fuzz, fears and fleece

My hair is growing back. The patches that were completely bald (most of my head) now have a fine covering of fuzz. This makes me feel like I can truly begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I had a second meeting with my radiation oncologist yesterday. He seems nice enough, other than being a bit paternalistic (I am increasingly irritated when medical practitioners speak to me as though I am a child) and also completely flummoxed by the fact that I don't have my husband's last name ("But you are married to him? I suppose it's nothing personal.")

I'll start radiation two weeks to two months after I finish chemotherapy. Some women who undergo mastectomies are spared radiation. However, given the size and agressiveness of my tumours, the oncologist believes that radiation could further reduce my chances of recurrence by as much as ten per cent (doesn't sound like much, but every little bit helps, I guess).

Pros of radiation: Fewer side effects than chemotherapy and much shorter sessions (a half hour at most, compared to the three plus hours of chemo).

Cons of getting zapped: Sessions five days a week for five weeks, likelihood of burns at the radiated sites, fatigue, increased chance of lymphedema, no swimming (this matters only because I will likely be undergoing radiation during the hottest part of the summer), the fact that radiation itself is potentially carcinogenic (I find this more than a little scary).

As we were leaving the hospital yesterday, I said to my spouse (only half-jokingly) that I thought I might skip radiation. It just seems like a lot of bother.

Of course I'll do it, though. I need to feel like I have done everything I can to make sure the cancer never comes back.

In case anyone was wondering, my chemo present to myself this round is several knitting books. I have really been enjoying knitting, a meditative process which results in the creation of something lovely, soft and warm (at least when it works, it does). Two of the books are by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee (Yarn Harlot: the secret life of a knitter and Knitting Rules. I already owned Meditations for Women who Knit too Much). Check out her blog (which I read daily) if you like to knit or just want to laugh: www.yarnharlot.com.

better

The pity party is officially over. Life is too short to be spent wallowing and, besides, I have so much for which to be grateful (starting with Exhibits A and B, pictured above).

I went for a long walk in the sun and had the chance to have fun with each of my children today.

I am exhausted tonight but feeling much more relaxed and content.

I can get through this. In fact, I am a whole lot stronger than I thought I was before I knew I had cancer. This is something that will stay with me, I think, long after this struggle is over. What challenge could be tougher than this one?

I will get my life back. When I do, I will be ready for anything.

not fair

Today's blog has been pre-empted by a bout of self-pity. Regular programming will no doubt resume shortly.

I am feeling pretty bitter today.

I am sick of being in treatment for cancer.

It's the National Capital Race Week End and instead of running (albeit very slowly) in the half-marathon, I need to rest when I take my dog for a walk. It broke my heart to see the participants in the 10K stream down the street near my house today.

I miss my work and I am sick of feeling side-lined.

None of my clothes fit me any more.

I am fed up with being stared at, even when the glances are sympathetic but especially with those who are clearly uncomfortable with my appearance (perhaps because they don't want to believe it could happen to them).

I have lost patience with those who hurriedly change the subject when I acknowledge my cancer as though I am being indiscrete.

I hate looking and feeling like a cancer patient.

I am tired of handling other people's emotions around my breast cancer.

I hate that my family is being made to live through this.

I had a good life before my diagnosis (just six months ago) and I want it back.

in the eye of the beholder

My son D. is a supremely confident child. He goes through life secure in the knowledge that he is interesting, charming and beautiful. People respond to him in kind.

When he was a baby, I would often carry him in a back pack as I did errands. Every time, I would see even the most preoccupied strangers' faces break into smiles, reacting to my engaging child.

He is the centre of any group of children, regardless of age. Teenage friends of his caregiver's children greet us on the street and stop to shake his hand or ask for a hug. He is able to charm the dourest of adults and makes friends wherever he goes.

D. loves to play dress up, picks out his own clothes and cares whether his socks match his shirt (a concept that is foreign to his father and brother). One of his first sentences was, "I'm D. and I'm cute."

I have never, ever thought of myself as beautiful. But D. looks a lot like me. And D. knows he is beautiful. And, so, gradually, D. has taught me to see myself as beautiful, too.

Now, I am bald and bloated. Surgery and chemo have taken their toll on my body. But if I look carefully, I can still see the beauty there. I have a nicely shaped head. There is still a sparkle in my eyes and warmth in my smile. I still have my dimple and the laugh lines around my eyes.

I may never enjoy dancing naked in front of our full length mirror (one of D.'s favourite pastimes). D. has taught me, however, that I have a choice in how I see myself. I am still me. I am still beautiful.

"don't die"

We have an-almost-fourteen year old golden retriever, who is nearing the end of her life. This dog has been my friend and my companion through some very hard times (and lots of good ones) and I will be heartbroken when she dies.

So will my kids, especially S., who is very attached to the old dog and who is himself old enough to understand loss and to fear death.

S. hasn't said anything to me about Emma-dog but he talked to his grandmother about her on the week end (he wanted to know how old his Grandma was and was reassured to learn that, in dog years, she is still a spring chicken). He raised the subject again with my spouse yesterday morning ("So, is Emma in the dying phase of life?").

We have all reassured S. that Emma is not suffering and that she has had a long and wonderful life. I think it's a very good sign that S. is working this through with us, instead of keeping his questions and fears to himself.

Yesterday, before he left for school, he threw his arms around my neck and said, "Please don't die."

My mother-in-law and spouse were with me when this happened and agreed that he was just fooling around, not realizing what he was saying until it was out of his mouth. I responded by laughing and telling him that I wasn't going anywhere.

But I wish I could protect my kids from having these thoughts, protect them from loss and death and fear. I guess all parents do. Instead, the best we can do is love unconditionally, listen when we are asked to and let our kids know that it is as normal to fear and to grieve as it is to love.

Our dear old Emma may pass on soon and it will be very hard for my family.

I want my kids to understand, though, that I am doing everything I can to make sure that I am around for a very long time.

chemo brain...

...is not just in my head.

Finding the right word eludes me. Being consistently coherent is an unrealistic goal. My short term memory is more or less non-existent.

My brain has slowed right down.

I have lost about a hundred consecutive Scrabble games (I play online at www.pixiepit.co.uk/scrabble, a site worth visiting for its amusement value).

I really hope the damage isn't permanent.

worth a pound of cure

I am in a much better mood today, as my energy begins to return. It's also good to get a bit of respite from the rain; there is something very pleasant about sitting outside with the laptop, even under a cloudy sky (see what I mean about the post chemo euphoria? Sitting in my damp backyard - really need to clean up after the dogs - is the best thing I've ever done).

I have cancer prevention on the brain today. A friend sent me two very interesting links: http://www.bcam.qc.ca and www.stopcancer.org.

A couple of months ago, when the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation first aired, "Chasing the Cancer Answer" (on Marketplace: http://www.cbc.ca/consumers/market/files/health/cancer/index.html), I wasn't ready to watch. I think I am moving into a place where the questions raised by journalist and recent cancer patient Wendy Mesley are going to be ones with which I will also be grappling.

Expect to hear lots more from me about this in the coming months.