the consistently optimistic . . . I can’t help it, I just tend to paint things in a brighter picture. Luckily for me, I’ve had the lifeline of always deep-down feeling like everything would work out. (And yes, it’s been a lifeline, particularly these past three years.)

So when cancer happened, chemo happened, medication happened, mortality happened – oh s*t, you could have knocked me over and called the fight. It was shocking to suddenly feel so sad all the time.

And you know what is incredible? If I hadn’t had people like my mother working with me & giving me coaching – I would have thought this sadness and desperation was just that: utter sadness and total desperation for the worst to be over.

Chemo was really something. I tell everyone this story, but I’ll share it once more as an example of the chemo & medication inspired mood swings:

So Zsolt and I are in our flat in Southampton, he’s in the living room and I’m in the bedroom feeling crappy since chemo had been that Friday. And I’m lying there when all of a sudden a feeling overcomes me. Maybe it was hunger, or exhaustion . . . I can’t quite tell you . . . but my mind began to think: ‘How come he hasn’t checked on me in a while? If I were him, I would check on me. I’d be taking better care of me. He hasn’t even asked if I want a cup of tea. I’m so freaking hungry and he hasn’t even asked if I want tea!’

You can see where that was leading. . . suddenly I was fully frustrated with my unsuspecting husband, and basically dragged myself out of bed to launch upon him about why he should be making me tea, and why I shouldn’t have to even ask.

And there were plenty of other times too  . .

  • I felt abandoned when Zsolt was at work.
  • I burst into tears while in Canada and was overcome with hunger (while my Dad rushed to the kitchen to bake me some sweet potato fries – poor guy)
  • I stopped taking showers and got so grossly dirty that my skin was stained with sweat and ick.
  • My diary was full of the pain I couldn’t even blog about, basically begging for everything to just stop being hard.
  • I began physically getting sick at even the thought of treatment.
  • Months after treatment I was still feeling scared and full of fear.
  • I’d look in the mirror and feel absolute disconnection with the person looking back.

And the thing is, if I hadn’t been warned – and if I hadn’t watched out and kept track . . . I might have thought these feelings were the real me.

So why am I sharing with you about my poor hygiene and crying fits? Because today is World Mental Health Day, and far too often I hear from women who are struggling in big ways with these sinking emotions . . . and wondering if it will ever end.

For me it is ending. There are times when I get low, but they don’t stay and they aren’t extreme like before. And mixed into these hard times were good ones too – hope floats, like they say, and when I wasn’t deep-deep into that depression, I was clinging to the hope that everything was going to work out. The harder I clung to that belief, the higher up it lifted me from the crazy crap my body was taking on.

If you feel depressed, or sad, or like everything is suddenly impossible – let people know and ask for help. You can get help whether it be meeting with a counsellor, going to yoga, seeing a nutritionist, or even taking medication if you and your doctor think it’s needed. (I was offered some anti-anxiety drugs to stop my physical reaction whenever I entered the hospital, but instead ended up sucking back orange slices – since it was really the smell and the treatments that were triggering me.)

There are options, and most important to remember is that depression is kinda normal in our situations. I’m not saying it’s good, but it happens to many and is no reason to feel shame.

I’m really glad to hear that depression is being focused upon this year for World Mental Health Day – because it’s a sneaky little feeling that takes people over before they even realize what’s happening. But it’s not you. It’s the hormones, the drugs, the experience – which means steps can be taken to help make things better.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that. Geez! Someone get me a pink popsicle or something, I need to go do something HAPPY!

Posted in cancer, cancer treatment, finding support, healing, life after cancer | Tagged , | 4 Comments

Regulation Thermography Testing

24 Sep

Let me tell you a story in the continuing adventures of my breasts. (Yeah, one of them was removed, but nevertheless I still feel that somehow I have two boobs. Weird, or what?) Okay, here it goes:

Last week I went off for some regulation thermography testing, which is screening based on body temperature – it essentially looks for areas of your body that are more hot or cold than would be expected, which could indicate an issue at play.  I think recently thermography was studied and found to be an unreliable screening method. (i.e. This is NOT a screening option, and NOT a substitute for proven methods like mammograms, MRIs, and ultra sounds.)

But I went ahead and tried it anyhow – not as an alternative, but just as something extra to do. (This post is about my experience only, and is certainly not a recommendation.) Now, that having been said . . .

I’m down to yearly breast screenings. On top of this, no one seems to want to give me anything more than a mammogram. Forget that dense breasts don’t jive well with just mammogram screening – that’s only one point that really gets me frustrated. . . the even bigger annoyance is that this is radiation being shot repeatedly into an area of my body I already 100% know is vulnerable to cancer.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to go crazy, it’s just the lack of options – I mean good options that doctors are actually willing to prescribe without fear of it hurting the budget, are very limited.

Wow. I’m getting off track. Let’s try again. Last week I went for regulation thermography testing, because I wanted to peek in on the ladies and surrounding areas for an update. There’s a clinic in Carp that takes readings of your entire torso, and it’s quite interesting to see how the varying temperatures are interpreted.

What happens for this type of thermography testing? You don’t get light or heat shot through you, instead they take many, many, many temperature readings across many, many, many points on your body.

First, they get you cozy. I had a skirt on, so was given a blanket to wrap up in.

Then, they measure some points for temperature.

Next you take off your clothes and sit there in the cold. Well, you take off all your clothing minus some underwear. I borrowed Zsolt’s loose boxers for this occasion – they did the trick and didn’t cut off any circulation (since no tight clothes were allowed)

Once cooled, you temperature is taken again all over the place: point after point after point. I wonder if these correspond to acupuncture points?  Anyhow, once the test has finished, there’s a print out.

The technition said she needed to look at it in detail, but reviewing it quickly, she told me that my breast looks fine though it seems I’m having some kind of digestive reaction to something. Yeah, that just about sounds right, my GI has been messed up for a while and I’m still on the long road of fixing that up.

It was a good scan, and I’ll likely get it done again. I like that it’s non-invasive, not done in a hospital, and the lady was really compassionate. I like the results too – particularly that she noted my digestive issues. Now, of course, I’ll have to consider mammography, ultra sounds, MRIs etc in the future . . . but for now, I’m just glad to have been reviewed in a way that doesn’t leave a footprint on my body.

And that is the story of regulation thermography testing.

(P.S. It’s raining cats and dogs today, though my mom always points out that above the clouds the sun is shining, and we’re going to start packing our stuff tomorrow for next week’s move. We are getting outta my parent’s house. Happy days and exciting prospects ahead!)

(P.P.S. This entire post (and entire blog) is just a recounting of my personal experiences, not a recommendation of any kind for any sort of treatment, screening, whatever. I just wanted to share, is all. If you have questions, take them to a professional.)

(P.P.P.S. I am currently living in Ikea while preparing to move to our own place in Ottawa. I’ve been stocking up on their fabrics and sewing like mad. I think this is called ‘nesting’.)

(P.P.P.P.S I have a sense my storytelling was rather flat this post. Can we please blame that on the weather? Thanks.)

Posted in cancer treatment, healing, health, life after cancer | Tagged | 3 Comments

Beyond the Sea: Our summer and our secrets

16 Sep

A little over a year ago, Zsolt and I arrived in Canada. It was a big deal. He immigrated, and we transferred all our items over to Canadian soil. Part of me knew living here would be a challenge, but honestly I thought that we’d gotten through the hard stuff already – and this (Canada, with my family) was simply going to work.

So it did, in a way, and it didn’t in others. Truth of the matter was it was an emotionally difficult year simply because we had a sense of failure – failure to make this grand home-coming as happy and life-changing as we’d hoped. We lived with my parents (and are still here, thanks to the patience of my Mom and Dad, though will be moving out come October) for just short of one year while Zsolt looked for work. When you’re 30 and married, really, living at home feels less than cool. With Zsolt not getting hired anywhere and our not progressing as I’d hoped (though my freelance writing started doing very well, and I’m so thankful for that! It was a bright spot) . . . it felt more and more like we were trudging through thickening, sticky molasses and were never going to move forward.

Of course, optimism is built into my DNA. And I would tell Zsolt in the evenings as we lay in bed and held our nightly conference of concerns: “It’s all going to work out. It always works out . . . eventually.”

Then one day while at a friend’s daughter’s birthday party, it was suggested that Zsolt look into a different field than research or academia; maybe he’d be a good fit for patents?

Patents: the reserving of rights for intellectual property . . . highly complex and technical ideas that need someone who can dissect concepts, research prior art and understand a novel design before writing these ideas up in legalize to be submitted for patent approval.

Hmm.

Yeah, Zsolt would be good at that. He’s a freaking Google wizard, and he’s also a research science with an advanced degree. Maybe, just maybe, for once, having a PhD wouldn’t be to his detriment.

OKAY! All this is leading somewhere. I just had to share it because this was happening for ages, and I could never directly write about it. It felt like crap holding back that struggle to find employment. But anyhow, I am going somewhere with all this. Hang with me . . .

He started applying to about 70 plus intellectual agency offices. AND – BAM – he caught a fish! Just one, but one is enough. He began acting as a consultant for an agency, and at one point they were even discussing hiring him on full time. An offer was about to be made for work to start in September.

So, back in June, we were so freaking excited about this that we went crazy. Literally, we went crazy. We booked a summer-long trip to Hungary, with a stop-over in Southampton to visit friends, followed by a boat cruise in the Queen Mary 2 to New York, where we’d hang with my cousin and then come up to Montreal by train to catch a bus that night back to Ottawa.

i.e. BIG TRIP.

Before you can say “maybeyoushouldsignacontractfirst” we had bought non-refundable boat tickets, train tickets, bus tickets and a one-way flight to Vienna (just beside Budapest). It was all ‘happy happy joy joy’ plus a bucket-load of relief.

And then one day Zsolt comes along and says to me: “I have bad news.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad.”

“How bad?”

“Come read this email.”

The job opportunity had fallen through. Oh my god, how freaking crushing.

“Oh shit. That’s bad.”

Now, nothing thus far, and hopefully nothing in the future will ever be as bad as hearing the words “It’s cancerous.” Okay? But nevertheless, after a year of hoping, thinking you can see the light, and then spending money on a grand trip, it was deeply disappointing. But we went on our trip anyhow.

And so we went to Hungary – saw Zsolt’s wonderful family, ate amazing food (including possibly unwise amounts of pistachio gelato), visited with friends, laughed a lot . . . swam, sunbathed, rode trains. But all along that realization was in the back of our minds: “you’re starting from scratch when you return back to Ottawa.” We had developed a plan to move out no matter what, with my freelance stuff and some part-time jobs. I could work; the plan was a little bit comforting. A little bit.

And then we went to England: meet with friends for Mexican Food, had a picnic in a backyard, saw beautiful  babies, slept in an attic, walked in the New Forest, chilled at Tragoe . . . boarded the Queen Mary.

And then we sailed across the Atlantic. This was super cool. Okay, so I flew first class once between continents, and that was really nice. But this is a class unto itself. Beds made 2x a day with chocolates on the pillows (none of which we ate – I don’t know why); formal dining every evening; buffet with 24/7 access to tea and strawberries; big band playing in the evening as couples swirl around on the dance floor (we danced once to Beyond the Sea, which was our first dance at our wedding, but I’m such a garbage formal dancer that I couldn’t bring myself to dance any more. It was fun to watch, too.); a view of the ocean from our bedroom balcony that stretched out forever; dolphins in big groups swimming in from the distance then diving under the boat; whales flipping onto their backs; sunbathing on the upper deck and hot-tubbing at the back of the boat. Listen, if you’ve ever considered travelling between North America and England, and you’ve got at least a week to spare – this is the way to go.  Apart from one rough day, the weather was great and we had so much fun. It was totally restful, and I got loads of writing done too.

And then New York. Lord, that’s one big city. I think the highlight was two-fold: hanging out with my cousin, and meeting Anne Marie (of Chemobrain) for a cup of tea and some conversation. You can keep all your big buildings, impressive architecture and bridges for someone else; I like meeting people and spending a little time connecting. People are the best. Meeting Anne Marie in person was like seeing her in full-spectrum colour all of a sudden. Online friendships are great, but nothing beats the real-world exchanges.

And then back to Canada on the 12 hour train ride. Back to Ottawa. Back to . . . .

Oh wait, I forgot to tell you: Half way through the summer, toward the end of our time in Hungary, Zsolt was offered a job full time. Full time! And in the patent field, too. AMAZINGNESS! MIRACLES! Somehow, through the astounded state of shock, Zsolt gave an immediate ‘yes’ to the offer.

SO! Back to Ottawa. Back to . . .

. . . first day of work! Writing patents! Looking for apartments! Recovering old sofas so they get a new life! Shopping the ‘as is’ Ikea section for furniture! Putting down a rental deposit on a beautiful apartment! Getting involved in an awesome photography project! Taking a French test for a library position! Getting honoured by the CCTFA Foundation! And much more to come.

We’re doing things right this time around, and it only took a year to figure this out.

Whew. Big sigh of relief.

Stay tuned for coming adventures. (And in the meanwhile, I’m off to Pakenham for some more ice cream!!)

Posted in cancer community, healing, life after cancer | 6 Comments

A Preamble to a Post.

4 Sep

Earlier this summer I learned of a friend in the UK who had been diagnosed with bower cancer. Not nice in any way. She was already along with her treatments, and I only really learnt about her situation because my old boss informed me what was going on. She was having chemotherapy – she is having chemotherapy, even now, and I could picture here at the Southampton hospital in the chemo rooms, getting the drips of this or that.

You never, never, never want someone to get cancer, and in this specific case, I never imagined anyone so very wonderful and inspiring would get sick.

So I was like, what should I do? Well, I had her address passed along and decided to write a letter as well as send flowers. But what do you say to someone who you know is currently experience their own personal torment? Okay that sounds dramatic – but you know as well I do, that there are moments when life is so very low and chemo is a quick way to tap into that depression.

What do you write? What would I say?

But then I looked back to my own treatments when another friend wrote me letters from South Africa during his studies there, and how he described the beaches and the travelling – and how I’ll never forget my gratitude for his wonderful distractions that arrived in my mailbox.

All this to say, I wrote to my friend in the UK offering my thoughts for her well-being, lettering her know I was here if she needed something, and telling her about the amazing summer I had lined up; this wasn’t to brag about how awesome it is to be healthy, this was to distract from the treatment AND even more, to share with her life after cancer.

Therefore, I reckon it’s okay to do the same with this blog here at FacingCancer.ca, because I know many of you are struggling forward, reaching out for another day – fighting off depression, hunger, nausea, frustration, fear . . . I know it, but I also know that there are good days, and days that help us look forward to feeling ourselves again, or at least as much as possible.

So if you don’t mind, I’ll write later this week about my trip this summer. It was incredible, it ended incredibly, it was composed of really good news, really good friends, and really good food. (As I’ve already shared). But I’ve got to wait till the end of this week to really be able to give you the full story, and you’ll see why then.

Just wanted to write and say that I’ve not forgotten what it is to struggle with treatments, and cancer, and all the B.S. that goes along. But good days happen too. I dreamt of good days when I was at my lowest, and amazingly they have been able to materialize. Hope used to get me through the really hard stuff, and you know what – it still does today.

Soon to come, a happy post about happy things.

Whether you’re beyond treatment, just diagnosed, coping with the disease or somewhere in the process . . . it’s always worth looking forward to the good moments. Big or small, they’re entirely possible to have once again.

Right. I’ll get back to you soon, promise!

Catherine

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Posted in cancer, cancer community, healing, life after cancer | 2 Comments