The big 4-0

I'm not sure anyone comes around here anymore. And, in fairness, why would you? I almost never post anymore. I still probably talk and think about my cancer often, but it doesn't consume my brain like it once did. So I often forget I even have a blog, and then when I do remember, I can't think of much to write about.

However, 9.5 years ago, when I was told I had breast cancer I so clearly remembering wondering if I would live to see 40. At that point, all we knew was that I had cancer. We didn't know stage, or how aggressive it was, but I did know that my age was working against me in this scenario. Younger women tend to be diagnosed with later stage, more aggressive cancers, which I knew from my time working at the Canadian Cancer Society. 

Sitting in that doctor's office, my husband holding my hand, half way around the world from all my family and friends, I felt the walls close in around me and the air leave my lungs, all while that number hung in my head. 40. It seemed a long way off. Maybe too far off. 

But I've made it. I'm thankful. I'm still healthy and still in remission. So if you've stumbled on this blog, newly diagnosed and looking for hope, I'm here to offer some. There are no guarantees, in life or with cancer, but I have always found comfort in the stories of others. 

Clearly, I'm stressed....

I've just spent the last 15 minutes googling why my neck hurts when I bend over in the hopes that I can rule out lymphoma or mets. I can't, but my research also seems to suggest it is probably something else (but might, maybe, possibly be cancer....it's on all the damn lists...sigh). I should really book a trip to the doctor. I need a refill on Tamoxifen anyway, so this works.

But really, this behaviour is more a sign of my overall state of anxiety/mental health than anything else. I've noticed this - when I'm stressed at work or in life, my fears about cancer recurrence seem to get a lot stronger and have more staying power. I hadn't been having the "what if it's cancer" thoughts all that often anymore about every little ache or pain, but lately they've been bubbling up.

Work is very busy, and stressful, and I feel a lot of pressure to do a good job and not let everyone down. I love being in a job where I feel like I really know what is going on and that I'm making a difference, but the down side is, since I'm the one who knows the stuff and will be responsible for delivering on it, my anxiety is way up. I can't even imagine what I'd be like without my good friend: off-brand effexor.  So thank god for those little pills. #effexorforever? #maybe

I doubt that I will ever be totally over this disease. Physically I hope I am already over it, but mentally I think it's changed my DNA. It sucks, but I'll take it. I have no preference for the alternative. So anyway, I stopped by the blog to write, rather than try to figure out a different way to google "why does my neck hurt when I bend over?" And now, I'm going to try and just walk away from the internet and go bug Paul. He loves it when I do that!

And so it goes...

I had my 6 year anniversary not too long ago, and the day didn't even occur to me until after it had passed. The only reason I took any note of it at all was that it was a Saturday I had gone into the office, and I was trying to figure out my overtime. I had a "huh, 6 years" moment, and then moved on. And so it goes....never though I would get to a stage of that kind of tranquility about cancer. Thanks effexor (or whatever the hell off brand I'm taking is called)!

I saw my radio-oncologist this week. I asked him about reconstruction and he advised that I wait another year. So I will. Maybe. Unless I get impatient. Paul insists my lop-sided-ness is really only apparent to me, but it is apparent to me. I'd actually like to use the opportunity to have the left shrunk down to match the right, and not have the right one puffed up.

It seems these terrible boobs have a mind of their own and insist on re-growing, despite my attempts to hack them to bits. A reduction and a lumpectomy and they just keep coming back, like a bad inspirational after-school movie! Except, only one does anymore, cause the one that had all that radiation has decided to quit. So I think the imbalance will only continue to grow. I'll keep you posted. But only sporadically, as you can tell these days.

Anyway, that's where I am at now with cancer - at a cosmetic level, rather than a metaphysical, contemplation of my own (potentially abruptly shortened) existence. Which, I'm pretty okay with. And so it goes...

Five Years!

On September 9th I celebrated my five-year cancerversary. Five years to the day that I had a lumpectomy, and kicked out Ethel. On September 10th, I celebrated.

I threw a party, invited everyone I knew...(Golden Girls reference there, you're welcome). The theme of the night was "Death by Chocolate....not Cancer." I invited everyone to bring their favourite dessert and eat with me until we all felt sick. Or hated ourselves. Or both, I'm not picky.

I though the party theme struck the perfect balance of dark humour and slightly tacky references to death. It was a great night - it felt light, and fun, and loving. Exactly how I would want any party in my honour to feel. I didn't give any speeches (too heavy) or make any grand gestures (too much work). I just got to spend an evening surrounded by people that I know care about me. There were quite a few people that I know care about me that couldn't make it (it is both a blessing and a curse to have my friends and family spread across the globe) but I had a family make a video from the other side of Canada showing how they celebrated. It made my heart happy.

Five years seemed such a far way off back in 2011. I wondered if I would make it to that milestone. I soon realized the odds were in my favour, but still, I did some deep soul searching while waiting for test results. Even after all that I debated celebrating, because I'm not always comfortable asking people to do things for me. Even if those things are coming to a party. But in the end, I decided if you can't celebrate five years in remission, what can you celebrate? It's a pretty big deal. It's a wonderful thing. It certainly deserved a little cake. Or, in my case, enough cake to fill two tables.

I'm a lucky lady.

The Tyranny of Time

It is strange to know that I have entered that phase in my life when people I know, my peers, will begin to die and it will become less and less unexpected. The tyranny of time rules every one; we just don't know how much of a clock we each have.

A woman I know passed away this morning. She was diagnosed over a year ago, with cancer that was terminal from the very beginning. She is young. She leaves behind a husband and three children under the age of 10. It is truly awful, in the deepest, purest sense of that word. It is awful and it is ordinary, and it is a thing that will happen to us all. It will happen to many of us far sooner than it should, for her especially.

Death will one day grab us all. I know this to be true. I've had the experience of  wondering in a very real, very literal sense whether I will be alive in three months. In the early days of my diagnosis, when we didn't know stage or grade, I really wondered how much time I had left. And even having lived that, death is still, mostly, an abstract. I can often forget about my eventual demise, and breath deeply of the sweet, musty spring air and be grateful that another year is reborn and I am here to see it. That forgetting is a good thing. What a waste of a life to spend it consumed by death. But on days like today, I spend more time thinking about the end, and less about the act of living.

This business of aging is difficult. It is hard for those who live to see the end of time's passage for others. I wonder if it isn't harder still for those who see their end coming too soon. Those who know they have been cheated of years and time and memories. That is what I'm thinking of tonight. Not just of the children and husband left behind with a void where once a mother and wife was. But also of that mother and wife, who must have grieved the part of her life yet lived, that will remain forever un-lived. Such a terrible thing, the tyranny of time.

Not a Mutant

I have now had three possible genetic mutations ruled out. I like to say I'm not a mutant, at least not in a way that the medical community has discovered you can be, but I also worry that by saying that I will offend those who do have a BRCA mutation. Or the other one they tested me for, which I can't remember the name of, but it doesn't matter, since I don't have that either.

I've known for quite some time, but (as I've mentioned before) I really am a wonderful procrastinator. So it's taken me awhile to get around to writing a blog post about it. The genetic counsellor that met with me to give me my news was almost apologetic, like "I'm sorry, but we don't know why you got cancer." Not that having BRCA would be better - it wouldn't be. But it would be an answer to "Why?" and "Why at 30?" I mean, beyond "karma." (Aren't I a hoot?)

I've had another check up since then. Just recently actually. I met with yet another oncologist. Although technically I am the patient of Dr. Dent, I have met this woman exactly once in the 2.5 years I've been going to the Ottawa Cancer Centre for follow ups. It would be nice to have an actual ongoing relationship with a doctor that I see and then...see again. But I guess that is not to be.

It is funny, and sometimes a bit unsettling, to see how varied the advice you get is based on the doctor you're seeing. This particular doc was of the opinion that I should consider ending my Tamoxifen therapy now, since I'm having some not-so-pleasant but totally-manageable side effects. His opinion was that the benefit I get from the drug might not be worth the quality of life issues. I've had other doctors mention the new studies that suggest 10 years might be a better length of treatment, which seems to be pretty much the exact opposite advice. What's a gal to do?

I've decided I'll stick it out. I've managed 4+ years, what's 9 more months. And this is the treatment protocol that is widely accepted across many nations, including Canada. It will be interesting to see if my sometimes incredible fatigue is just because I'm a person that is good at sleeping and less good at being awake, or if it really was the drugs. Just wait...in 9 months or so, I can tell you.

The Inner Dialogue

Still no news on the BRCA testing front. Truthfully, I haven't really thought about it much since that appointment back in May. It's August now, so I expect I will hear something soon, but Canadian health care being what it is, perhaps I should lower my expectations.

I'm coming up on my four year cansiversary. I've been thinking when I finally get to five I might throw a party. This idea causes me stress, but not cancer stress, mostly just party planning stress. Still, it will be quite the milestone. One, early on, I wasn't sure I'd meet.

I don't often think about the early days of my diagnosis, when all we knew was that I had cancer but we didn't know size or stage or any of that. I remember wondering just how much time I had, in a months and years sort of way. Would I see my sister have children? Would I make it through our three year posting in Korea?

These days I'm much less consumed by time, and how much of it I may have left.  I attribute much of that to my new best friend Effexor. But I've also been working on trying not to freak out over every ache and pain. And on trying to be present and grateful for here and now.

I was laying in the grass a few days ago, with both of my dogs a few inches from me, watching whisps of clouds roll past me on a crisp blue sky, and I was so grateful. Gaterful for the day, and the sun, and the air, and my dogs, and my husband, and our families, and my life. I was so grateful for that moment, in that moment. And it was wonderful.

This is a shift. It used to be when I has these sorts of "out of body" experiences, where I became acutely aware of my surroundings, all I could hear was a voice saying "you had cancer, that really happened, bad things happen, this could all just go away." I didn't realize it until now, but that voice has been replaced, at least some of the time. I have a new voice now, that isn't talking about an end. She is telling a story. The story of me, which includes a bit about cancer. But she isn't talking of my impending doom. She whispers about gratitude, and speaks with awe about the beauty of this place. She tells me to be grateful for the day, because it is a gift, cliched as that may be. I'm trying to make more space for that voice to whisper about gratitutde, so she can contine to overpower the voice that whispers about death.    

BRCA Testing - Part 1

I had my consult a few weeks back with the geneticist. It was super interesting, at least to me. We went over my family tree and she said although there is no real obvious evidence of a BRCA mutation, I also have a very small family with not a lot of ladies, which makes it harder to definitely rule something like that out. She also said that getting breast cancer anytime before 35 is a HUGE RED FLAG in geneticist land. So they've opted to test my blood.

The first stage is looking for the BRCA I or II mutation. If I don't have that, they will ask the Government of Ontario for special permission to have my blood sent to the US, where they will test it for all of the other genetic mutations they know about (but know much less about).

If I am positive for any BRCA mutation, then one of my parents will have to be tested, so we know which line of the family carries the mutation (and who I can hold responsible for this!) and anyone affected on that line will have the choice to be tested. I find it fascinating to know all the stuff we've managed to learn about the human body and the immense amount of stuff we still don't know.

If I am positive, they said I can still keep my boobs. That one is up to me. I think I will likely lop them off if I am, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Removing the boobs means a significant drop in annual testing. If I keep them, it's mammograms every 6 months and yearly breast MRIs. Testing times are stressful, so it would be nice to avoid them. If I am positive, they also strongly recommend going the way of the Jolie and tossing out those pesky ovaries. I can apparently wait until my 40s to do that but I have questions about that, mostly because I'm not so secure in waiting when my breast cancer decided to show up well before anyone is even thinking it's a possibility. Could my ovaries pull that same crap?

I can see how this would be scary if you hadn't already had cancer. The stats for the likelihood of getting breast and/or ovarian cancer if you have these genes are staggering. Perhaps as high as 85% for breast cancer and 60% for ovarian. Scary stuff! Having already had one of these diseases I'm less worried. Though she did explain the mutation, and the mechanism by which it makes your odds of getting cancer higher, and that part was still scary - even for someone who's already been there. It makes it sounds like your genes are just a ticking time bomb. And the thing about genes is, you're sort of stuck with them.

Anywhoosters (that is a part of my vocabulary now, thanks to a co-worker), now I'm back in the waiting game. Apparently results should be in in about 3 months. But even if they come back negative, there is more testing to be done. So I guess this is just the beginning.

Ways in which I might be like Angelina Jolie...

1. I have a very attractive husband (but he's no Brad Pitt).

2. I have run around the temples of Angor Wat (though I was not shooting Tomb Raider).

3. I have five tattoos (she probably has more, and only one of mine is non-cancer related).

4. I'm beloved the world over (at least those who know me around the world, a smaller number to be sure).

5. I might have the BCRA gene. She definitely does.


A letter I've been waiting quite awhile for finally arrived in the mail this week. After being referred for genetic testing back on September 3, 2013 I've finally made it to the top of the pile. Yep, I get to find out soon(ish) if I'm a mutant. I don't have an actual appointment until May but I did get to fill out a questionnaire that was several pages long and all about every one in my family who has had cancer.

Turns out there are a few. Especially in my maternal grandmother's family. But no breast cancer. I am the lucky number one on that front.

Actually, I don't really think I have the BCRA gene. I think I'm just unlucky. But other female members of my family can't be tested for the gene until I have been and it's been confirmed that I am indeed a carrier. And as you will recall, I am in the "knowing is better" school of thought. If I do have the gene, I'm inclined to think the mutation starts with me, though I must also acknowledge I am not a geneticist. I don't think Bio 311 - Genetics qualifies me to make any such judgements.

I'm not worried about the results because I've already lived through breast cancer. It would suck more for my sister, mom, aunt, and niece who would then all likely have to be tested. If I am a BRCA carrier I may consider a prophylactic double mastectomy and maybe even an oophorectomy, though that one seems super crappy since you basically go in to immediate menopause. But still better than ovarian cancer. However, I'm not worrying about any of this until I have an actual confirmation, which will apparently come about 8-9 months after my consult. It's very unlike me to not worry, so a round of applause if you will.

If you're keeping track, I will know my BRCA status approximately 2.5 years after the initial request was made to have me tested. Which is really the thing I'm most appalled by. Not that I may be carrying a potentially deadly mutation, but that it will have taken me 2.5 years to find out IF I'm carrying a potentially deadly mutation. And people wonder why I have so little faith in the Canadian medical system (which I was once a staunch defender of).

Self-relfection

Interesting fact: it has been so long since I updated this blog that it took me awhile to actually figure out how to draft a new post. Perhaps I should be more diligent about writing. But that requires effort....

Anyway, it's December. Which is just mind blowing, since it has been seven months since last I wrote. I remember hearing that time just speeds up as you age. I can't understand how it could possibly get faster than this! Either way, it's been awhile. Which is basically the sentence you will find at the start of every post I've written for the past two years.

In terms of my ongoing cancer-ness I've got two things to talk about. Let's jump right in, shall we.

1) I might be "Debbie Downer"

While I don't write often about cancer, I still talk about it often. Maybe too much, if you ask the people in my life that have to hear about it. I just can't help myself. I don't want to be that person who is like "When I did chemo..." or "After cancer..." but I find it creeps in to conversation a lot. Perhaps it is because it wasn't all that long ago. Or maybe its because I'm still in treatment, though it is only a pill a day. I think it might be because cancer is really scary and I'm still learning to process it.

It's probably that last one.

Which sort of leads to number 2.

2) I'm going to therapy, guys!

Yep, I've finally said "I'm sick of being a worry-wart. I'd like to change that." I've also said "Is there a pill for that?" which it turns out, there is. So I'm on that pill. Hopefully not forever, but for now. Since I hope not to be on the pill forever, I'm also meeting with a therapist to try and work through my anxiety.

Now, I've always been an anxious person. I know, I seem so calm and collected (maybe?) but I'm not. I worry, obsessively, about many things. People I love dying is one. Since 2011, having cancer kill me is another. Also, "did I leave the hair straightener on?" Ugh, that one.

Initially I though it was just the cancer diagnoses that had made me into a crazy worrier but after about 10 seconds of reflection I was forced to admit that basically my whole life has been a study in anxiety. Now, I'm sure I'll never be as casual and un-worried as the calmer people in my life, but I'm looking to move more in the "chill-lady" direction on the anxiety scale. So I meet semi-regularly with a psychiatry resident who is based out of the hospital in their pyscho-social oncology program and we talk about how much I worry, and how I channel all of my other emotions into worry instead of just dealing with sadness or anger or whatever, and how I'm a control freak (I'm paraphrasing here) who also doesn't want to make any decisions. It's basically the most unpleasant hour of my week. I cry. It's awkward, with prolonged periods of seriously weird eye contact but I've decided this is the journey. Personal change isn't easy, it's probably supposed to feel really awkward and weird. So, I guess that means I'm on the right path. I'll let you know how it goes.

The road

So, it's been awhile. I've said it before, I'll say it again. A cancer blog when you don't have cancer becomes a bit of a challenge to maintain. A challenge for which I am deeply grateful.

I've just completed my latest round of "is Laura still in remission?" testing wherein my normal cancer stress moves from a 6-7 to an 11. This round was particularly bad.

I had a mammogram on the 23rd of April. It was a 6 month follow up because I had some calcifications and they wanted to check in on them sooner than the year. That was on a Wednesday. On Monday I got a call to schedule a biopsy. No context. No warning. Just a cheerful man who had no idea why.  I called my oncologist's nurse and left a message asking for more information. Thankfully she returned my call within the day and said there wasn't a lump, I just had a patch at my original cancer site that was hard to see. The biopsy was exploratory and fairly routine. It might be cancer, it might be scar tissue, it might be just a bad film. Adventure! The great unknown!

Her call brought me considerable comfort but lingering in the back of my mind was the thought of "what if." I've always been more afraid of metastasis than I have been of recurrence. Recurrence, while a pain, is still within the realm of treatable. Once cancer gets out of your boob though, doctors stop talking about curing your disease and start talking about managing it. So this seemed a better option, but not by a whole lot.

I started worrying about having to do chemo again. I've said all along it isn't awful, but when faced with a repeat course my mind got a lot more clear about what it had been like. The mind has a nice way of glossing over the pain of your past. I don't have fond memories of cancer treatment, but I don't think of that time and feel immediately awful either. I've mostly forgotten what it was like in any real sense. The worrying brought it back.

I arrived at the biopsy to find that, in my particular case, an error had been made. The radiologist felt a magnified mammogram was in order, and that upon its evaluation, a decision would be made about a biopsy. I won't get into the details, but 40 minutes later after another round of boob-pinching, I sat across from a radiologist who told me that both he and another doctor had reviewed the films and were both of the opinion that the calcifications were in line with surgical scarring and nothing to be concerned about. I asked just how confident they were, to which he replied "very confident," a degree that is unusual in the cancer world.

So all my worrying had been for nothing. As it has been since the day of my diagnosis. Since that day I've gotten nothing but routine, expected or good news. And yet, the worry persists. In this case, I'm willing to pass on some of the blame to a medical system that is rather cavalier when dealing with patients for whom a cancer recurrence is not an everyday occurrence but still, there is a lesson here. One I will continue to be challenged to learn and, I suspect, will fail to learn well in the near future.

Worry is not helpful. So far, not only has it been tiring to live with, it's also been unnecessary. Worry does not change the future, it only poisons the present. If only I could drill that belief into my thick skull. In the meantime, I will have to settle for the meadow of relative calm in which I currently find myself and hope that with each piece of good news I get following a test or a scare, I will find it easier to believe that this really might all turn out in my favour.

The Blame Game

Lately, I've been inundated with a lot of media wherein someone says something about eating a kind of food or drinking something in particular and then links that to cancer (I'm looking at you, organic-sweet-potato-girl-who-is-obviously-reading-a-script-Grandma-wrote) without the benefit of, you know, research. Or science.

You see, this is my pet peeve. Because it seems to suggest that poor choices have led to cancer and as someone who's had cancer, I find that offensive. And inaccurate. Sure, there are behaviours that increase your risk, and the way you eat is a behaviour, but the truth is scientists only know about 40% of the reasons why cancer may occur.

Aside from a mild addiction to diet pop, I lead a very healthy lifestyle. If you could save yourself the trouble of cancer simply by eating well, I'd have always been fine. I eat well, I exercise, I don't smoke, I rarely drink. I'm the poster child for the kind of lifestyle that will save you from cancer. And if diet pop is really the culprit, you better believe I know a ton of people that dogged that magic bullet.

See, here's the thing. Cancer has been around a long time. Probably as long as humans. Scientists have discovered corpses from ancient Egypt (I'm talking King Tut styles) and have determined that they died of cancer. So it isn't some modern phenomenon caused solely by modern chemicals or GMO foods. Even if you accept the idea that more people are getting cancer (I could, but I'd want some research to back that up) you must also acknowledge that people are also living a hell of a lot longer, giving them more time to get cancer - which is, by and large, a disease of the elderly. Or, for people like myself, the old at heart.

I constantly resist the urge to rant on people's facebook pages about how this sort of casual linking of GMO foods to cancer is not only ridiculous, it's offensive. I figured here on my blog, I don't need to self censor. Now, it may be true that there is a link. But I'll wait until there is some conclusive, peer-reviewed, replicatable science out there before I start preaching at people about how they should buy only organic. From what I've read, this isn't what science says. In fact, science seems to say that there is no detectable difference between organic and non-organic food in terms of nutrient value or taste.

Would I encourage people to eat a healthy diet, and stay away from food that comes out of boxes? Of course! Do I try to avoid high-fructose anything? Yes. Would I take the extra step of saying that because someone ate a lot of Hamburger Helper it's no wonder they got cancer? No. Never. Because people are not responsible for getting cancer. Heck, there are a ton of smokers that smoke a lot and they will not get lung cancer. It is a crap shoot. You can reduce your risk; you cannot ensure you will not get cancer.

I will always encourage people to make healthier choices, but I would never, ever say "well, that's why he got cancer." If science can't tell you why, I'm not trusting the anecdotal blame of some random person and neither should you.

Long Overdue Rehab (and posts)

Sorry I've been away. There hasn't been all that much to report - cancer wise. I had a mammogram in September which went well in the "no suspicious shadows here" sort of way, and that's all I can really ask for. It doesn't, however, mean I've stopped worrying. Is there a pill for that?

I know there is, actually, but none of my health care professionals think I am sufficiently anxiety-ridden to give me one and I don't care enough to make them give me one. Instead I will settle for occasional, teeth-chattering, snot-running, sobbing melt downs. How's that for attractive. These don't happen THAT often (but I had a fun one last night!) and I'm working on re-training my brain away from always going to a default of "worst-case scenario." But still, ever new ache or pain stays on my mind. I'm pretty sure that's normal for those of us who've had the big C.

Anyway, that is not the point of this blog. I talk and write way too much about my fear of recurrence. The point of this particular blog is physio, which I've been doing for about a month. I started going to physio because of some back pain but I found a phsyio place that specializes in breast cancer recovery and since I wanted to deal with someone who was in-the-know about that sort of thing, I went with them.

Turns out I have all sorts of post-cancer treatment issues, which we're working on. Mostly it is just stuck scar tissue and this thing called cording but it can contribute to back pain. That and my poor posture have led me to a herniated disk, which has led to a numb butt (which led me to the emergency room today since that can be a very bad sign, but turns out it is not cancer or anything too serious so I'm happy with that!).

In Korea, and Canada for that matter, they don't really think about physio prior to, during or after treatment - though I guess that is starting to change in Canada. Evidence is starting to show that physio can be really helpful for managing side effects related to treatment so I bring this up in case you find this blog and you're in the early stages of treatment. I'd recommend at least going for a consult though I also understand that when you're in the thick of it, you have so many bloody appointments more don't seem that appealing. Do what's best for you, but think about physio. I wish I would have earlier.

Canadian Health Care

I'm about to embark on the next phase of my cancer journey: Canadian Health Care. Yep, I've left Seoul and my amazing doctors and nurses behind, but I still need check ups. So today I sat with my family doctor and got a whole list of referrals.

Now that I'm back in Canada I will have the BRCA test done. I'm fairly confident that I'm not a carrier and that I am, instead, unlucky. But it never hurts to know. And oddly enough, my sister can only have the test done once I've had it done, regardless of my results. So I will have my DNA read, and then she can too (but probably only if I am actually a carrier).

I was also pleased to be referred to an oncologist here. I wasn't sure how cancer follow up was managed in Canada and if I would be with my family doctor. I like the man but he isn't a cancer specialist. I know breast cancer is pretty run of the mill, but I was only 30 when I was diagnosed and that certainly isn't par for the course so I'm happy to have cancer experts involved. Plus, it will be refreshing to talk about cancer with an expert medical professional that is completely fluent in English. My doctors in Korea did well, but there was a lot of slow talking, repetition and periods of nobody knowing what anybody else was saying.

I think I will also look into cancer survivor supports now that I'm home. At this moment I'm not actually worrying that much about cancer, which is an amazing and welcome change of pace. Do you want to know my secret?

Simple: Buy a 60 year old house and start doing renovations.

This consumes so much of my brain power I have very little left to worry about rouge cancer cells. Instead, I'm worrying about wiring and plumbing and wall colours.

So that my news. I'm coming up on my 2 year cansiversary and that means tests and results and updates to follow but for now, I'm doing well and feeling good. 

Why I Write

Long before I had my own cancer blog, I became obsessed with another (you can find it here). I've had the good sense to turn this man into an internet friend - he's actually my one and only. All of my other friends are people I've actually met in real life but his story was so important to mine that I couldn't possibly not count him among my friends. We don't have the same cancer but I think we've shared an outlook: a desire to find a way to live this experience with hope and positivity, allowing it to showcase all of the wonder and beauty the world has to offer even when it's also giving you lemons. (Also, side note, why do lemons get the bad wrap metaphor? They're awesome. I digress.)

I read his blog with a passion that borders on creepy. I checked it so often he actually mused in a post about his readers in South Korea!  I remember reading and thinking "If I ever face something like that I hope I can find a sliver of his world view." I didn't know how soon I'd get to test that wonder. But when I was diagnosed all I could think was that I had to somehow pay it forward.

The blog was born because I love to write and I wanted all of my family and friends spread over the globe to be able to keep up with me, in spite of time differences and long distances. But it was also born because I wanted to be able to say "yes, cancer sucks but here is everything about it that you can laugh at" and if I was lucky, maybe help someone the way that Ruban's blog helped me.

Cancer can make you feel alone, especially if you don't actually know anyone in real life who is dealing with it. All the more so if you are navigating treatment in a country where you don't speak the language. I write to feel connected to a world filled with people who get it in a way that I hope no one in my "real" life ever will.

I've had 14,500 hits and a handful of comments from women and their families telling me that this blog had helped and I can't tell you how much joy and peace that brings me. That is why I write. Because if I can bring comfort or a smile to someone on the same path as me, cancer is (almost) worth it. If I can help just one person resolve to find a silver lining in their diagnosis, I will have paid forward the gift that Ruban gave to me.

Really, at it's core, writing is selfish. It helps me to feel better about being diagnosed. If it helps you feel better too, I'm glad we could share the lemonade.

The Long and Winding Road

Our time here in Korea is drawing to a close, more quickly than I would like. These past three years have been filled with adventure and exploration and oh, yeah, that whole cancer thing. I can't believe how long it has been since I was diagnosed and how much has happened since then.

On Friday, we are setting out for what is likely to be our last trip in the region. We're taking a long weekend and flying to Phuket. (Yes, I know, my life is awesome.) But in preparing for the end of our time here, in squeezing in as much adventure as possible, I've started to become nostalgic  I'm nostalgic for a place I haven't even left yet, which is kind of weird. But honestly, I look around all the time and think of how much I will miss aspects of this place.

Part of me wonders if I will leave behind some of my worry when I get on the plane for the final time to return to Canada. If I will be able to associate cancer more with Korea than I do with myself. People have a funny way of creating false realities and this might be something I do.

Although I have no wish to taint my memories of Korea, I do want to start moving away from thinking of myself as a cancer patient or a cancer survivor. I want to just be Laura again. I think this is probably wishful thinking. I'm finding the further I go from actual cancer treatment, the more I worry about recurrence and metastasis. It would be lovely if all that worry stayed in Seoul when I finally leave, but I don't think I work that way. My cancerous shadow comes along.

I'm in the midst of a month long headache which the doctors are very, very confident is just stress and anxiety. When I'm being rationale, I agree with them. But it is hard not to worry about every ache and pain. However, if you are reading this as a survivor, here is the list of post-cancer aches/pains/weirdness that I've had since finishing radiation that I actually went to the doctor about and they turned out not to be cancer:

• hip pain
• rib pain
• back ache/spine ache
• headache

I'm sure there were others that didn't last long enough for me to get them checked out. The reality is those aches you are worrying about are probably just you getting old. Plus chemo is no picnic. I mean, the rule of thumb is any new symptom that lasts longer than two weeks is something to check out, but try to remember that more often than not it really is just a new ache and not the first sign of your impending doom. Now, if only I could say that to myself and believe it forever! Maybe you won't believe it either. People farther along on this road tell me that it does get easier with time. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I'm reading books on worrying less and trying to follow that advice. I'm a good student, but controlling your own mind is very difficult. I have started meditating which I am truly horrible at. Keeping my mind from wandering for more than five seconds is, at this point, a feat of strength. But like anything, I will get better with practice.

I'm hoping the serenity of a near-empty beach may help motivate me.

1.5 Years

I have no idea how to write this entry. No idea what to say. But I guess, in the context of this blog, an absence of material can only be seen as a positive thing.

Drumroll please.....

Yes folks, I'm still in remission. That makes it 1.5 years! I just got the 6 month all clear a few weeks ago. Whatever that weird hip/abdomen pain was, it wasn't cancer. They don't know why it was bothering me as all my tests are clear. This time those tests included a contrast CT so I can be fairly certain that none of Ethel's roommates have moved in to other parts of my body. For the time being, and hopefully forever, she is well and truly evicted.

I wish they could tell me more definitively what that pain in my hip was but for now I must be confident that these doctors know what they are doing. No one has come right out and said this (except for ladies on the internet) but I'm sure that for the next few years, and possibly the rest of my life, I will have weird aches and pains that are most likely related to chemo or radiation.

Don't get me wrong, in general I feel pretty great. But I still have a lot of tissue tenderness from radiation. For example, hugs can sometimes be quite painful for me. Isn't that sad? Hugs hurt, but don't worry, I still like them. Also, the tissue of my right breast just feels different - denser or something. I'd invite you to do a squeeze comparison but that is weird and also, you are probably not in Korea. According to the doc that difference normal and will (maybe) go away in another year or two. It is scary to think that all the zapping I did a year ago will affect me for a few more years to come but there is no going back. Besides, I do not regret doing radiation one bit. Finally, my wise radio-oncologist  also told me the right one "might be smaller" as though it was radiation's fault and I wanted to be like "Thank you Captain Obvious, that one only had an egg size piece of tissue removed. You think that, and not the radiation, might explain the size diference?" Honestly!

I feel like I still have a touch of the chemo brain, but I guess it could also be the tamoxifen. It isn't anything I think anyone else would notice but sometimes I feel like words aren't at the tip of my tongue like they used to be. I have to search longer and harder in my brain to find them. Who knows, that could just be age. I am a well seasoned 32 now. Of course I worry it means the cancer is in my brain, but since no one else seems to be worrying that this is the case I'm trying not to let it get to me too much. The truth is, I was probably always like this but I never worried about it before because I didn't have cancer before.

I'm listing all of my complaints not only to complain (which I do like to do, don't get me wrong) but so that if any one is out there using Dr. Google and finds my blog they can find at least one example of a woman with all sorts of weird after effects that aren't cancer. I always love finding those sorts of examples when I am in the midst of a Dr. Google session, so I thought I'd pass that gift along to the wide interwebs.

Laura: achy, tender, a bit slow in the noggin', cancer-free.

The Internet is Not Your Friend

Okay, I don’t really mean that. I love the internet. It entertains me while I’m at my crappy job. It lets me talk to and see my family. It keeps me up to date on celebrity gossip. But it is also a terrible place filled with scary things. Especially when you google things like “hip pain after breast cancer” and find page after page after page of women talking about how their pain was bone metastasis.

Those pages are so hard to forget.

There are also pages and pages and pages of women who had bone pain and it was bursitis, or arthritis or ….not cancer, but for some reason, those ones fall out of my mind more easily. I’m sure all survivors feel this way at times, that their fate is not the “happily ever after” kind. The chances that my cancer will return and spread outside the breast are low (single digit given my stage and treatment strategy) and yet I see myself in all these women who will not survive cancer. I am haunted by a tiny little number, when I should be focused on the other, much nicer “88% chance of no recurrence” number. Why do I do that? Why am I unable to box up my fears and leave them on a shelf for the day? Why is this hip pain bothering me so much, not physically but emotionally?

Because survivorship is a mindf*ck.

At times I have real feelings of serenity and peace, assured that this cancer crap really is behind me. And in the same day, the same hour, the same minute even, I can feel sheer terror that cancer is at this very minute insidiously making a home in my body, stealing precious time from me.

I think it would be easier to handle if the turns didn’t happen so quickly…maybe. Survivorship is like being on a rollercoaster that you can’t get off; sometimes you love the ride because hey, at least you’re on it and other times you’re sure you’re going to die.

And no one tells you how to deal with this. Doctors never address it. It isn’t part of my medical plan. I talk about hormone therapy and bone scans and blood work with my doctors. I never talk about how I’m doing or how I’m coping.

On the whole, I think I’m doing pretty well. Magically, I managed not to become a total basket case through this whole nightmare. But I’ll never have a day again when I don’t think about cancer.  It is sort of like cancer is this annoying yappy dog who is permanently tied to my arm. Sometimes the dog is quiet and well behaved and I can ignore it. And sometimes is barks fiercely, and I feed it fear, and it grows and gets louder. Even when I'm not talking about it the dog is there: every day, every hour, ever minute.

In case you can’t tell, survivorship is what is most on my mind these days. Some days I’m hopeful (see my previous post). Some days I’m just scared. Mostly, I just want to figure out a way to live in this new reality, preferably in a state of hope and serenity. Worry sucks.

Choose Your Poison

I started this post in a different way. A mopey way. I was outlining all my fears about recurrence or metastasis. Basically, I was whining. Luckily I had the good sense not to subject you all to that.

I realized, “hey, dummy, the more your dwell on those thoughts the more that worry steals your joy.” And cancer has taken quite enough, thank you. It got part of my boob, my really great, beautiful, long, straight hair (can you tell I’m really not over that one) and 8 months of my life. So, I’m going to continue to try to ignore the monkey on my back and instead focus on living. Fully. With joy.

Then I thought about a work lunch I had recently and the internal monologue I had, which I will share with you now.

The other day, the big boss summoned my team for lunch. He gave us ten minutes notice and, let me tell you, attendance was not optional. He was hosting and had chosen a place that served only one thing: blowfish stew. Now, I never really watched The Simpsons but I do remember the episode where Homer thought he had 24 hours to live and it was because he ate this fish. This fish, if it isn’t prepared correctly, can kill you.  Great!

Off we went for lunch. As the only foreigner at work, what I eat and how I handle things is always observed with great interest. Meaning: I couldn’t avoid the stew. Of course, I know I’m being silly. In Korea you have to have a special license to serve this fish and the place we went to has been around for 20 years and they haven’t killed anyone. I mean, rationally, I was safe.

But that is the thing. It’s true for cancer and it’s true for this: knowing something in your rational brain and knowing something in your heart are two very different things. I did not want to eat that fish. I also did not want to embarrass my boss (or myself) by refusing. So I ate the fish. It was tasty, though not so good that I understand why people were willing to risk death for it. As far as fish go, it was mild. For the record, I also ate some swordfish skin. Yep, that was lunch: poison stew, fish skin and kim chi.*

Anyway, I’m getting off track here. The other day, as I was eating this lunch, internally freaking out about ingesting poison I thought about chemo, another poison I willingly took into my body. It's some toxic stuff. You can tell just by the way nurses handle it in the hospital. If it isn’t prepared right or administered correctly there can be some pretty dire consequences. So as I ate this poison fish, I thought to myself, “your body handled chemo, it can definitely handle this.” Of course, I was being extremely dramatic as the fish was safe and toxin free, but you get the idea. In my back pocket is the knowledge that I did chemo, that I did radiation and that I’m still here and I’m still fine.

I’m trying to see this experience as something that can be a source of strength and inspiration for me. Because that is a much more joyful, positive way to live with cancer. Rather than constantly worrying cancer might come back, I have this experience to draw on that tell me I can handle more than I think I can. So whether it is eating some fish I’m scared of, or dealing with something bigger, it is surprising how often I draw on that time. And that, I think, is a better way to reflect on cancer.

* I feel a deep responsibility to point out that most of the time I LOVE Korean food. I love kim chi, I just like to eat it with rice, or sundubu not fish skin. Anyway, my point is, it’s delicious 95% of the time. Don’t think because I’m complaining about one lunch that you should avoid Korean food; that would be tragic.

Hair Growth After Chemo (Part II) - It's been Almost a Year

One of my most popular blog posts is the one I did in April, talking about hair regrowth. I remember doing search after search after search when I was bald, scouring the interent looking for answers or guides for what I might have in 2 months, 6 months, a year.

So, this post will be dedicated to giving you an overview of a year. (Well, almost a year.)

I finished chemo on December 20, 2011. Most people say hair will start to grow back 5-8 weeks after your last treatment. I had a bit of fuzz at the beginning of February but I wasn't going around without a hat or a wig until mid to late March. It is possible I started wearing my hair out much sooner than others would. I just couldn't stand the wig - even though I'm sure no one noticed I was always worried that they would. At least with my real hair, there was no lying or hiding. Plus, it was kind of liberating to wear short hair and so, so, so easy to do.

Since most of my photos happen on vacation, you will also be getting a small tour of my trips this past year.

April 2012 - 4 months after last chemo

It is short, it is still straight and it is maybe a tiny bit lighter than my old hair. (That is a giant panda in the background. We're in Hong Kong!)

May 2012 - 5 months after last chemo

I actually quite liked this length, though I do think at the beginning my hair grew more slowly than I was used to. This was mid-May, about 4 weeks after the photo above. I'd cut my hair once in between.

I've cut my hair about 4 times since it has started growing. Although I want long hair back I also want nice hair while it is growing. I'm willing to wait a bit longer for length if it means I take a more stylish path to get there. Obviously the choice is yours, but I'd recommend my approach.

June 2012 - 6 months after last chemo

Taken at an amusement park after riding many rides. Please note the carefree, windblown look. Also note, the hint of curls. There will be many more to come!

I'd had another cut in between here and the last photo. I don't know why but the hair at the back of my head grows way faster than the front. I guess I'm biologically prone to mullets? Luckily, I promise to fight against that nature until the day I die. Well, unless mullets become super fashionable again but man, I hope that doesn't happen.

August 2012 - 8 months after chemo

Curls! I have no idea how to deal with them. Here is my advice - find a good hair product (I use about 3) and find headbands. Headbands make a world of difference.

This isn't the best example, but it is one of the few sans-Paul. 

October 2012 - 10 months after chemo

I'm telling you - HEADBANDS! They manage volume and make the curls work. I go out without them, but I think I look better with them. At this point, my hair is still a bit too short to straighten.

November 2012 - 11 months after chemo

This was my first attempt at straightening my hair. I've managed to get it so it doesn't flip out quite so much but that really depends on how much my hair is willing to cooperate on any given day. This takes longer but I can get more days out of it. Curly-haired bed head is pretty insane.

So, there you have it. An 11 month overview of cancer hair. I think I thought it would be longer by now. Or maybe, more honestly, I had no idea how short five inches really was. I think my hair grows about half an inch a month. That is probably pretty standard.

Koreans say that if you want you hair to grow you should spend a lot of time thinking about sex. Seriously! They tease people who have fast growing hair, implying they are dirty minded. I don't know if this little trick works, but hey, if you're desperate for growth any thing you can do, right?