liveblogging from BlogHer part 2: compromised

We just finished an icebreaker session that left my head spinning. I really need to get business cards. I may be the only one here without them.

And I know I'm mad at Yahoo(they capitulated to outrageous censorship and oppression in China) but I just grabbed some swag (paper clips and jelly beans), as well as a free Americano. Apparently, I can be bought, when decent coffee is involved.

I am now attending a session on online communities.

wish u were here (first post from BlogHer)

What the fuck am I doing here?

I am back in high school, except less confident. I have become such an introvert.

The one person to whom I told the title of my blog, said, "That's heavy." (I replied that no, it's not).

So...I really do miss you, my online homies. I miss my IRL ('in real life') friends and family but it's my online community, the folks who always have my virtual back who I wish were here.

Especially, my sister activist, smartass, creative cancer bloggers.

Ok, so it's only 9:30. You can laugh at me when I have settled in and am doing fine.

But right now, I am freaking out.

i love chicago

And I have a crick in my neck from looking up at all the beautiful buildings. I promise to write a lengthier report (with pics) in the near future, but this is what we've been up to:,

Yesterday, while functioning on very little sleep, we went on an architectural boat tour and hung out in Millenium Park.

Today, we went to the amazing Art Instituteof Chicago and had an indescribable meal at Frontera Grill.

I am full, happy and tired.

update to 10 seconds

It occurred to me in the wee hours (my body is still very confused, having awakened at 4:00 am yesterday) that if I had written my blurb two years ago, a mention of my work would have been near the top of my list.

I was definitely someone who defined myself by the work I did (research/communications for a public sector union).

Cancer has made me re-define myself.

I miss working.

But the silver lining here (other than a renewed appreciation for the myriad other good things in my life) is that if it weren't for the cancer I would not have re-discovered my love for writing.

Which is something else I should have mentioned in my 10 second blurb.

10 seconds for BlogHer

blogme2007

My friends gave me this trip to Chicago as a 40th birthday present.

My birthday is on August 4th.

I am a full-time cancer patient, living a really full life.

I have been with my spouse for more than 16 years.

It was NOT love at first sight.

I must not have been wearing my glasses.

My sons are as different as two boys can be, except that they are both brilliant, beautiful and loving.

They also drive me crazy and I love them to distraction.

I love Scrabble, wine, dark chocolate, knitting and a really good book.

I love the way my dog smells.

I am completely bilingual in French and English.

I am happy.

This was more than 10 seconds.

chicago bound!

I am writing from a hotel near the Toronto airport. The kids are with Grandma and my spouse and I leave for the airport before dawn. We are both going on points, on different flights and to and from different terminals. Should make for some interesting logistics on almost no sleep (I am anticipating insomnia. Perhaps I will be proven wrong).

T. will be with me until Friday when BlogHer begins!

I can't believe I am going.

I am a very lucky person.

incremental renewal

So the question I have been asking myself since my amazing CT report is "What now?" How is my life going to change? What does this mean for my future?

I'll no more (I hope) when I next see my medical oncologist on August 15th. I do know that I will be continuing chemo (I am hoping, although no one has promised me anything, for this reduced schedule to continue) and that we are still assuming I have cancer.

Everything has changed yet nothing has changed. I have found myself asking, once again, "Is that all there is?"

I need to feel like I am moving forward. And, so I decided to re-commit myself to becoming as fit, strong and healthy as I possibly can.

Many things have changed in recent months, in terms of how I take care of myself. And I have a naturopath, a physiotherapist and a massage therapist who all advise me on ways to feel stronger and healthier (and I really do think that they have helped me enormously).

It can be a little overwhelming. I take more supplements (at different times of day) than you can shake a stick at, and have a list of foods (both proscribed and prescribed) several pages long. I have stretches and strengthening exercises (for lymphedema, my frozen shoulder and to develop some strength in my core).

And there is not one day that I have managed to get it all done.

And when I decided to re-commit myself, my track record on these matters actually got worse.

Clearly, a new approach was needed. I decided to implement changes gradually, on a weekly basis.

This week, I decided to ban salt (bad for lymphedema) and sugar (it's pretty much poison) from my diet. This wasn't so hard to do, since I don't count dark chocolate and both sucanat and maple syrup are permitted in small quantities (although I don't think the container of organic maple yogurt I ate counts as a small quantity). I also remembered all of my supplements almost every day.

I also promised myself to do the stretching exercises prescribed by my physiotherapist. I was somewhat succesful, in that I did more stretching than I have been doing (which is none). I did not meet my goal of stretching every day.

Next week, I commit to continuing the above and to eat seven servings of vegetables every day (I have not been doing to badly at this, but I suspect that this will be much more of a challenge when I am away from home). I will also implement the new, Pilates based exercise programme my physio has put together (we are starting slowly but this will be a major accomplishment to achieve while travelling.

Why am I telling you this? Because, as with the yarn diet, I need you to keep me honest.

I'll let you know how I do.

can you guess what this is?

Note to self: Write blog post before goofy with exhaustion.

milestone

My baby packed his bag and hit the road today.

My nine year old son, ready for a playdate and sleepover at his friend's house, packed his own overnight gear (with some prompting from me, "Toothbrush? Underwear? Stuffed animals?"), stuck his helmet on his head, hopped on his bike and rode off.

"Bye! See you tomorrow!"

He was adamant that I not accompany him.

I told him to call when he got there.

I rushed into the house and called his friend, "S. is on his way. Make sure he phones me as soon as he arrives."

Five minutes later, he did (it was only six blocks, after all).

He was fine.

I, on the other hand, am a little traumatized.

anxious

I've been feeling a low level anxiety for the last few days.

I'm not sure if I am unsure about my future, waiting for the other shoe to drop or simply stressed that my sweetie's passport has not yet arrived in advance of our trip to Chicago.

Last night I felt stuck in a loop. I can't remember the dream I kept having but I kept waking up in a panic, calming myself down and then having the same dream again. I woke up exhausted.

I was too exasperated distracted during the day by the antics of two nine year old boys ("Please close the door before the cat gets out. Please close the door. Indoor voices, please. I don't want to talk about vomit. Please don't talk with your mouth full. Stop spraying the cat with the water bottle. I really don't want to talk about vomit. No, you can't play with the paper shredder. I will give you ice cream , if you go eat it outside and leave me alone") but this evening the funny feeling returned to the pit of my stomach.

It helped to knit in front of the television tonight (although please remind me never to watch Law and Order, SVU again, no matter how desperate I am); I find the process very soothing. My mitered squares are perfect and relaxing (each little square is a satisfying project unto itself. If I never get around to sewing, I'll have 120 beautiful pot holders).

And, now I am off to bed (much too late). I am hoping for a dreamless and uninterrupted sleep.

faces

I love this pic, with my face and my son's in profile and our friend in the painting looking over our shoulders.

I also love how shaggy my hair looks. I have hair!

And new specs.

I love the relationship captured in this moment.

And I love how healthy I look.

a storied week end

First story:

"Play with me!"

The call came at 7:00 am on Saturday morning. I dragged myself out of bed (D.'s big brother was at a sleepover, so I couldn't bribe him to look after his younger sibling).

"What do you want to play?", I asked wearily.

"Uncle Wiggily," came the reply.

I groaned. This game, which consists of moving a plastic rabbit along a path (the pieces are moved along based on the number on a card drawn by the player. Each card also has a poem that D. insists we read. Every time) has been played many, many, many times of late.

I played dutifully, if somewhat grudgingly, and definitely groggily. D. asked about one of the characters on the board and I remembered that a booklet, lost long ago, with a story had come with the game.

I googled Uncle Wiggily and found a link to a trove of stories, courtesy of Project Gutenberg. There are thirty-one Uncle Wiggly stories (they were written by Howard R. Garis).

And we started to read, no video, not even any pictures, just the sound of my voice as we cuddled on the couch. At the end of each story (which is always a cliffhanger), D. would ask for another. We broke for breakfast, then read a few more.

We had an amazing morning, filled with stories written for children ninety-five years ago.

Second story:

Saturdays are library days in my house. Usually, this is something that D. and I do but this past week end, my older son and his best friend decided to come along.

I left the older boys to peruse the graphic novels (and I have to share that an elderly gentleman went out of his way to let me know how polite they were) while I took D. to the children's section.

After we'd checked out our books, we sat at a picnic table outside the library, with the older boys on one side pouring over their haul, and D. and I with our backs to them on the other, reading a book about hockey. The dog lay contentedly at my feet.

It was a lovely tableau (and the looks on the faces of passersby confirmed this).

Third (and final) story:

Yesterday, my older son, S. and I went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (in IMAX and 3D!).

I honestly thought this was everything a movie should be. Fun, engrossing, beautiful. The time flew by. I looked over at one point (during the 3D part) and saw my nine year old son, reaching out to grab at an object on the screen. It really did feel that real.

We are very much looking forward to the publication of the final book, next week.

I have loved books and their stories for as long as I can remember. And I am so pleased and proud that my children (and my spouse) love reading as much as I do.

treated and home

And stoned.

My counts were just high enough today to go ahead.

As usual, the Demerol-Gravol cocktail made me very stoned very fast.

I think it is very amusing for anyone with me, including the oncology nurses.

I fell asleep during treatment, came home and slept for four and a half more hours.

I am still stoned, but happy that I do not need to go back until July 31st.

I will post a more substantial blog when my fingers more readily type the words my brain wants them to.

cancelled

Chemo was cancelled due to low neutrophils (the white blood cells that fight infection) today. I went in by myself for the first time (which was fine, thanks to a borrowed cd player and a talking book) and was, frankly shocked when they sent me home (they won't administer chemotherapy if neutrophils dip below 1.0. Mine were at o.8. And they didn't bother with Herceptin, since I have to go back for chemo anyway).

But now I'm feeling pretty run down and my throat is scratchy. I took the dog out for a walk and couldn't go for more than a few blocks. I am wiped out.

The power of suggestion or am I really run down?

I'll find out tomorrow when I go back to the cancer centre, get bloodwork done again, wait for results and then either go home or get treated.

I'm hoping I get treated, since the rest of the summer has been pretty much plotted out. The kids are in camp when they need to be, off when I will be feeling well and we have planned a couple of getaways (including the trip to Chicago).

I have plans, dammit.

I'll keep you posted.

you overwhelm me

I am overwhelmed by all the good wishes I have received via every possible media in the last couple of days. Thank you so much for your love and support.

After the initial rush of joy at learning my good news, I admit to being numb for the next twenty-four hours or so. I couldn't quite believe that the tumours could be gone. It was also really weird to be shocked by good news for a change.

But the shock has worn off and now I am positively giddy.

And it gets better. My wonderful friends have given me the most amazing birthday present. I was presented today with a cheque that will completely cover all of my BlogHer expenses (and then some). All of them (except for air travel, which, you may recall, was covered by points from my brother-in-law).

I knew that some money was coming (a couple of people had let this slip). I knew that my friends were making it possible for me to go to Chicago.

But I am completely and utterly overwhelmed by your generosity.

I don't have the words to express my gratitude. I am even a little embarrassed.

And very, very touched.

Planning for BlogHer has been very important. The mere act of making a commitment to attend something several months ahead of time felt like a defiance of cancer. I had to plan on being healthy and fit because I had committed to this trip. The very idea got me through some difficult days and nights.

I have the best friends in the world.

holy sh*t

I learned the results from my CT scan today:

"There has been very substantial response to treatment. Widespread metastatic disease to the liver has regressed remarkably...Very significant response to chemotherapy...the remaining parenchymal nodules and evidence of scarring are difficult to evaluate for viable residual disease."

In other words, they could find no evidence of the cancer, just scars to show where the tumours once were.

The doctor who works with my oncologist said, as she passed me the report, "I want to frame this." She was beaming.

This doesn't mean I can quit chemo (or, especially, Herceptin) but it does mean that, at least over the summer, I will go less frequently (receiving treatment every three weeks).

There are very likely still cancer cells in my body but they appear to be impossible to locate, at the moment.

As my doctor said, "This is as good as it gets."

I am in shock, and completely elated. I keep re-reading my ct scan report and have yet to bring myself to tell anyone (my spouse knows, because he was with me). I was very optimistic that I would at least learn that my tumours were stable and was hoping for even better news. But this, honestly, is almost beyond my wildest dreams.

I have some thoughts on why my health has improved so much and how I do feel that there is a two-tiered health care system but I'll save that for another day.

Going to go pinch myself now.

off to the spa

The month-long birthday extravaganza begins today (I am turning 40 on August 4th). I am off to the spa with my friend D. until tomorrow morning. Until then, as a last nod to Canada's birthday (I was a Centennial baby. Canada is one hundred years older than I am), I give you the Yarn Harlot and her Canadian A-Z (that would a to zed, if you don't mind).

Finally, D. started at the day care in his new school today (he starts JK in the fall). To say that he was eager and ready is an understatement. On the way over he made us practice our lines: "You say, 'Have a good day, son.'"

I think my children may watch too much television.

happy belated canada day

Outside of our nation's capital, Canada Day is a pretty laid back affair. Oh, there are fireworks, free concerts, parties and lots, and lots of backyard barbecues, but it all pales in comparison to the festivities in Ottawa.

My adopted home town is, generally speaking, a pretty staid place. But on Canada Day, the city pulls out all the stops. Tens of thousands descend on Parliament Hill (and dozens of satellite venues) to celebrate and thousands more take the partying to the streets (including the two young clean cut guys I saw casually strolling and sharing a doob, as I sat on my friends' front steps in the heart of downtown - across from a very busy park and mere blocks from the city's main cop shop). Everywhere you look, folks are decked out in red and white (I was wearing blue and grey but that's really all that was clean).

To be perfectly honest, I have always found it to be a little much. I think this comes in part from living so close to a university. Having drunken students littering the streets is one thing, but listening to shouted obscenities at four in the morning and the sound of tomatoes hitting my fence (yes, this has happened) is quite another (I shuddered with horror yesterday afternoon when I realized that the frat boys across the street were drinking from pails, then it occurred to me that twenty years ago, I might have been there, drinking with them, and just as oblivious to my neightbours. I was more alternative-crunchy-granola than frat friendly, but I don't think the more progressive epithets made one whit of difference to our long-suffering neighbours).

And the thing, is, I'm kind of uncomfortable with nationalism (this has been reinforced after 16 years of living with a secular Jew who majored in History at university). So many horrific things, around the world and here at home, have been done in the name of nationhood.

However, I am proud to be Canadian. While we have leagues to go until we match the values we purport to espouse (hello aboriginal poverty, residential schools, the Chinese Head Tax, and the incarceration of Japanese Canadians during WWII, to name just a few things for which we have to atone), this country is a pretty good place to live.

There are many things I appreciate about Canada, some intangible (or at least beyond my ability to articulate at this late hour. I'd start with the fact that we're funny and living next to the giant next door gives us a pretty good sense of perspective) and some more concrete (like good beer, great music, gay marriage and the extra letter we throw into a whole bunch of words). Chief among them, though, is our social safety net. It's somewhat tattered for sure, but it's existence is one of the things that defines us.

Life as a cancer patient has really brought this home for me. There have been glitches along the way for sure but generally speaking, the Canadian health care system has been very good to me.
And I am very grateful indeed that I have never had to chose between chemotherapy and feeding my children.

So this is what I wish for Canada, in it's 141st year - a renewal of our commitment to comprehensive health coverage for every Canadian, regardless of where she or he may live. Oh, and a national pharmacare programme (to ensure that prescription drugs are available to all who need them) is long overdue as well.

Happy birthday, Canada!

May the sangria (red like the flag) flow freely and the barbecues be hot for many years to come.

I had a very good time on your birthday this year.

i need to be sexier

I was checking in at the Junky's Wife this morning and learned that if you follow this link, you can find out how your blog would be rated.

The only content standing between me and a G rating, apparently, were references to 'pain' and 'death'.

Apparently they didn't dig back far enough into the archives. What about 'boob'? Or this story, about exotic dancers? I guess this blog isn't very sexy. Or violent.

And why is 'pain' problematic?

yarn diet

I am obsessed with knitted cotton miters.


I have made twelve.

I am avoiding figuring out how many more I need to make. And to sew up.

The yarn has been discontinued (that is why I got it for such a great price), as I found out today when I went to buy more. I could order more of a reasonable substitute (at the risk of boring you, I used Butterfly 3 Aran weight, which is exactly the same as Tahki Cotton Classic II, except that the Cotton Classic II is much more expensive) but instead bought more of the same colours at the closeout sale price.

I will be using nine colours in total (I had planned to use lots more).

But I am happy.

And I have decided to go on a yarn diet. No new purchases for six months (that would be until December 30, or for the rest of 2007). Any new projects need to use yarn from my stash.

Putting it in writing means you'll hold me to it, OK?

but does it have that special odour?

My older son S. gets the photo credit here. J-dog looks decidedly unimpressed with I-dog.

S. and I have been hanging out a fair bit these last couple of days, as school is out. It's been fun. Nine year old boy humour can be a bit contagious though.

a father's love

We are in the middle of a brutal heat wave in Ottawa.

Our air conditioning unit has died. The earliest we can replace it is July 5th.

Last night, at 11:00pm, my spouse was in the kitchen, with the oven on, making granola bars. Our son had asked if he could bring them to his end of school party.

I think he could have been forgiven for insisting that a bag of Doritos would suffice.

He's a very good dad.

separated at birth?

We watched Curse of the Were-Rabbit this evening, as we hid in the basement from the heat. It struck me that our dog bears an uncanny resemblance to Gromit. They look a bit alike (Gromit is a beagle and J-dog is a mutt of uncertain parentage). In demeanour, intelligence and disposition, though, they are eerily similar.

i feel like celebrating

I was very, very tired this morning and went back to bed instead of going to yoga. We'd had a lovely but busy weekend and I woke up exhausted.

I was feeling a little guilty about hanging around in my pajamas until my friend D. asked me what I'd done this week end. Before I'd finished the list (S. had two friends over for a twenty-four hour play date, I walked with D. to the library, out to lunch and then to soccer. On Sunday, we went to the market. I had a physio appointment, we took the kids to the park and then S. and I went for a walk...), I realized exactly why it was that I was so tired.

I gave myself permission to stay in my pajamas until late in the afternoon.

I was in a very good mood this evening. My spouse took D. out to hear some jazz and my friend H. came over with her new dog. We walked S. over to his friend's house (yes, I know it's a school night, but it's almost the end of the year and the boys wanted to watch Doctor Who together) and then strolled a bit before heading back to my house.

It was then that I realized that I felt like celebrating.

We had local strawberries with whipped cream and a bottle of ice wine we had saved from our trip last fall to Niagara on the Lake. We drank the wine in champagne flutes, because that's what you do when you celebrate.

It is only now, as I sit at the computer that I stop to articulate my reasons for celebrating. And I realize that I have too many too count.

My lovely neighbourhood.

My dog's joy in going for a walk.

My son's pride as he held the leash, directed us to his friend's house and greeted the kids he knew along the way.

The way both my sons light up when they see me.

Friends and family who love me.

The fact that I am alive, pain free and able to go for a walk with a dear friend on a hot summer evening.

And aren't fresh strawberries and whipped cream a good reason to celebrate, in their own right?

and the rain came down

Last Friday night, I had a meltdown.

I can count on one hand the number of times I have cried since being diagnosed with breast cancer, in late 2005.

I remember crying after my surgery.

And when my dog died.

And I probably cried when I found out about the metastasis but my memory of that time is clouded by shock, pain and the drugs used to numb it all.

Other than that, there have been a few teary moments but no honest-to-goodness meltdowns.

I was due.

It was a conversation with my spouse that set me off. It wasn't his fault. He merely expressed reservations about a proposed getaway.

Every insecurity I have ever felt about being loveable came to the surface, as well as the emotional toll of how cancer has changed my body.

I felt rejected.

And I dissolved into a sobbing, gasping puddle.

But really, I'd been primed for a meltdown for days.

I had had a very busy week, as I usually do on my weeks 'off' from chemo. By Thursday, when I went to see my physiotherapist, I was running on fumes. She made a casual comment about an aunt who had liver mets, and who'd had a wonderful active life, post-diagnosis. She added, "and she lived another eight or nine years."

I am not yet forty years old.

In eight years, my youngest son will only be twelve.

I will be lucky to live another eight years, and I will likely be in treatment right until the end.

She intended her words as a kindness but they hit me hard. I didn't respond or even dwell much on her comment but it stayed inside me. I was cranky with my naturopath and out of sorts for the next twenty-four hours.

Tension built, the clouds broke and then down came the rain.

Like all good summer storms, though, the air felt lighter after it ended. The sky was a little bluer this week and the sun shone brightly.

My step has been a little lighter, too, even with a chemo treatment.

And, can I say how lucky I am to live with a man who knows what to do in a meltdown, understands why they're necessary and never expects either apology or explanation?

He's even come around on the getaway plans.

content

That is how I feel today. And have for the last several days.

It's the calm after the storm. I'll tell you more about the storm itself later but I'm feeling pretty glad that it blew on through.

Now, I think I'll take a beer out of the fridge, grab my knitting and go watch Intelligence.

Life is good.

no deconstruction needed

I have just started another knitting project. It's another giant undertaking, even bigger than the log-cabin, because I will have to sew pieces together. It's the mitered blanket (although my plans are less ambitious than this example, from the really inspiring Cara, at January One) from Mason-Dixon Knitting.

I don't think I need a psychologist to tell me why I am drawn to projects that will take me a really long time to finish.

I am, after all, an optimist at heart.

of neutrophils and liver functions

I had chemo and Herceptin yesterday. I always drag my ass to the first treatment after my week off. It's especially hard to go into treatment, when I've had a few days to feel like myself.

My head is still fuzzy from the Demerol I take to mitigate the side effects from the Herceptin but, all in all, I could be feeling worse.

I had bloodwork done yesterday, as I always do before chemo. I have become obsessed with the results.

Yesterday's results were interesting.

My neutrophils (the white blood cells that fight in fection) were very low. They were so low, in fact, that if they had been any lower, chemo would have been cancelled (this also helps explain why I have been feeling so tired). The trick over the next week will be to remember my Neupogen injections (all five of them), to wash my hands (and my kids' hands) a lot and to stay away from sick people.

Additionally (and more importantly), all my liver functions were well within the range of normal, for the first time in many months.

I am very pleased about this. I choose to believe that this is a sign that my upcoming CT scan (scheduled for next week) will bring good news as well.

Perhaps, even news of shrinking tumours?

Of course, another report that all is 'stable' would be good. But I'm in the mood to indulge in a little wild optimism.

nine year old boys

I am alone in the house with two very excited pre-pubescent boys right now. They are both lovely people, brilliant, quirky and provide excellent blog fodder.

I was privy to the following conversation on our walk home:

N. (my son's friend): "I'm trying to grow a goatee (strokes his chin and thrusts it forward). How am I doing?"

S.: "I am growing a ponytail. It's been a really long time since I had a hair cut. My hair is so long I need to brush it almost every day and wash it once a week."

Honestly, I have to remind this child (several times) to use soap when he bathes, and he still doesn't always remember.

I can't wait to see what these kids are like as teenagers.

D.

When we left for our walk, you carefully buckled your Horsie into the stroller seat beside you.

You made me stop four times to tell me that Horsie was falling asleep.

You fell asleep.

You awoke suddenly, and called out my name. I stopped and gently asked what you wanted. You said, "I'm ready to go now," and fell back asleep.

When you were really awake, we went for dog food, cat food and chocolate milk at the 'dog cafe'.

The young women who work there fell for your charms. There were lots of marshmallows in your chocolate milk.

You told me that Horsie was thirsty.

I said he could have some water.

You said that Horsie prefers chocolate milk.

I told you that chocolate milk would give Horsie a stomach ache.

You said it would be OK, because Horsie would only have a couple of sips.

I asked you if you planned to drink the rest.

Horsie had to settle for water.

Did I mention that the young women who worked at the store fell for your charms?

You walked all the way home, proudly walking the dog all by yourself.

It took us forty minutes to cover the fifteen minute walk home.

We had a big fight at the busiest intersection because I made you give me the leash and hold onto my hand.

Now, it is after 10:00 and you are still awake.

You just came downstairs. I opened my mouth to scold you but you said, "Mama, I can see the moon out my window. Come see."

We looked at the moon, I kissed you goodnight (yet again) and I tucked you in bed.

You look like me.

You drive me to distraction.

And I love you to distraction.

beats me

How could someone do a google search for "exotic dancers" and end up at my blog?

listening to my body

I hit the wall today.

Had a little bit of insomnia last night and that, on the heels of a hectic week, did me in.

I barely woke when my family did this morning and went back to sleep until 11:30. I spent the day in my pajamas, dressing only in time to walk the dog and pick up my son from school.

I used to push myself way past exhaustion. I can't do that any more.

spent

I had back to back appointments with my physiotherapist (lymphedema has spread to my abdomen. Blech) and my naturopath today.

Then I went for a long walk with my young son via the library:

"Mama? Can I watch Chicken Little when I get home ?" (we got it from the library)

"It will be time for dinner when we get home. You can watch part of it after dinner."

Repeat 764 times. It took forever to get home because I had to keep stopping so I could hear what he was asking (see above).

He does have this new thing he does, that cracks me up.

If he wants to get a person's attention but he doesn't know their name, he addresses them as follows:

"Kid, why are you walking in the street?"

"Man, can I have some apple juice?"

"Guys, can I join your hockey game?"

OK. Maybe I'm just easily amused.

At any rate, I let D. watch the whole damn movie, even though it kept him up way past his bed time.

I was just too tired to move.

what a relief

So it turns out that the "five second rule" has a real basis in science.

I've lost count of the number of times I've picked up a candy off the floor, wiped it on my pants rinsed it off and let one of the boys pop it back into his mouth.

It's not often that rationalization, expedience and reality dovetail so nicely.

blondes get more done?

Sorry for the long silence.

I'm fine. The heat has been slowing me down, though, and, as usual, I have over-committed myself, during this, my week "off" from chemo.

This week includes visits to the dentist (got a mouth guard to stop me from grinding my teeth. It is as attractive as you'd expect, with the added advantage of triggering my gag reflex), passport office (only two hours to be processed and two weeks for it to arrive. I'd been steeling myself for much, much worse), optometrist (my eyes are getting older, and weaker and my astigmatism is worse. New glasses, or at least new lenses, are on the horizon), medical oncologist (routine appointment), vet, physiotherapist, naturopath and my younger son's new day care (he starts school in the fall and is moving to a day care in his new school).

We are also getting estimates for a new air conditioning unit (which has died) and furnace (which will soon).

Oh, and the washing machine broke last week and tomorrow is the earliest we could get a service person in to take a look (and hopefully fix it).

Some of my 'commitments' have been very pleasurable.

We had a long-awaited visit from some lovely friends on the week end. I love them so much and wish their visit had been longer.

Sunday, I had the inaugural meeting of a new book club.

Last night I attended a knitting workshop (very cool. For those who care, I learned how to replace double pointed needles with a circular one, using a 'magic loop.' I was embarrassingly excited).

Tomorrow I am having lunch with a dear friend who I don't think I have seen since the recurrence, due to some ridiculous scheduling conflicts (when my spouse told me that the washing machine service person was coming tomorrow, he unhesitatingly offered to cover me off if this visit conflicts with my lunch with G. T. knows how many times the unexpected has caused us to cancel).

I am also having dinner tomorrow with a group of women with whom have much in common. We are all smart, strong trade unionists. We have all had breast cancer. And we all used to work in the same building (this is the subject of a long-postponed post that I really should crank out soon). We are planning a joint writing project.

Friday, I am taking my older son to the opening day of Fantastic Four.

Finally, I became a blonde today (before you email me about this, I know all about the risks involved in putting chemicals on my head. I chose to get highlights. They used a cap. My naturopath said it was OK. And I needed the lift). No pics, because I broke our camera (the lens is irrevocably damaged from getting wedged between the couch cushions). (And do you think any of the boys I live with even noticed the change? Ha! I really need to see my girlfriends).

I have exhausted myself just typing this.

Much of this was or will be fun. What isn't/wasn't fun is necessary (or needed to happen sooner or later).

And there is still so much more that needs to be done.

And so much more I want to do.

I am feeling a little overwhelmed.

And did I mention that it's really stinking hot here? And humid?

what if?

The story on last night's news about vitamin D really threw me for a loop. I felt quite sick, actually.

Of course, I know that prevention isn't that simple but I can't help asking, "What if?"

purple goodness

I know it looks kind of blue but it's actually the most beautiful shade of purple.

It's Scribble Lace, using a recipe from Mason-Dixon Knitting. It's the simplest of patterns, knit on big needles.

The thin yarn (for those who care) is alpaca that I bought on a crazy trip to Stitches East (near Valley Forge, PA) in October 2002, while pregnant with D. I meant to make him a baby sweater but the years got away from me and it has now become a shawl and this scarf.

The thick yarn was created by the amazing Pocketina, of D.Y.I. not D.I.E.

My kids both clamoured to model for me (and to be on the blog).

I think S. looks quite dashing.


D. was keen but I couldn't get him to stand still.

It gives you some sense of how long the thing is, though. I made it long enough to be wrapped several times around the wearer's neck but it stretched like crazy when I washed and hung it to dry.

This lovely bit of purple-ness is destined to be a present for someone near and dear. I want to keep the thing for myself, I love it so much but I will make myself give it away.

I had better see her wear it.

Lots.

frighteningly funny

I am feeling much better than I usually do on the day after chemo but still pretty tired.

I can't stop thinking, though, about my friend Flippy's recent "Idiot of the Day" post. It's funny, yet pretty scary; an American stereotype, illustrated.

I can tell you, though, having had a recent taste of regular insomnia, I would be ready to string the flag flying car dealer up his own flag pole.

Check it out and let me know what you think.

sleep eludes me

I didn't order a four o'clock wake up call.

Nothing like insomnia to make you go a little (a lot) crazy.

output and input

My neighbourhood has a giant garage sale every year at this time. This year, T. and S. decided that we should participate, something we have never done in the past.

T. wisely, decided that, in order to keep things manageable, we should focus on selling books. Despite my skepticism at the potential for success (we live on the edge of the neighbourhood, surrounded by neighbours who typically don't participate), I soon got into the spirit of things.

The process of culling our books was quite satisfying, although as I type this, I am looking at about 100 books that, although they have been boxed for years, we couldn't bear to sell.

We still managed to put together a respectable assortment, though.


I was impressed with the degree to which T. and S. seemed to be in their element, as they staffed our little table. They both seem to revel in the interactions with people as much of the selling of books.

They made almost fifty dollars, too.

And I am pleased to say that T. resisted selling our backyard table, despite receiving several offers.

S. spent his share on a couple of books that neighbours were selling, along with a Godzilla video and a Good Charlotte cd.

Partway through the morning, D. and I went to check out what our neighbours were selling. People kept giving him stuff. We only went one block and he came back with more than he could carry.


I hope he uses his charisma to do good in the world and not to fleece little old ladies out of their life savings.

dear friends i visited on monday:

Spending time with you is always good for me.

You are not toxic.

much, much love,

L.

much better

Decided to jettison all activities that did not nourish the soul today.

And to eat some chocolate.

I'm feeling much, much better.

toxic

I have been doing my best these last few months to nurture healthy relationships.

And to avoid those that are toxic.

Unfortunately, this cannot always be avoided.

The price I pay for this feels higher than it once did.

I am exhausted today.

And sad.

am i being unreasonable?

I live on a busy intersection.

The Ottawa Senators just won their conference final and are going to the Stanley Cup.

I know this is a big deal.

Is it right that I am feeling really annoyed with the neighbours who are sitting on their front lawn with a sign that reads 'Go Sens Go!' and a big Senators flag and getting drivers to honk their horns while they yell?

I have closed all the windows.

But it is really annoying. And loud.

Am I lacking in civic pride?

do's and don'ts for health care professionals

Do introduce yourself (I once had a doctor come into a room and start writing on my chest without introducing himself).

Don't look horrified when I tell you I have metastatic breast cancer.

Do ask my permission before turning my test/appointment/treatment into a lesson for a student.

Don't talk about me as though I am not in the room.

Don't ask me questions about my treatment that are irrelevant to the procedure being performed and/or outside your sphere of knowledge.

Don't tell me about your aunt/friend/cousin who was unsuccessfully treated for cancer.

Don't tell me that the above mentioned aunt/friend/cousin was unsuccessfully treated with one of the drugs I have told you has been part of my regimen.

Do thank me for my patience, especially if the test/treatment/procedure took twice as long as it normally would because you are still learning how to do it.

i lied

I am not going to blog about the echocardiogram tonight.

My son wore me out.

D. is still awake and I am ready to pass out.

I hope this means he won't be up tomorrow morning at sunrise.

i read a book today

Reading is good. I highly recommend it. See the list of books on the right of this page? I have been logging the books I read at LibraryThing. I have only been entering the books I read this year.

And I haven't included the books I haven't been able to finish (including one I dropped after 350 pages because it was depressing the hell out of me).

This totally satisfies my compulsive list-making tendencies.

I also I had an echocardiogram today.

I'll write about that tomorrow.

a beautiful day

My friend C., my dog, J. and I went for a drive through the Ottawa Valley and a walk in the Shaw Woods today.

We had a late lunch (perogies and cabbage rolls, washed down with a cold beer) here.

I am kicking myself for forgetting to bring my camera. You will have to make do with these links.

The dog and I are both tired and content this evening.

And very grateful to C. for coming up with the idea for this trip and for making it happen (and for knowing about the woods and the perogies).

Chemo tomorrow.

And then a week off.

i don't have cancer

My youngest son, D. and I left the house at 1:30 this afternoon. He rode in the stroller and I pushed him.

We were bound for the library, but as he announced that he was taking a nap, I took the long way and walked for an hour along the canal.

We chose movies and books at the library and then went for pizza slices. I read to him (from the books he'd brought in his backpack) while we ate.

We then moved on to our local fair trade coffee shop for iced green tea with mint (me) and chocolate milk (him). We read the library books on the patio.

Then it was time to make stops for dog treats (for the dog) and a new toothbrush (for D.).

When our errands were done, we went to the park where I chased him around for a while and then chatted with a couple of other moms I know, while he played.

Then we went home for dinner. We had been out for four and a half hours.

After dinner I washed D.'s hair (despite his howls of protest) and then sat with him as he played in the bath. Finally, I dried him off, got him ready for bed, read him two stories and kissed him goodnight.

Does this sound like a day in the life of a cancer patient?

Not to me, it doesn't.




The pics were taken on Thursday evening, when D. opened his birthday present from my mom (it was her first chance to give it to him), a jean jacket and matching jeans.

No child has ever been more thrilled at a gift of clothing. The pictures were taken at his insistence. He calls this his "gangsta" pose.

He has clearly been spending too much time with the teenagers who hang around his home day care (thank goodness they are all really great kids). His first words Friday morning were, " I want to wear my jacket and jeans to show J. and J.," (his caregiver's sons).

When we pointed out that it was going to be way too hot out for the jacket and jeans, he countered with, "But I want to look cool."

He wore both pieces that day and has worn them every day since.

nine quick years

Nine years ago today, I was at home, exhausted and overwhelmed with joy.

My first born, S., makes me so proud to be his mother. He is smart, loving, funny and empathic. And he has a wicked sense of humour.

To be his mother is to constantly be surprised, challenged and to take great joy in watching him grow up.

And we do have fun.

Getting S. to smile in a picture is a challenge but I set out to meet this goal.

Posing him with his present, the complete Season Two of Doctor Who helped to elicit his trademark half-smile.

But what really got to him was when I imitated Pearl from the Landlord ("I want my money!").



I had to throw in a gratuitous shot of my boy and his dad. I love how much they look like each other.

But S. has his mother's eyes.

a song by d.

"I love my Mama
And she is so beautiful.
But she doesn't read me comic books
She reads me books.

I love my Papa, too.
And he reads me comic books
And he reads me books."

every third tuesday

Too stoned too blog.

grossly stable

To paraphrase my ultrasound report, I still have extensive metastasis but my condition is "essentially grossly unchanged."

My other organs are "unremarkable."

There is no fluid buildup.

"IMPRESSION: Grossly stable liver disease."

Jeez, do you you think the radiologist could have qualified her opinions any more ("Please note that it is extremely diffficult to accurately compare between 2 ultrasound studies.")?

I'll take it, though.

My liver functions are pretty close to normal again, too.

So....still don't know what is causing the stitch but it's not bigger tumours eating my liver.

My doctor who works with my oncologist is going to order another CT scan (which can provide a more detailed analysis) but doesn't feel this needs to be done urgently. It will be ordered for a couple of months from now, as part of regular testing (and in lieu of my next ultrasound).

That reassured me as much as anything.

I am very relieved.

And about to pour myself a glass of red wine.

Thank you all so much for your comments, emails and other messages.

You are my support group.

once burned

I have been trying very hard to think positively this week.

This was greatly helped by my naturopath who walked me through a terrrific relaxation exercise. And for the rest of this week, I have been dutifully repeating, "Every day and in ever way, I am getting better and better," along with the more cumbersome, "Negative thoughts and negative feelings do not influence me at any level of my mind."

And it's been working.

Until today.

Today I heard that insistent voice that started as a whisper and built to a roar, the voice that reminds me that I was pretty damn positive when I first went through treatment and before I knew that the cancer had metastasized.

A fat lot of good it did me then.

But it is not helpful to imagine my tumours growing, imagine myself sick from a more toxic chemo regimen, imagine myself dying.

Or to imagine trying to explain to my children that Mama is dying.

Not helpful at all.

Mind you, I do believe in the value of a good meltdown and wish that tears came to me more easily.

But dwelling on the unthinkable does not help me cope with stress.

And there is some evidence that positive thought can actually help with healing.

So....all together now: "Every day and in every way, I am getting better and better."

Ultrasound results tomorrow.

the laws of domesticity

For the last couple of days, I have been consumed with cooking and cleaning.

This is very unlike me.

The enthusiasm will likely wear thin really soon because:

a) in my house, as soon as you turn your back on something you've cleaned, it is messy again and

b) the more I clean and attempt to organize the more overwhelmed I get by all the clutter, crap and random bits of things I do not recognize. It's as though, at some point, a giant came along and took all our stuff (and we have a lot of it) put it all in a bag, shook it up and then distributed it randomly all over the house.

Hopeless.

I think my days as a domestic goddess are numbered.

food, glorious food

Regular readers of this blog (and anyone who has ever spent any time with me) will know that I do not cook.

So it is a very big deal that I roasted a chicken. I know that I have written about doing this before (many months ago) but today I seasoned the thing with garlic (lots), turmeric and thyme and threw in a bunch of potatoes, onions and sweet potatoes.

I also made my own salad dressing (by my own, I mean that I modified a recipe from the Silver Palate cookbook but since I doubled the vinegar and the mustard and added an entire clove of garlic, I would call that improvising wildly), boiled some artichokes and made an avocado, lettuce and tomato salad.

All very simple but pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. And all of it organic (we were gifted with a bin of organic veggies on the week end. I am enjoying this very much and it has inspired me to try new things, hence the boiled artichokes).

When everything was done, I went for a beautiful walk in my favourite spot in Ottawa (check this link out, the photographer, Richard McGuire, does a fabulous job of capturing this beautiful city), with my favourite walking companion.

I worked up a sweat.

He chased some squirrels.

We had a very good time.

I also had a great appointment with my naturopathic doctor today. We talked about food and supplements. I feel safe with her (she takes the care to research each supplement before recommending it and is working with my wonderful medical oncologist) and she doesn't try to overwhelm me with the changes I need to make (and she thinks dark chocolate is good for me).

At the end of the appointment, we did a relaxation and visualization exercise. This is the kind of thing I am usually really bad at but it worked. It really did.

All in all, today was a pretty good day.

And tomorrow I will finish cleaning up the mess I made in the kitchen.

covered in slime

I hate ultrasounds.

It's not just the unpleasantness of lying in a chilly room, covered in cold, goopy, gel.

It's not just the ugly robe and mind-numbing boredom of lying first on my back and then my sides, as I silently obey commands to, "Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out."

What really gets to me is the fact that there is a screen right in front of me that I cannot interpret. A screen that has the answers to whether the tumours in my liver have grown larger. Or if they have started to invade elsewhere.

I hate that the ultrasound technician, a stranger, can interpret the images yet can tell me nothing.

I really hate ultrasounds.

I see the oncologist on Friday. I hope to have results by then.

$87,973.90

Or $78,812 in US dollars. That's how much Jeanne, of the Assertive Cancer Patient (really good blog, check it out) has calculated that her insurance company pays for Herceptin in a year.

Drug companies are evil.

Thank goodness, once again, for socialized medicine.

And, boy, it costs a lot to keep me alive.

heartbreaker

An older woman (she was at least six) said to my four year old son, this evening, "You've stolen my heart."

They had known each other for approximately twenty minutes, as we waited for a big enough table to be ready at Swiss Chalet. She was the manager's daughter and they had been chasing each other around the restaurant foyer.

After we were seated, she came to our table and said, "I wish I could sit beside him."

This kind of thing happens everywhere we go with D. I shudder to think what the future brings. Let's just hope he uses his charisma wisely.

the many faces of four

My baby turned four on Sunday.

Smart, sweet, confident, challenging D.

We watched video of him as a baby today. Even then, he sparkled, a child who knows he is beautiful and loved.

D. is opinionated, tyrannical, loving, adventurous and funny.

I can't believe he's already four.

whiskers on kittens

I came up with this list this morning:

runners' legs

dog snoring

my coffee mug

the smell of lilacs

sunflowers

dark chocolate dipped in coffee

soft, beautiful yarn made from natural fibers

greg brown's voice

the back of my sons' necks

What would be on your list?

sieve

Today, I went to an appointment with my naturopath.

I was early.

Three days early.

Chemo is eating my brain.