Why so serious? Also, MY HAIR!!!!!!!

When I started this blog, the whole goal was to be as lighthearted as one can be about cancer. I think I'm funny (sometimes, I'm the only one), why not then try to put that humor to some use. But it seems, lately, that I've fallen off that path a bit. I feel my last few blogs have been less funny that I might like them to be. Maybe that is good because the truth is cancer really isn't funny and while this blog may have often tried to be upbeat and optimistic, there were many days and nights when I was not. This is still something I wrestle with.

All that being said, I like trying to see the humor in cancer. I like being a bit of an observer, and trying to step back from my life to survey it and see what about it is absurd enough to be amusing. There is no new story about the absurdity of cancer, but there is still my hair. Oh my hair!

It is going to be curly. Well, it already is curly. Insanely so. I have no idea how to deal with curly hair. Most people with curly hair have an extremely awkward phase beginning around 10 (I'd guess) and hopefully ending by 17. By then, they've figured out some way to deal with their curly hair and often their curls look lovely. I get to have that phase at 31. I can only hope mine does not last 7 years.

I'm hoping that once I get another inch my hair won't be as puffy and will maybe settle in to being just nice and curly. This is probably false logic - I suspect I have a way to go. This is a photo from a few days ago. I had actually done my hair, but then I went out in the humidity.

Yes, I go out in public looking like this. I don't know why but the hair in the middle of my head really just wants to stand up. You can't tell, but there is a headband in there too. It is not yet long enough for barretts or bobby pins, but I keep checking.

This was taken this morning. I haven't really done my hair except to use it to dry my hands after washing them. Is that something you should admit to doing on the internet? Using you hair as a paper towel? Either way, it looks fine but I also haven't braved the humidity.

Here is one from the side:

That is some serious curl. What is a girl to do? I'm not even saying I hate it, and I know I should be grateful to just have hair blah blah blah (people say that to me all the time and I get it, I get it, but how would you like it if you had to be bald for 6 months and then after, when your hair came back, it was a stranger's hair and it was going to take twice as long to grow out because it was curly? I'm not sure you would be as grateful as you seem to think I should be. That's all I'm sayin' - rant over.) I'm just really not sure how the next few months will play out. Or how many of them I will spend looking like a grade 8 yearbook photo. You know the kind: where it is obvious the girl is really trying to look her best, she just hasn't quite figured out how to do that and instead looks sort of awkward. But she is probably really nice, so that counts for something. 

Hey, at least I'm not being revisited by teenage acne! In fact, I think chemo was quite good for my skin. Or they are unrelated. Who knows. Anyway, that's all the news that is fit to print from my neck of the woods. And it is all to do with vanity! Shame on me.

On Life and Death and Cancer

People have asked how the diagnosis has changed or affected my thoughts on death, and life. In some ways, I feel it is too soon to tell. I often find that I feel like cancer is this thing that happened to someone else. I went away for 7 months and in my place was another Laura, who went through all those terrible tests and the more terrible period of waiting that followed, who went to chemo and felt sick, who lost her hair. That Laura had cancer. I'm just a girl with a sassy, short hair cut.

I have these moments of revelation, probably once a day, where a voice in my head whispers, "you really had cancer, that really happened." At the oddest of times, while washing dishes, or looking at the beautiful temples of Angor Wat. Hardly ever while looking at my short haired self in the mirror.

The voice whispers other things; sometimes she isn't very kind. She thinks every ache is cancer, ever tremor is a permanent side effect of chemotherapy. She's my least favorite part of myself, the part that is too willing to be negative and wallow in self-pity. I guess she too is like a cancer, a cancer that I have to keep at bay. How to do that is something I'm still figuring out but I certainly don't want to give her room to grow and spread.

I wonder if other people who've been though similar experiences feel this splitting of their personality. On the one hand, I really feel exactly the same. I came through this an unchanged person. The person who existed before the diagnosis is still very much here except....she has a visitor. The whispering visitor, I'll call her. I now have moments where I feel like I am outside myself and inside myself at the same time. And the me outside myself is whispering about how the places I'm in or the people I'm with will still be there whether I am or not. She is telling me about how life will go on, without me in it. How my husband will continue to do the mundane, like go out for meals; how my sister will continue to go to work and cut hair; how my parents will still sit in their backyard on the deck, chatting away warm summer evenings. How everyone and everything I love will still be here, even when I am not. It is comforting and it is distressing. I want those lives to go on, to be happy and joyous and the thought that they will even if I'm not here to see them brings me comfort. But the though of my life without me...I don't care for those thoughts much.

My life has changed and it isn't just because of the whispering visitor. Right after my diagnosis, in the minutes after hearing the news, while walking down the hill from the hospital to catch a cab I cannot tell you how clear and vivid everything looked. Even as I contemplated what I had just been told, another part of my brain was noting how bright the colours were, how sharp the edges of things looked. I don't think I've ever seen more clearly. I still have flashes of this. Moments where I feel like I am looking though different eyes. The world literally looks different. Not all the time, not permanently, but for fleeting minutes it looks different. I would even say it looks more beautiful.

So I guess cancer gives gifts too; not nearly as many as it takes, but cancer can show you beauty you didn't see before or give you gratitude for how lucky you've been in ways you didn't always think to acknowledge. I didn't realize that something so horrible could also make space for positivity. Before my diagnosis I always figured I would just shut down and lay in bed if I ever got such terrible news. I know now that isn't the case; that I can face adversity and still see all the ways it can be amusing. That is certainly a gift.

Sadly, the one thing cancer hasn't changed is my ability to procrastinate and waste time (particularly on the internet). I had hoped this would be one of those things that would change, that I would start "carpe diem-ing" all over the place but I guess some personality traits run a little deeper than pesky cancer cells. Oh well, there is always tomorrow!

Hair Regrowth After Chemo

I've been thinking about the blog hiatus, in light of some of the things that people have said to me. The one that resonated most was the idea that the blog should go on, if only to show that there is life after cancer (thanks Maegan). I'm not making any promises about how often I'll write, but perhaps a "hiatus" is too strong.

Besides, I did think of one more thing I could post about. Aside from worrying about every little ache and pain being something very bad (the internet and my mom say I shouldn't do that), my new obsession is my hair. Is it growing? I mean, logically, I know it is growing. But I live with this head every day, I see it every day, so I forget that it is changing. Also, patience is not one of my virtues, and I want style-able hair back. Now.

Paul and I were going to do a photo of the day to track progress, but soon that turned into a photo of the week and then a "hey, the camera is next to you, can you take a photo of my head" sort of thing. We have not been diligent. However, I do have some progress to show.

First, let's begin with where I started. At the time I thought I was looking pretty good, all things considered. And I guess that is still true. I just didn't realize how sick I looked. It was a gradual decline too, so I had time to get used to my new look, which I suppose is why I didn't think I looked THAT sick. Anyway, here is a photo from January 25th.

You will note my obvious baldness, though at this point I was staring to sprout a bit. Yes, I was actually balder than this, if you can believe that. Also, at that point my eyebrows were actually just shadows formed by the muscles that make them move and I had no eyelashes. Well, I might have had three eyelashes. Some did hang on to the bitter end, bless them!

So, fast forward about 2 months, give or take a few days to....

And one from the front:

I think I look considerably better (I'm also wearing makeup in these later photos which is cheating, I know). Now, I'm not saying I'm keeping this look but I don't hate it. It is pretty much the easiest hairstyle I've ever had, so there is that. I'm still anxious for a bit more length but I've been going out sans wig for about 4 weeks now.

I point this out so that if anyone out there is reading this and wondering what their hair future is, this might be a glimpse of it. I was anxious to stop wearing a wig as it made me feel like a big old liar pants. I'm pretty sure no one could tell but I was always worrying that they would notice. At least this is honest, even if it is very short! Besides, wigs are not comfortable. At least, mine wasn't. I really do prefer this, though I wouldn't mind a few more inches. All in good time, I suppose.

"Be well, do good work, and keep in touch." ~Garrison Keillor

It's been one month since I finished active treatment. Writing a blog about cancer when you don't have it anymore isn't as easy as you might think. I'm torn about continuing. I've loved writing this blog and I really feel it has been a form of therapy for me but I'm not quite sure where it goes from here. Monthly entries checking in to tell you all I'm still kicking? That seems rather macabre.

Many people have asked me how I've coped so well with a cancer diagnosis. I've had many people say to me that they never could have done what I've done, which I just don't believe. You really don't know how you will react until you are faced with a situation and then, you'll soon find that you don't really have a choice in the matter. I had to deal with cancer (or not, and just wait to die - no thanks!). All the choice I had was in trying to be as positive as I could be. For me, knowing I had an audience that would read what I wrote was helpful. I thought of you all as I went through this.

From the beginning I wondered how I could explain this experience in a way that people I love, who couldn't be here, would understand it. How could I make cancer less scary for you and hopefully, at the same time, for me. That is what this blog has really been about: sharing my experience, letting people know I'm doing okay, and if I'm really lucky, helping other women or their families who are facing a similar diagnosis.

But now, aside from the 6 month check-ins, I don't have the wealth of source material I once did. I'm so grateful that this is the case, but it still doesn't resolve the "cancer blog without cancer" issue. So, for now,  I'm putting Boobey Trapped on hiatus. What does that mean? It means that I'm not going to update very often. I'll try to stop by and update occasionally, about tests or thoughts on cancer and life, but it certainly isn't likely to be as regularly as it once was.

For those of you who stumble upon this blog because you have been diagnosed, please don't worry about the fact that I'm not writing. I hated finding blogs about women with breast cancer that just ended. I, being the eternal pessimist, always worried that this meant something bad for the woman who had written the blog and often that made me very worried for myself. Try not to worry as much I do. Instead, you should assume that I am off, living a happy, active, cancer free life and therefore can't be bothered to write in my old blog. It's the likeliest option anyway.

Remission is a Beautiful Word

I got the results from all my tests and everything looks good. This is extra good news, since I had a biopsy last week on another lump and it was giving me worry. Well that, and the fact that people are poking around in my insides looking for cancer.

On the 6th, I had blood work, a chest x-ray, a chest ultrasound, an abdomen ultrasound and a bone scan.  During the chest ultrasound the tech noticed that one of the lumps in my non-cancer boob had grown. It still looked benign (based on shape) but since it had grown, they wanted to check it. She did a fine needle aspiration in the hospital and pulled out what I can only describe as "black gunk". Her exact words: "I was not expecting that." Well, awesome. This story loses some drama, as you know everything turns out fine, but I didn't know that then. She said they would send it to the lab to test, just to be safe, and I got to spend a week worrying.

In truth I wasn't super worried. I knew the lumps were there, I knew they had been pretty closely examined back in September (MRI, mammogram, ultrasound) and I knew that in all likelihood, the test would come back benign. However, knowing something in your head and knowing something in your heart is not the same thing. Just like I knew that my odds of a reoccurrence, especially this close to finishing treatment, were low but I was still worrying about cancer being all over my body.

The past week has been long and I have been worried. I have combed the internet looking for answers I know it cannot give me. All I could do was wait, and I didn't want to write until I had something to say. I hoped it would be something good, and thankfully, it is.

I met with both my chemo oncologist and my surgeon today, who both had the same good news. Oddly enough, my surgeon never remembers me, but as soon as he sees Paul, he lights up. Today he actually said, when he laid eyes on Paul, "ah, now I know who you are." I mean, honestly, how many foreign women is this guy treating? Aren't I enough? Apparently, no. This isn't very good for my ego.

They do want to do some follow up on the lump in three months but it isn't cancer. He couldn't name it, but he isn't worried. There are many kinds of lumps that can make homes in boobs and I'm just glad this one had the good sense not to be cancer - I did not want to go down that path again. I had the realization today, that at least in the short term, I'm probably not going to be one of those "it's probably nothing" patients. Everything will be investigated and followed. In general, it's nice to know that people are keeping eyes out for problems; I just wish I wasn't in a position where a lookout was required. However, let's not dwell on that.

Tonight I'm focusing on the fact that I'm cancer-free and I have been for six months. The plan now: stay that way. Are you listening boobs? I will cut you off if you can't abide my rules!

Tamoxi-fun? (also known as Tamoxifen)

I started hormone therapy about the same time I started radiation. Of the two radiation seemed more immediately severe but that isn't to say I wasn't worried about tamoxifen. In fact, I had a full-blown melt down the night I had to start it. You see, I'd had the misfortune of reading the internet.

I need to remind myself that often people that comment and post on the internet are there because they have an axe to grind. They want to complain and they want people to listen. I'm not saying that isn't valid or even that people shouldn't do that, it's just that when you start doing research about the drug you have to take for the next FIVE years and everyone on every message board is talking about how it is ruining their lives, you start to worry. I was imagining the next five years being a slightly better version of the 4 months of (mostly) hell I'd just completed and trying to tell myself that even a shitty five years was better than no years at all. This was of little consolation.  So what did I do? Well, I cried, a lot. I felt sorry for myself. I whined while Paul dutifully listened. And then, I took the pill.

I got some great advice when I first started taking it, which I will pass along. I take the drug just before bed. I heard through the grapevine of cancer connections that doing this seems to make the side effects much less noticeable. I don't know if I'm just lucky or if this bedtime thing really is the key but tamoxifen (for me, at least) is hardly noticeable. The list of potential side effects is long and depressing. I won't get into it here, you can find that list easily in many places across the internet. I'm just here to say that there is one woman out there taking this drug who isn't having any noticeable side effects. I mean, I think I've had some hot flashes/flushes/whatever the hell they are called, but I can't really be sure. For someone who is always really cold, these bursts of heat have actually been kind of a nice change. And I read somewhere that tamoxifen interacts with grapefruit so that is off the table, literally, for the next five years.

All in all, this has been a great relief. I'd like to say in the future I will wait to have freak outs until I actually have something to worry about, but we all know that just isn't going to happen. Case in point - I have my first round of investigative medical testing on the 6th (totally normal and just to check in, by the way) and I'm already worrying. Even though I'm in a pretty good spot, with pretty good odds. I guess some things never change.

Done

I'm extremely glad to say that I am done radiation and no longer in active treatment!!!! I had my last treatment on Tuesday and yesterday the Ambassador and his assistant hosted a party for me to celebrate.

I know it is a weird thing to say, but in addition to being very glad, I also have a bittersweet feeling. It wasn't that I enjoyed radiation but while doing it I felt like I was being active in dealing with cancer. Now, I've moved into the "wait and see" part of the cancer journey. Hopefully this part is a lot of waiting and no seeing, but either way I have to start getting used to this new worldview. I'm on the other side of cancer now. I know what it is like to be told that you have cancer, I know how terrifying it is to sit across from a doctor and hear those words. I know how shitty it is to deal with treatment; the slash, poison, burn approach that is currently the norm. Worst of all, I know what it feels like to really think about your own death - not in the abstract way that I think we all do, but to really contemplate the reality of your own mortality and the fact that the end may come much sooner than you had ever anticipated.

Don't worry, I won't leave you on that note. There is a bright side. For me, this is the bright side: cancer is life changing but for me it did not become a catalyst for wanting to make change in my life. Why is that a good thing, you ask? Because it means I'm actually really happy in my life. There isn't much I would change. I have a husband and family I love and LIKE. I have great friends. I have a comfortable life filled with love. Sure, day to day I'm trying to live more fully (or I will be now that I feel better) but in the big picture sort of way, this wasn't a wake up call except to highlight to me how much I value my life and everyone in it.

Although I don't want to die tomorrow, if I did, I would leave behind very few regrets, save for the regret of the years I would miss with those I love. I can't think of a better way to live my life, or a better regret to have.