for Rebecca

The memorial for my friend Rebecca is tomorrow. I won't be able to be there but I will be thinking of her all day. Maybe I'll do something silly and fun. I'll eat good food. I might even sing a little off key, in lieu of taking part in the karaoke that's planned for her celebration.

Because I can't be there, I asked my friends to go out and do something fun and dedicate the memory to Rebecca and let me know. Here are some examples of the the fun and the joy that was experienced as a tribute to her:

Maggie sang with her friends and dedicated the happiest song for Rebecca.

Nat danced in her kitchen to a band called “The Drop-Kick Murphys.”

A friend of Rebecca's went to the beach. She also said that Rebecca taught her “alot about about life.”

Jenny decided not to work late and went for a bike ride along the river. She says Rebecca reminded her that “life is a gift.”

Lee Ann said, “I dedicate my wonderful day on Saturday riding the life sized Thomas the Tank Engine with my 3 year old son Noah to your friend Rebecca. Such simple, beautiful kid fun, seeing this wonder through Noah's eyes.”

Lene thought of Rebecca as she took on a new adventure – her first photographic portrait commission.

Rebecca C. went for a swim with her mother in a moonlit pool. She said, “We were tired and could easily have passed on the opportunity, but in the spirit of your request, I urged us on. Gorgeous night, lovely memory, living in the moment. “

Rachel went to the amusement park and got on the “big bad roller coaster that I have been avoiding.”

Blondie wrote Rebecca's name on her hand and took her, in spirit to a big rock concert and to the state fair. She wrote about facing her fears and having on her blog.

Julie Harrison promised to do something that was “pure fun.”

Kate spent her week end at a horse show and “stayed and watched and cheered.” She said it was “great fun” and dedicated her time to Rebecca and all her friends and family with breast cancer.

Jillian spent the day at the beach with her family.

Tish laughed with friends at a party and with her sister at the gym. She dedicated her laughter to Rebecca.

Karin went for a swim on a hot day, “I watched my kids be brave and have a blast: RJ and RM held hands as they dove to the bottom of the deep end, and CJ rocketed down the slide sans life jacket. Floating in the water, I stopped to think of your friend Rebecca.”

Judy went out to dinner at one of her favourite restaurants and had a sour apple martini.

Jeanne went to the beach of her pups, “one of which is a pitbull named 'Denver'.”

Jojo went sailing on a beautiful lake.

Amanda cuddled and played with her puppy. She added, “yesterday as we worked on a swingset for our kids, I romped with him, talking to him about the pine cones he was chomping and chirping at him as he frolicked. It was incredible to really be present with him. As his red collar winked from between his floppy black and white hair, I was reminded of this post and of your wishes in Rebecca’s honor.”

Jill wrote, “I intend to ride my bike to the top of Mt. Montara within the next week, and when I do, I’ll sit on the little bench overlooking the Pacific and say a prayer for your friend, Rebecca, as well as send up some thanks for her gracing the lives of those who loved her. “

Shallowgal “blew off swim practice” and took her boys out for chilli dogs. She toasted Rebecca over her dinner.

Cait had a fun day with her kids and though about Rebecca as she pushed them on the swing.

Sylvia thought of Rebecca as she watched her daughter jump off the diving board for the very first time.

Darcy toasted Rebecca with friends and family as they gathered as a big group at a cottage with lots of good food and fun.

Celeste thought of Rebecca as she took a vacation with good girlfriends.

Michael paddle-whacked a tennis ball into the lake for his wolf-hound cross named Boo. He's sure that Boo would have loved Diezel.

In memory of Rebecca, Frederica went for a bareback ride on her daughter's pony. She writes, “The real fun started when she started trotting: she was going like a bat out of hell, I was popping up and down like a jackhammer trying to post, grinning from ear to ear.”

Andrea promised to have fun with her daughter.

Deb spent an evening knitting and drinking beer with two good friends.

Cathie tickled her girls, hugged them and rolled around on the floor with them.

Allie “stopped by McFatty for a burger and DQ for a strawberry shake.” She added, “Thinking also of Rebecca's family, of Diezel, and of the joy of a scooter and open roads. Thanks Rebecca for the steady example of choosing well, every day.”

And I went to a dog rescue fundraiser called Take the Plunge. We saw dogs pulling scooters, jumping off a dock into a pool, doing agility runs and just generally milling around. I lost count of the different breeds. The highlight was watching a 10.5 year old pit bull sail off a dock and fly through the air, as his owner fist-pumped in triumph.

Rebecca had a big impact on me. I miss her. I send much love to all those who will gather tomorrow in her memory.

go the (bleep) to sleep. and get up earlier.

I live in a house full of night owls. Left to their own devices, my boys and their father would be up half the night and sleep into the late morning (or later, when it comes to my teenager). I think it's genetic, as many members of Tim's family have the same internal clock.

In contrast to them, I'm practically a morning person. However, I feel my most refreshed and energetic when I regularly sleep between the hours of midnight and 8am.

I don't subscribe to the notion that being an early riser is more virtuous but I do admit that it's more practical (especially when trying to get two kids to school on time in the morning), so for the last couple of weeks, we've all been getting up at 7. The first few days it was painful. It's easier now but I can't say that I feel bright eyed and bushy tailed at any point during the day.

I'm tired. And I'm finding that I'm not getting much more done, because I seem to need more sleep to compensate for getting up earlier.

Will it get any easier? Will my body adjust eventually? What's your internal clock like? Have you tried to change it?

(I edited this post as I sat with my 8 year old. It's 9:30 at night and, despite being tired all day, he's suddenly wide awake and full of energy. Please don't suggest a bed-time routine. We have tried it all.)

just slightly below par

On Wednesday morning, I had an appointment with my oncologist. I had confirmed that we would do it over the phone and kept my phone handy to await is his call.

At 11:00, the nurse who works with Dr. G. called to say that I would be hearing him before the end of the afternoon, thus giving me several hours to work myself into a state of high anxiety. I'd had an echocardiogram and two CT scans on August 29 and I knew that my doc would have the results.

I had no reason (other than history) to believe that the CTs would reveal anything bad and I'd managed to pretty much forget about the results until the day I was to receive them. On that day, I became a nervous wreck. I jumped every time the phone rang and when the call I'd been waiting for finally came through at around 5pm, I was a mess.

My oncologist apologized for the delay, and, as always when I hear his voice, my annoyance and anxiety dissolved. He told me that both CTs were fine. I have lots of scarring on my liver (from the cancer) and a little scaring on my lungs (from the radiation) but that there was no sign of cancer anywhere.

Excellent news.

Then I asked about the echo, which surprised Dr. G. He didn't have the results in front of him and had to go look them up. When he did, he sounded a bit taken aback.

My ejection fraction is at 48%. The normal range starts at 55%, so I'm really just below that but it's enough of a concern to send me to a cardiologist and to cancel next week's treatment.

My concern is not that there is permanent heart damage (although it's a bit freaky to think that my poor heart is a bit over-stressed) because Herceptin damage is usually reversible. My fear is the length of time it will take my heart to bounce back and what my treatment options are in the interim. And what if the toxicity has built up to a sufficient level that long term treatment with Herceptin is no longer viable?

This drug has been my magic potion, the one I credit with my remission and the fact that I'm here today. I'm not ready to think about giving it up.

And I don't have to. Not yet. Going to try and save all my questions for the cardiologist and, in the interim, carry on with my happy, busy life.

Update: I have an appointment with a cardio-oncologist on October 3rd.

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

and so it begins

Received September 6:

Hi Laurie,

Would you be interested in guest blogging for us in October? I have some fun ways to make it a great partnership for both of us AND for the fight against breast cancer. If you're interested, let me know and I'll send you the proposal!

Julia Fikse
Creator/President

Ta-tas® Brand www.savethetatas.com
Laughter Heals® www.laughterhealsgifts.com
Save the Ta-tas Foundation www.savethetatas.org

Sent September 8:

Dear Julia,

No thank you. I suspect that you didn't really look at my blog before making this offer. I have metastatic breast cancer - long past the stage where "saving the ta-tas" is an issue.  I may have lost a ta-ta (despite your best efforts) but I am alive, which is what matters.

Also, while I do  have a pretty good sense of  humour, I don't find your products to be amusing (actually, I find those in the men's section to be distasteful and insensitive). I'd prefer to encourage my readers to donate to organizations that really make a difference and use all the funds (as opposed to 5% of sales) for advocacy, awareness, research and building community.

very sincerely,

Laurie

blowing my own horn

Tomorrow, I will have a featured post on BlogHer.

Also, Judy from Just Enjoy Him (and Mothers With Cancer) really liked my book. And she said some very nice things about it. Since I am in awe of Judy, this meant a whole lot to me.

A little praise goes a long way for this girl. I feel like writing more now.

smiling can't cheat death

I'm a reasonably happy person. And I believe that concentrating on the half full part of the glass has helped me to cope with many aspects of my life, including breast cancer. However, there have been times when a good wallow or a raging tantrum have been just as necessary and cathartic.

And I don't, for even a second, think that people who worried too much, or got mad or who didn't have a positive attitude brought cancer or their own deaths upon themselves. Nor do I believe that temperament or attitude is what causes one person to go into remission and another to succumb to the illness. I find the belief system that blames the patient to be repugnant.

In many ways, cancer is a crap shoot. It helps to have excellent medical care, good nutrition and the resources that help you cope with the disease and the treatments' side effects. But luck plays a big role in survival as well.

I've been thinking about this lately, and so it appears have other women. Yesterday, I stumbled on a great post at Uneasy Pink, by Katie, who, in turn, pointed the way to Coco, guest-posting at Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer. These women really tell it like it is.

Last week, Canada lost Jack Layton, a leader who was, by all accounts active, optimistic and happy. And we lost him way too young. Many media reports used the common phrase "lost his battle with cancer." Jack didn't lose a battle - there was no failure on his part - he got cancer and died. No amount of positive thinking could have changed that.

(Shout out to my friend Sharon, who first used the phrase "tyranny of positive thinking" in my presence. She has kindred spirits out there, too).

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

grateful through my tears

"My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world." - Hon. Jack Layton (1950-2011)

dogs can fly

The day after I wrote the post about my friend Rebecca, I went to Take the Plunge, a fundraiser for local dog rescue organizations. It was a lot of fun. We had the chance to meet many different kinds of dogs and the people who love them. They came in all shapes and sizes, colours and temperaments. We also met a miniature horse and some ferrets. One woman was pushing a cat in a stroller. The cat wasn't strapped in and seemed quite relaxed amidst all the canine chaos.

The central event of the afternoon was the dock diving competition. We watched all kinds of dogs leap after toys into the pool. Some of the dogs needed to be persuaded to get out of the water. Most seemed incredibly pleased with themselves. Everyone - spectators, dogs and their human handlers seemed to be having a wonderful time.

This dog took my breath away:

I thought a lot about Rebecca as I sat in the sun; this was the fun event I had chosen to dedicate to her memory. And then the most incredible thing happened. I watched a pit bull terrier, among all the retrievers and border collies, launch himself off the dock and fly an incredible 18 feet. His owner jumped with joy and fist-pumped the air as she yelled, "Ten and half years old!"

I had goosebumps and tears in my eyes. I thought of my Jasper who didn't make it to his tenth birthday. I thought of Rebecca's pit bull Diezel who is waiting for a new forever home. And I thought of Rebecca and how life is far too short not to enjoy a day in the sun, doing the things we love.

It's not to late to do something fun in Rebecca's memory and let me know. The family is planning a celebration of her life, in accordance with her wishes (they're also asking for suggestions as to what to write on her urn). I'm tracking all the stories you send me and compiling them for the family. I'll eventually publish the list here too.

do me a favour: honour my friend by having some fun

My friend Rebecca died this week. She was all of 37 years old (if I've done the math right) and she had metastatic breast cancer. She was also one of the funniest people in my online community. She was also generous, straigtforward and honest. My heart goes out to her friends and family - the people she loved, wrote about and who knew her best.

Rebecca left strict instructions that we were to shed no tears after her passing (I'm afraid I've let her down on that front but I've been doing my best) and that, instead of a funeral she wanted a celebration of her life. I'd love to join the party and to hear the stories that those closest to her would be bound to share. Because Rebecca took her fun seriously.

I won't be able to attend the celebration (Rebecca lived in Cape Cod) but I would like to do something. And I need your help.

1. In the next week or so, please go out and do something fun. Do anything at all, as long as it makes you happy. If you need inspiration, Rebecca loved dogs (especially her pit bull, Diezel), cooking, eating out (her restaurant reviews were among my favourite blog posts), her scooter, her little car, road trips, NASCAR, kick boxing, books, funny movies and music. If none of these things appeal to you, please go out and do your own thing. If you like, bring someone with you to join in the fun.

2. Let me know. You can leave me a comment on this blog, send me an email (laurie dot kingston at gmail dot com) or message me on Twitter (I'm @lauriek). Just a few words to let me know what fun thing you did in Rebecca's memory. I'll compile a list and make sure that it gets to her family.

That's it. It already makes me feel happier, thinking that there will be a little more joy in the world this week. I think Rebecca would approve.

brain scanned

Update: My brain is perfectly normal. I'd still like to see the pictures but normal is very, very good.

I had a routine brain scan today, my first in two years. 

It was pretty uneventful (they got the vein for the contrast dye on the first poke) and was over relatively quickly.

I can call for results in a week or so. And I'll probably be told that everything is fine.

I wish things were like in the movies, though and a few minutes after the test, a doctor would look at the images and then we'd discuss them.

I never get to see the pictures. Wouldn't you like to see images of your brain?

This is Patrick Denker's brain. I would like to see mine.

the good things about being Canadian

Today is Canada Day.

I've been feeling pretty out of sorts about my country lately, for a whole bunch of reasons (the most recent of which is our opposition to listing asbestos as a banned substance at the United Nations. Asbestos is a known cause of cancer. This kind of cancer is solely caused by asbestos. Asbestos is banned in Canada. But we still export the stuff. So it's OK to give people in other countries cancer. Shameful.)

And I really don't care about the Royal Visit.

I've only been to Parliament Hill once on Canada Day and that was more than twenty years ago, before I lived in Ottawa.

I'll be spending the day on the road, in advance of an important family event in Toronto. We'll be listening to talking books, breaking up fights between the kids and trying to convince the dog to stay in the back with the suitcases. And I won't feel like I'm missing anything.

But I am a proud Canadian, despite my country's bad choices. And July 1 always provides me with an opportunity to think about what that means. So, in no particular order, here's this year's list of things I like about my country:

Politeness. The other day my son stepped on my toe. We both simultaneous said, "I'm sorry!" There is a certain level of courtesy in our culture that I have come to really appreciate. On the street, between strangers and at home, with those we know best.

Moderation. My younger self is howling with laughter at this one but we Canadians mostly avoid excess of all kinds and I've come to really appreciate that.

Universal health care. Do I really need to explain this one?

Gay Marriage. For six years now. It's not going away and it's no big deal. Except that it is.

Neighbourliness. Canadians are generally good neighbours. We tend to be "live and let live" types (occasionally to our detriment but, mostly, it's a good thing).

An appreciation of good beer. It's not just about quantity but quality too. 

The weather. I can't believe I'm saying this but the changeability of Canadian weather is highly entertaining (when it's not downright disastrous). With weather like ours, there is always something for strangers to chat about.

Pedestrian friendly cities. I think the best way to get to know any place is to walk or ride your bike. I love that I can walk so many places in my home town (and it's a good thing, too because our public transit sucks).

And I love that many of you will disagree with me on some of these things (heck, with the exceptions of beer,gay marriage and health care, I may change my own mind tomorrow) and some of you will let me know. Politely.

Happy Canada Day! Have a moderate amount of fun and enjoy yourselves - courteously.

how i've changed

When I was a young adult, I definitely considered myself to be an extrovert. Then, in 2007, a year or so after my cancer diagnosis (and after being on leave from my job for most of that time), I did the Meyers-Briggs test. The person who explained my results to me said that mine was the most even split between introvert and extrovert that she'd ever seen.

Fast forward to last weekend when I attended the PAB conference. Walking in the door on a Friday night to an environment where it felt like everyone already knew each other was terrifying. My chest tightened, my breathing became shallow and I felt something between "slightly queasy" and "I think I'm about to puke my guts  out." 

I texted Tim, "This is so hard" and sent out similar messages to the Twitterverse (I will be forever grateful to Flutter for her words of comfort and encouragement).

And then I settled in for a great conference. Did I hide behind my Blackberry? Yes, lots. Did I sit by myself instead of joining other folks? Most of the time. Did I go on the evening boat cruise? I did not (my poor brain was too tired from all the big ideas and and the constant exciting but draining stimulation of the day). But I stayed and I learned and during Saturday lunch and over a couple of breaks I forgot to feel awkward and had a really good time. I even stood up to ask a question on the last day (although I forgot the question when I had the mic in my hand. I found something to babble about). For the most part, I think that's good enough.

Paralyzing anxiety disorders run in my family. And I know that the more you give in, the worse it can get. And I know that I've missed out on some truly wonderful experiences over the last couple of years because I've been too scared to go. I confronted my fear last week end. And I'm proud of that.

Next up: Blogging Out Loud Ottawa. Every year, I've found a reason not to go. This year I'm going to be there (hold me to that, would you?). There will be people I know and like. It will be fun. All I have to do is get myself through the door.

mind blown

 PAB2011 group photo by Maurizio Ortolani, uploaded to flickr by Martin Jones.

A chance encounter on Bank Street with my friend Andrea Ross led to a plan for a dog walk, which led to a conversation about "PAB", which led to me having my mind blown.

The conference is called PAB 2011 (short for Podcasters Across Borders), and is for anyone who is a creater of "content" of any kind, using any medium. You don't have to know a thing about podcasting to attend, just an open spirit and a readiness to share and absorb ideas. It took place this past week end (June 24-26) and my brain is still very, very full.

This year's theme was "Your story needs to be told. Well." As with every year for the last few, the venue was the wonderful Fourth Stage of the National Arts Centre (no fluorescent lights!) and the setting was intimate. There were two longer keynotes and many more 5 minute "jolts" (this link is to Andrea's amazing jolt from last year, which I have quoted many, many times), juxtaposed with 40 minute presentations and questions from the audience.

There was so damn much to take in and almost as much to tell that I'll be brewing blog posts for the next few days (which will make a change around here. I've been an unmotivated blogger of late). For now, I'll just say that my brain is resonating like the inside of a bell.

I am very, very grateful. To Andrea for her friendship and inspiration, to Mark and Maureen for donating a ticket they could'nt use (and asking for nothing in return) and to Mark and Bob for concocting, creating and coordinating this indescribable thing that is PAB.

treatment week

I still miss you so much

short term planning

I kind of left you in suspense yesterday.

I was sitting an exam room, waiting to see my oncologist to discuss whether I could continue my break from chemo. 

Here's what happened next:

We waited.

We played a little Lexulous.

I knit. My hands shook a little.

And then the door swung open and Dr. B. entered the room. 

Dr. B. is not my oncologist. The cancer centre has a title called GPO (which I assume means general practitioner - oncology) for doctors who work with the oncologists. I hadn't seen Dr. B. in more than a year and without hesitating, we hugged each other - something I've never done with any doctor. She's wonderful and she's the only doctor I trust as much as my oncologist.

After a physical exam (liver is where it should be and the size it should be. Chest sounds fine) and looking over my bloodwork (everything normal), we had the following conversation:

Dr. B.: "I'd bet you'd like to extend this break from chemo."

Me (nodding vigorously): "Yes!"

Dr. B.: "For the summer?"

Me: "Or longer? I'd love to think about longer term plans."

And...she shook her head. She said, "When it comes to metastatic breast cancer, there are no 12 month plans."

While it may seem like forever to me that I've been at this, it really is still pretty new. And as I've written before, many times, there is just too much uncertainty to make any longer term treatment plans or even to be absolutely certain what choices are the right ones.

It was very good having Tim there, though, as he brought a different perspective to the table. I wanted to choose between a short break and an indefinite one. Tim's concerns were more about the risks of taking even short breaks from chemo. He loves me and he wants me to feel well but also to stay healthy.

But Dr. B. explained that the break from chemo is not just to give me some respite from side effects (although I needed that, both physically and emotionally) but to help my immune system and bone marrow to rebuild so that chemotherapy, when I need it again, will continue to be effective. She also said that most stable metastatic breast cancer patients need to take breaks long before I did.

This was a breakthrough moment for me. I've been feeling like my body failed me by becoming run down and developing more side effects. I felt like I was wimping out by feeling an emotional need for a break. I felt that I just wasn't strong enough.

I felt ashamed.

However, it turns out that I'm not taking an irresponsible risk by taking a break from chemo. I'm readying my body for whatever lies ahead. And I'm not weak. I've been doing this for more than five years, while continuing to live my life. I'm actually pretty damn tough.

It was a great appointment. I feel relieved of an awful lot of guilt I didn't know I was carrying around. I feel hopeful. And my step was a little lighter today.

So for the next three months, I'll continue on the Herceptin. In early September, I'll have a brain scan (because Herceptin doesn't cross the brain blood barrier) and an abdominal scan. I'll do more bloodwork. And we'll plan for the next three months.

not so jaded after all

Yesterday, I had an appointment with my oncologist, the first since our decision that I should take a break from chemo and do Herceptin only for three months.

I usually do my appointments over the phone but I decided to go into the cancer centre so that I could have a physical exam and meet with him face to face. Also, I wanted Tim to come with me, so that he would get the same info as I did first hand and have a chance to ask questions.

One of the great things about doing appointments on the phone is that I can carry on with my life around the house as I wait for my call. I was reminded of this after waiting first in the waiting area and then in the exam room for nearly an hour.

But it was worth it.

The first person I met was the nurse who works with my oncologist. It was the first time we met face to face. After checking me in, she hesitated for a moment, then looked me right in the eyes and said, "I read the article you wrote for the CBCN newsletter (after the conference I attended last fall). It was wonderful. You are very inspiring."

I hope that I sounded as pleased as I felt when I thanked her. It always means a lot to me when someone is moved by my writing but to hear that a nurse who hears all kinds of stories every day was inspired by me...I was floored.

pirate day

in translation

The cancer centre has implemented something new. When patients check in for treatment, we're asked to fill out a questionnaire related to our well-being (it has some acronym but I can't remember it). We're given the option of filling it in on a central computer but I'm really squeamish about germy public terminals. I always ask to fill the thing in manually (furthering my feeling that I am more of a Luddite than some of my seniors).

Filling out the form involves reading statements such as "I am in pain" and then circling a number between 1 (no pain) and 7 (excruciating pain - or something like that). Most of my numbers were very low except for the ones about my emotional well being and sleep habits. My answers resulted in the following conversation with the well-meaning nurse who checked me in for treatment:

Nurse: 

"You're depressed. Why?"

Me: 

"I'm just a little blue. Five years of doing this is a long time." (Translation: "I'm pissed off and fed up and I have survivors' guilt.") 

"I'm seeing someone at the psychosocial oncology centre." (Translation: "I don't want to talk about it with you, in front of the all the strangers in the room"). 

"The crisis is over and now it's all hitting me." (Translation: "I think I have PTSD. Did I mention that I'm pissed off and fed up?")

Next time, I'm stuffing the damn form into the bottom of my purse.

kitchen conversation (he's so, so right)

My spouse (after listening to lengthy rant #342 yesterday): "Not to excuse that person's bad behaviour, but a lot of things piss you off these days."

Me: "True."

Spouse: "Oh! We forgot to put the compost out!"

Me: (String of expletives, unprintable in a blog my children might read).

Spouse (Meaningful silence)

Then we both burst out laughing.

I need to get some perspective.

But at least I can still laugh at myself.

generation gap

On Tuesday, as I waited at the Heart Institute for my regular echocardiogram, I had the following brief conversation with the older gentleman sitting beside me.

Me: Is that a Playbook?

Him: I don't play! This is an ipad!

Me: Oh. I was just curious about the Blackberry version of the tablet.

Him  (scornfully): Do you have a Blackberry?

Me: I do.

I didn't bother explaining that I don't find touch screens to be intuitive and that I prefer an actual keyboard for sending emails and texting. Instead, I pulled out my knitting, thus eradicating all doubt that I was the Luddite in our conversation.

has anybody seen my boob?

As anyone who has ever been to my house can attest, the place tends to be a total disaster pretty cluttered. We lose stuff all the time, only to find it months or even years later, after it's already been replaced.

But I have to admit that never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd find myself typing this sentence: 

I can't find my prosthetic breast.

We've actually been making some inroads in terms of beating back the clutter. But some rooms are getting worse before they get better. And our bedroom is complete tip.

Now admittedly, I don't wear my prosthesis all that often. But there are days when I want to fly below the radar. There are clothes that just look better when they're symmetrical. And I haven't seen my fake breast for weeks.

Could I have absent-mindedly stuck it in a drawer that I haven't checked?

Could it have become mixed up in the bags of clothing destined for donation?

Could it be under the mounds of clothes yet to be sorted?

Could I have left it somewhere?

It's a mystery.

If you find it, please let me know. 

Or just leave it in my mail box.



Update May 26: We found it! It was in a suitcase. In our bedroom. From a trip on which neither I nor the boob were in attendance. I think I took it off one night and too lazy tired to put it away, popped my bra with the boob still in it, in the open suitcase. Then, the suitcase was closed and left. Three weeks later, when my love finally unpacked - he found my prosthesis. Mystery solved.

"none of us knows when we are going to die"

On April 25th, Alaina Giordano lost custody of her children. A North Carolina judge ruled that her two kids need to move to Chicago to live with Giordano's ex-husband. She based this decision, in large part, on the fact that Giordano has Stage 4 breast cancer.

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I can't be articulate about this story, except to say that I work very hard to make sure that my kids will be all right- no matter what happens. I wish I could protect them and all those who love me from the realities of cancer. But do I think that cancer makes me a less fit parent?

Not on your life.

Want to read more?

I first read about this on BlogHer, where Jenna argued very articulately that anyone who has ever been ill or ever might be should care about this story and the frightening precedent it has set.

My friend Judy (from Mothers With Cancer) wrote a beautiful response called "We Are All Terminal." 

You can read Alaina's own words on her blog, Beauty in Truth.

I couldn't find a single post or comment by anyone who agreed with the judge's ruling.

For that, I'm grateful.

selfish (dear loved one)

I'm sorry that my fear becomes yours.

I regret that you get pulled into my panic.

I feel ill when my every cough, ache or bump twists your insides the way it does mine.

I would prefer to protect you.

I want to watch you smile, hear your laugh, feel your heart thump with joy when you pull me to your chest.

I don't want to make you scared, or sad or worried.

But I can't wish you weren't ever scared or sad or worried.

Because I need to share.

Because I need not to feel alone.

Because I need you.

beautiful eyes

That's what struck me when I met Sarah in person: she had the most beautiful deep brown eyes I had ever seen, with a lovely smile to match.

It was February 2010 and we were both in attendance at the Annual Conference for Young Women Affected by Breast Cancer. We had met online through our online community, Mothers With Cancer.

A short time after we met, Sarah found out that her breast cancer had become metastatic and she began treatment anew. A few weeks ago, she learned that the cancer had spread to her brain and she started radiation treatment. A couple of days ago, she was admitted to hospital with breathing issues. Last night, she passed away.

I won't claim to have known beautiful Sarah better than I did. But I did consider her my friend. And I will miss her.

Here are some things I knew about this remarkable woman:

She loved her three daughters very much and she was incredibly proud of them.

She was happily married.

She was a talented photographer.

She loved animals, especially dogs and horses.

She had an appreciation for good coffee.

She left this world way too soon.

Sarah, you will truly be missed. My heart goes out to your family and to all who loved you.

You can read more about Sarah at her blog, Spruce Hill. Tributes have also been posted by Jenny (cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer), Susan, Nicole, Ree and Mary Beth.

Note: Blogger was down for about 20 hours and when it came back up, this post was gone (as were the comments from my previous post). If you are seeing this twice in a row on the blog, it will be because Blogger has returned it to me.

taller than i

My beautiful first born turned 13 yesterday. The cliche is true - it happens in the blink of an eye. He's a good person - smart, creative, caring and funny. We are so proud of the man he is becoming.

fiction: tabloid inspired

A couple of weeks ago, the homework for my writing class was to take a headline from a tabloid and use it as a jumping off point for a more serious short story or poem. I was uninspired by the headlines in my grocery star tabloids ("Brad Gives Angie Ultimatum!" "Jennifer Lopez Fights Eating Disorder!" "Larry King Marries Again!") and decided to go to that old standby - the now sadly defunct Weekly World News. I stole a legendary headline from them. The monologue that follows is all my own.

"Bat Boy Found in West Virginia Cave!" by Bill Creighton, Weekly World News, June 23, 1992

I blame the doctor.

I wanted a baby so badly. The other doctors I'd seen wouldn't help me, so I sought this one out. The office was in a bad part of town and it was dark and smelled a bit funny but he didn't ask me many questions. He said he would help me get pregnant.

And he did. I don't know what the shots were for or what was in the medicine he gave me to drink but I didn't care. I would soon have my baby.

It wasn't a difficult pregnancy. I didn't get too sick. The last few months were hard when I had trouble sleeping but that was it, really. It would have been more fun if there had been someone – anyone - in my life to share in my excitement, throw me a baby shower or help me set up the nursery. But I didn't mind so much. Soon I would have a baby to love. I wouldn't need anyone else.

He was born right on his due date and, from the first, I could tell something was wrong. The first time I held him in my arms I felt not love but revulsion. This was not the child I was meant to have. He was not my baby.

In those first few months he cried a lot. I made sure that he was fed and his diapers were dry but for the most part, I left him in his crib. He was safe there and I did not have to look at him.

As he got older, I continued to cringe at his touch. When he tried to crawl in my lap, I would push him away. When he cried, I left him to it. No one could say that I did not take good care of him. He had food and clothes, I even bought him books and toys. But nothing could make me love him.

I don't feel too guilty about that because it soon became clear that he was a bad kid. The first time he got into trouble in school, I went in to meet with the his teacher. After that, I didn't bother answering her notes or phone calls. If he couldn't get along with the other kids there was really nothing I could do.

The first time he ran away, I called around to the neighbours. The second time, I left the door unlocked so he could come in when he decided to come home. The third time, I locked it.

The first time he was arrested, I went down to the police station right away. The second time, I let him spend the night in jail. The third time – I decided he was the state's problem not mine.

A short time after that, he stole a car from the school parking lot. I haven't heard from him since. This morning I got a call. He was found hiding in a cave in West Virginia. They want me to come to him. But what would be the point?

That child, that particular child, was a mistake. He should never have been born.

I am sad, though. I do feel a loss – not for that child but for the baby I might have had. The mother I might have been.

Maybe I should try again.

This time, I'll go to a different doctor.

alone on mothers' day

When my spouse first mentioned that he was thinking of taking the boys to the Toronto Comic Arts Festival in Toronto, I protested, "But that's Mothers' Day week end!"

Then I stopped to think.

"Would you be taking both boys?"

"I think I'd have to."

After a moment's thought (empty house! to myself! quiet writing and reading time!), I bravely said, "I think you should go. I don't want to deprive the boys of this chance."

My spouse (clueing in) "Do you want your Mother's Day present to be a week end by yourself?"

Me shaking my head and stammering and not quite keeping a straight face, "I'll miss you."

So they went. And I have missed them. I've also slept more than 8 hours each night, done a considerable amount of cleaning, read a book, watched stuff on Netflix, had dinner with a friend and taken the dog for a run. I still have time to catch up on some writing, make soup, take the dog out again and do most of the laundry. I'll be starting the week of with far less stress than I often do.

My boys had a lot of fun this week end doing things I wouldn't have particularly cared to do (even Grandma went to see Thor last night). I felt a pang of guilt when they left but I quickly let that go. It sounds like they've had a great time. And soon enough they will be home and I will once again embrace the chaos of my family.

Happy Mothers' Day!

not really the end

Did you know that the world is going to end on May 21st, 2011? I saw a guy on a street corner today with a sign that said just that. And then I saw a big-ass caravan with the same message.

Contemplation of our impending collective doom helps to put yesterday's election into perspective. It doesn't matter if the Conservatives were gifted with a whopping majority if none of us is going to live long enough to deal with the consequences. There must be more of these end of the world types than I previously suspected. That would help me understand how it is that so many of us thought endorsing the Conservatives would be a good idea.

Or something. You'll have to forgive me, it's been a hell of a day. I stayed up way too late watching the election results and then stumbled around like a zombie all day. I'm delirious.

I even went across town to an appointment, only to discover that it's on Thursday.

It was a very odd feeling last night to watch the NDP take over 100 seats (the previous high having been 43) and not feel elated. Proud, yes but not elated. I just kept watching the Conservative and NDP numbers rise at the same time and feeling like my head was going to explode.

Those of us who oppose pettiness, meanness and bigotry and who support human rights and democracy (not to put too fine a point on things) have four years to get our act together. 

And I think we need to really start screeching about proportional representation.

Meanwhile, I really am thrilled that my party is going to be the Official Opposition. There is hope for the good guys (thanks, good guys, for working so hard to get yourselves and like-minded folk elected). I'm thankful to all the volunteers, staff and veteran politicians and candidates who worked so hard to make this happen.

And, even if I am slightly hysterical, I'm choosing to repeat the words of one of the surprised, young, brand new MPs from Quebec, "It's going to be all right."