Healing, Growth and Resilience.
I am immeasurably grateful for all three.
I am immeasurably grateful for all three.
Hooping, it turns out, is perfect post-breast-cancer-treatment therapy. Almost.
It challenges my co-ordination, balance and spatial awareness.
It entirely occupies my mind.
Its frantic, erratic arm movements sneak my damaged limb into places I thought I’d left behind.
It allows me to flail and fail without drawing the attention of the likewise intensely occupied others.
And gives me ample opportunity to tame my uber frustration reflex.
It’s brand new, so there’s no kicking myself for lost progress.
It’s great exercise.
But last night I discovered the Almost.
Chemo’d chicks don’t spin.
Or at least they shouldn’t.
It’s easy to forget how disgusting chemo was.
Last night’s hoop-induced nausea was a vivid reminder.
Of how lucky I am to be healthy.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
My port-a-cath has been out two months, today.
I can hardly believe it’s gone.
And I can hardly believe it was actually there.
I am so grateful.
As it turns out, memory issues are only issues if you remember you’ve forgotten stuff.
Today, I noticed this note, stuck next to my home work/sew station.
“Jan 15″ was three days ago. And I have absolutely no idea where I was supposed to be.
On the bright side, neither does Mark.
And it’s his writing.
Yet, reflecting on the year, this morning, I was shocked at its rockiness.
It was a year of adjusting to the new me.
And of testing out the me that has been there all along.
As I reflected on 2009 and looked hopefully toward 2010, I never dreamed of the treat I had in store.
And I have high hopes for 2011.
Thank you, 2010. Welcome, 2011.
Some Zigs and Zags of our 2010:
|February 6 (our 11 year wedding anniversary)
Our insurer refuses to honour my critical life and disability insurance claim.
This was a cruel and devastating blow. Not only because they robbed us but after stringing us along for 4 months but because I’d been over-insured for the twenty some years leading up to my leap from Nortel six months before my diagnosis.
And life begins afresh.
We are spared the pain of the long-awaited trial and Keith Ross accepts a Section 810 Peace Bond which prohibits him from having any contact with us for a period of 12 months..
Our world has been peaceful since.
|May 20 (Mark’s 40th birthday)
The perfect storm of physical, financial, parenting and family challenges bring me to my knees.
Yet we survived.
We did it.
I take a first bite at my fear of public speaking.
I’m so glad I did. (Photo thanks to Alexa Clark.)
|June 16-Sept 13
My first summer with my lovelies since Bayla was a newborn.
The most fabulous summer of relaxing, reading, biking and being with my lovelies.
Our long, long, long awaited victory celebration.
Wine, munchies and good, good people.
Back to work.
Two more days a week than I had hoped but simply grand to have an income again.
Scary and thrilling.
We celebrate fifteen fabulous years of Mark Blevis.
Lucky, lucky me.
|Thank you, 2010… Let’s all enjoy a happy, healthy 2011.|
|One year ago today, I started chemo.|
|Days before — in anticipation of my hairless winter — Lucy, Bayla and I had combed the annual Originals Christmas Craft Fair in search of a funky chemo cap.
An extremely generous and talented stranger, by the name of Debbie Etherington, absolutely insisted that I pick out any of her cozy handknitted toques and accept it as a gift.
|That cozy toque, with its warm thrumbed lining and its even warmer history, kept my bald head warm all winter.|
|Today, Debbie and I met again. This time I brought good news, gratitude,…
And a set of home made pillow cases.
Sorry about the photo quality. We were scrambling and ended up taking the photos at the Oat. “Not my best work, though. She wanted to look 48. I nearly airbrushed her into oblivion. Ended up checking ‘albino’ in the form“
And, thanks to chemo-induced menopause, my face is becoming furry!
Even after I’d lost them, I would have laughed right out loud at the thought of coaxing them back.
But, tonight I did just that.
I googled growing eye brows and then slathered mine in coconut oil.
We’re hard on ourselves. It fuels the economy. But after years of berating my body, my features, my traits, it feels good to know that I’d rather be me.
With or without the caterpillar brows.
I’m often asked for tips for newly diagnosed breast cancer patients, their family and friends. But every situation is different — and it’s tough to tell which of or whether my choices have actually helped.
The best I can do is offer personal reflections on my various decisions.
So, here is a rambly whack of them…
|Insist on a Port-a-cath
Although I was fairly terrified leading up to it, the port-a-cath installation procedure turned out to be a total breeze — and well worth the cyborg result. My port-a-cath saved a good length of vein from chemo-induced damage and allowed me unrestricted, convenient use of both arms for my 18 weeks of chemo.
Mark’s pretty eager to have it removed, but as long as I have blood-work to be done, I’m thrilled to have this built-in valve.
|Look to real-life role models
This journey would have been lonely and dismal were it not for the brilliant examples and support of friends like Caroline, Laurie, Derek, Gloria and Eden, whose dignity, courage, resilience and generosity showed me that life is what you choose to make it.
I am so immensely grateful to these shining lights.
I’m convinced that getting up and out of my PJs each morning, doing breakfast and walking to school with Luba, sticking to a fairly demanding exercise routine and taking care of household chores helped my body and mind cope with the rigors of treatment.
|Enjoy Energy Therapy
Throughout my treatment, I benefited regularly from the talent, generosity and skill of three energy workers. I’m sure the resulting insight, healing and optimism played a major role in minimizing my treatment side-effects, improving my outlook and speeding my well-being.
I am so grateful.
|Ask for and accept help
I’ve never been comfortable doing either, but asking for and accepting help not only solved the many logistical problems posed by hectic medical schedules and diminished physical abilities, it deepened friendships, introduced our young family to the beauty of community, filled me with healing gratitude, nurtured my always-battered self-esteem and left me longing to pay-it-forward.
|Capture and share our story
We broadcast my diagnosis as soon as it hit us. Right from — and especially at — the very beginning, we audio-recorded and snapped photos of our journey: sharing the news with Luba, attending appointments, celebrating milestones and living life in between.
I believe capturing our journey gives me a sense of moving forward, of anticipating the victorious sense of looking back, and at the very least preserves precious memories for Luba.
Sharing our journey, specifically and authentically, allows me to help those who may, unfortunately, follow. And distilling overwhelming situations to web-sized chunks helps me get to and focus on their vital core.
As gag-inducing as these morning concoctions are, the ritual of selecting, chopping, juicing and somehow ingesting a whack of fresh vegetables every morning makes me feel like a healthiness hero.
My daily juice includes beet, carrot, celery, ginger, swiss chard, lemon and, if I have it, bok choy, broccoli or cauliflower. Powerful veggies but possibly more powerful superstition.
Daily juicing of fresh cut wheat grass is a salubrious luxury that I only wish I could afford to keep up forever.
|Embrace temporary baldness
Our head-shaving party (video) helped me take control of my impending hair loss and enter temporary baldness with a resounding sense of support, victory and even joy.
Choosing funky, friend-infused hand-made hats over wigs and baring it all when temperatures permitted, gave me the comfort, freedom, acceptance and playfulness that I don’t think hiding under a wig could.
|Supplement Vitamin D3, Curcumin, Vitamin C, Resveratrol and Green Tea Extract — and drink lots of Matcha
I’ve tried a tonne of supplements during this journey, but after reading numerous books and articles (and not retaining the details of any) this is the handful I’m left feeling starve cancer best.
This feeling is far from scientific. I’m sharing it, anyway.
I’m so grateful that I have taken this time to examine my life, my thinking, my habits, relationships, choices and outlook — trying to toss out what wasn’t working and deliberately striving for new patterns.
|Celebrate every victory and milestone
Ever since that lump turned up, we’ve been pulling our way through time by anticipating the celebration of milestones and victories, big and small.
When there is something to look forward to, life is good.
I’m so grateful that, as a family, we look for and find these things.
|Regularly consume sugar, white flour and other simple carbs
Research shows, high GI foods, such as sugar, white flour, potatoes and white rice, trigger hormones such as insulin and IGF growth factor which, in turn, lead to inflammation and cancer growth.
Since sugar, unlike dairy, offers close to no nutrition, I ended up deciding to mostly do sugar socially. Way easier than giving up coffee (which also raises insulin levels). I’m glad I did.
|Work during chemo, radiation and hormone therapy ramp-up
Yes, I probably could have worked during a good part of my treatment. And, yes, a lot of people do it.
I’m glad I decided not to. For me, the personal benefits of focusing completely on healing far out-weighed the financial benefits of working. I’m thankful for Mark’s job and that we all made adjustments to make it work.
|Hide my situation from our daughters — or myself
None of us know what’s ahead of us.
And we always hope for the best.
But we’ve been honest with ourselves and our girls since the very beginning of this journey. And I’m glad of that.
|Venture into public places during chemo
It was inconvenient, isolating and not absolutely essential, but avoiding public places for 18 weeks was a tiny price to pay to avoid the colds, flus or H1N1 viruses that may have stretched out my treatment — or worse.
My chemo-cocooning gave me time to exercise, reflect, create and, most important, heal. And it protected me from the world I had yet to find my new spot in.
|Choose the attitude of fighter or invalid
I didn’t choose cancer. But I do get to choose my attitude.
There are lots of options.
I’ve been happy with mine.
|Fought so hard for bilateral mastectomy
I left my first post-diagnosis appointment absolutely adamant to remove both breasts. I remained so for three full weeks.
After several late night phone calls, and just days before my long-awaited surgery, my fabulous surgeon made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and I reluctantly agreed to a lumpectomy.
Turned out cancer had reached all 3 sentinal lymph nodes and recurrence could be anywhere. Removing my breasts wouldn’t have helped.
|Wasted energy on impossible relationships
My diagnosis and publicly shared journey gave me opportunities to reconnect with long lost friends and relatives, near and far. Those renewed relationships have enriched our lives.
My diagnosis also gave me an excuse to work on some very broken family relationships. But after wasting precious energy and effort, they’re right back where they started — or worse. I should have put that energy into worthwhile relationships and healing.
|Bothered with daily Flor-Essence Herbal Tea
During much of my treatment, I bought this pricey powder, followed the 24hour brewing and straining procedures then woke up earlier than I otherwise would have each morning so I could prepare it, drink it and wait 30 minutes before I could eat or drink anything else.
I have no idea whether this or any of my practices did me any good, but this one was inconvenient and costly and I eventually gave it up.
|Neglected my protein intake
Chemo eats away at muscle mass but I had hoped that by jogging, walking and doing strengthening exercises throughout my treatment, I would keep my muscles strong.
Turns out, my plan should have included more protein.
|Deprived myself of coffee and dairy
I did not sleep one wink the night I received my diagnosis. And I guess, at that time, I figured I’d never sleep again. So, I cut out coffee. Cold turkey.
Four months later, I realized delicious coffee was a treat I deserved. No great loss, I know. But enjoying a delicious coffee treat makes me feel like me, so I wish I’d relented sooner.
Sorry for this absurdly long post. I wanted it to be a one-stop shop for anyone who may need it.
It’s a month, today, since my final radiation treatment.
In these four glorious weeks, I’ve been living it up and lollygagging with good friends and good family.
I’ve grown some eyelashes and some hair.
I’ve stepped up to the scariness of public speaking.
I’ve coasted obliviously through a significant earthquake.
I’ve enjoyed schedule-free summer days with Lucy and Bayla.
I’m now two weeks into my five years of hormone therapy and — touch wood — its been blissfully imperceptible.
My white blood count is still low (I had a good cry over that news this morning). And various muscles and joints are still struggling with the effects of chemo.
But I feel like myself again — only better, stronger and happier. Really.
I am the rebuilt me.
And, with every thought and every choice, I’m working to stay that way.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.