A Year in Review

This is a photo taken the night before I got the results from my first biopsy, the night before I found out I really, truly had cancer. We went for a late night walk because I was so restless and needed out of the house. Paul was still confident that this was going to work out in our favour but I was much less convinced. I've never been so stressed out and weary in my entire life. I've gone back to this photo many times in the past year, on days when I felt particularly crappy, and looking at this has been emotional for me. I don't know if everyone sees what I do when I look at this picture, but I feel like this is such window into how I was feeling then. I've gone back to this photo, even at times when I felt really sick or down, because I never felt as bad as I did during this period and knowing that helped. 

It's been a year now. A year and 14 days since I was diagnosed, a year and 5 since Ethel got the boot, on the 20th it will be 9 months since I finished chemo and it has been 7 months since I completed radiation. It's been quite the year. Let's look at the stats shall we....In the past year I've done the following:

Surgery: 2
Biopsy: 3
Chemo: 4
Radiation: 33
Ultrasounds: 6
Xray: 3
Bone Scan: 3
CT Scan: 2
MUGA: 2
Mammogram: 2
Pet Scan: 1
MRI: 1
EKG: 1

I really wish I'd kept a tally on the number of needles I've had because I'd be willing to bet that I am in the low 60s. This is compounded by the fact that chemo seems to have ruined my veins and I have become every nurse's favourite patient to try and get blood from. The nurse who took my blood on the 5th, after a failed attempt at one vein and quite a lot of trouble finding another, filled up a latex glove with hot water and held it on the back of my hand for 5 minutes. This seemed to help and felt quite nice. I hope they do that again in the future.

I've also done this, so it hasn't all been bad:

Canada: 2
Cambodia: 1
Vietnam: 1
Hong Kong: 1
Singapore: 1
Bali: 1
Japan: 1

The best news is, I'm still in remission. My doc said today that most recurrence happens in the first 2-3 years (or at least, it does for my kind of cancer) so I'm glad to be 1/3 to 1/2 way through this period.

The other upside is my hair. One of the harder parts about cancer is looking sick. You look sick for so long and even at times when you feel okay. It is the terrible visual reminder to you and everyone else that something went horribly wrong on your life's path. I can't tell you how happy I am to have my hair back and have it finally look like something that someone could conceivable choose as a hairstyle. Not so much for the vanity of it all, but because I'm no longer a "survivor" or "cancer patient." I'm back to being just Laura. At least, on the outside.

An Ode to Jane

Those of you who read this blog regularly have probably noticed the commenting presence of my good friend Jane. Those of you who know me well know what an important part she has played in my life. I've said it here many times, when it comes to friends and family, I have been abundantly blessed. I hope I have the friends I deserve, but often I think they are better than I deserve. This is especially true when it comes to her.

Maybe it is because it feels like it has been so long since I've seen her and had real, quality time with her, but she is very much on my mind these days. I've been lucky to have some other close friends come through town recently and having them here helped scratch that itch but with her, it has been awhile. We had a rushed visit when I was home after my grandmother passed away, but I long for the days of our childhood and teens, when our time together was never-ending. When we talked about nothing and everything, amused mostly ourselves and generally stayed out of trouble.

It is Jane (aside from my immediate family) who has been in closest contact with me throughout this cancer odyssey. I don't know how she managed but I've felt her presence the most in the last year, even though she is 8000 kilometers away. She was one of the very few people I told before I got the actual news - when I was still in limbo. She has been there for the best days of my life and for some of the darkest.

She recently shared an article about female friendships. So much of what we see and hear about female friendships focuses on women who are not supportive of other women, who are jealous and mean spirited. This has never been my experience. I have always found women to laugh and share with, to prop me up and make me better. If I ever have a daughter, I hope she can have her own Jane.

Jane, who sent me a beautiful card, licorice tea and some nibs at a time when it was the perfect gift. Jane, who is always there to talk about whatever and for however long I need. Jane, who was sadder about my hair loss than even me. Jane, who even when she doesn't share my beliefs or understand them, is willing to put her own on hold and just be there for me. Jane, who is amazing.

Awkward Questions About Babies

Babies. Let's talk about them. Everyone wants to. Paul and I have been married for 2 years so we are now right in prime "when are you two going to have kids?" territory. We understand that we are not getting any younger and that we aren't really spring chickens anymore. My knee reminds me of this daily. But here is the catch - for the next 4.5 years babies are not an option. It would be very, very bad to get pregnant while on tamoxifen. And it is entirely possible that once I'm done tamoxifen, I won't be fertile anyway (thank you chemo).

The baby question was annoying enough before I was diagnosed with cancer. Not everyone wants children (I'm firmly in the "maybe, probably, but I don't know for sure, oh maybe not" camp, by the way) but apparently that isn't a thing people actually admit to. When I say I'm not sure if I want children, the horror that crosses peoples faces....it's like a murdered a puppy before their very eyes.

I mean, I fully understand that people with children love their own children, that they learn about life through them, that they believe that because of their children their world is fuller and more awesome. I get it. But I don't believe that I have to have them. Sure, not having kids means missing out on some stuff. But guess what, having them means missing out on other stuff. In the kids debate, I'm a firm believer that there is no right answer, there is only the answer for you. 

However, it has become very clear to me that this is not the way many other people feel about children. Many people feel YOU MUST HAVE CHILDREN. NOW. I've actually had it suggested to me that I will never be a fully actualized person until I've had children. Yes, someone said that to me once, knowing about my diagnosis, although maybe forgetting about my current inability to breed.

So, pardon me while I roll out my pulpit and lecture you all about what I think you should do, if you like to ask young-ish ladies about their sexy times habits (also, seriously people, asking about babies is basically asking about sex. Yep, I went there.).

1. Ask "are you thinking of having kids?" not "when are you having kids?" if you want to ask. It is a subtle but important difference in the phrasing. One that allows room for the "we're not having children" option.

2. If you get an evasive or indecisive answer to the questions above, do not tell the person "oh but you have to have kids" or "why aren't you trying now" or "you know fertility declines after 35." Sometimes, I don't want to talk about why I can't have kids, and I hate feeling pressured into bringing it up because I have to defend my "choice" to not be pregnant at this moment. 

3. Don't assume that because someone is female and married that they must be desperate for children. Also, don't assume that even if they are desperate for children, that those children are an option.

4. Cancer aside, it is totally okay for a lady not to want babies. That doesn't mean she isn't a real woman, or that she is a bad, selfish person. I can't believe in 2012 I have to write that out but honestly, you would not believe how much I have had to talk about, heck, defend our lack of children since being diagnosed. I sometimes actually feel lucky in that I have an easy out - thanks cancer!

But seriously, number one is probably the most important. You can still totally ask, just don't assume every married couple you know without kids is just one romantic evening away from making a baby. You never know what is really happening in their lives. This world is full of people who don't want children and people who want children and can't have them - I'd bet they all have a very hard time answering questions about "when" not "if".

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.