Life is Healthy

In 2010, I:

Made soup.

Started running again and kept at it (in fact, I did the Resolution Run 5K last night before breaking into the wine and fondue).

Started editing my novel. It doesn't really have an ending yet but I don't totally hate what I've written, so that's a start.

Found a writing buddy.

Knit a lot of dish cloths.

Played lots of Scrabble/Lexulous

Had my heartbroken when my dog died.

Went to Florida in the in the summer to get away from a heat wave.

Spent some quality time with girlfriends.

Organized a team for the Run for the Cure, called No Pink for Profit. By run day, we were more than 40 women and we raised more than $20,000.

Fell in love with Twitter.

Finally got a smart phone.

Learned that grief is not a linear process.

Spent a lot of time thinking about community, friends and family. I am very, very lucky.

For 2011, I wish us all love, peace, good health and many wonderful adventures.

Yikes!

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I seem to have lost my blogging mojo. I remember a while back when Average Jane wrote that her blogging had been derailed (my word, not hers) by Twitter and Facebook. I get that now.

Whenever I have a quick observation or a link to share, I can gratify myself instantly with Twitter (I'm lauriek, by the way). And while each tweet does go to Facebook and the sidebar of Not Just About Cancer (on the right - see it there?), it hasn't done much for my blogging.

I don't want to give up the blog though, so I'll try and re-commit to posting regularly (how's that for hedging my bets?).

On the cancer front, there is a little news. I loved having a break in April. That month also brought another clean CT scan. My oncologist continues to be happy with how things are going (or not going, really).

We talked a bit more with about the weirdness of being in ongoing treatment (with side effects that are cumulative, both physically and emotionally). He talked frankly (one of the things that I love about him) about how, in my case, he really has no idea what to do.

We don't know what would happen if I were to take a longer break from treatment or stop it altogether.

"You're a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma," he said, quoting Churchill.

He said that, theoretically, we could start our own clinical trial, where half the women stop treatment for three months and half continue as I've been doing.

"But then what do you say to the women in the first group, if the cancer comes back? 'Oops?' 'Im sorry?' " (I'm convinced that the man lies awake at night wondering about these things. His compassion is another thing I love about him).

He has a way of putting things into perspective for me.

I had planned on asking for another break in six months but he surprised me by suggesting I take a break in August (hooray!)

He also said that, some time in the future, he's not sure exactly when, he's going to feel ready for me to take a longer break. Meanwhile, I'll have fewer appointments with him and, unless I'm worried about something, I can call them in (another hooray!).

I am very pleased about all of this but I admit to also feeling a little blue. I'm still dealing with some of the "grey area" fallout. It's really hard to articulate (and I feel guilty for even complaining. Guilt would be a good subject for a whole other post).

Life is a funny thing. And it's really hard to plan even five years ahead, because you never know what's going to happen. I'm trying right now to return my focus to living in the moment, accepting what is and reminding myself to notice the good things.

I made three soups in January.

Red lentil and carrot from Cooking with Foods That Fight Cancer

Broccoli cheddar from Looneyspoons: Low-fat food made fun!

Jambalaya from Weight Watchers (heavily modified: I substituted white fish for shrimp, used more liquid and had sausage on the side, so folks could choose their level of spiciness. And I didn't use chicken. And I used different spices. This for me, was a wildly adventurous departure).

If I don't run out of time today, I plan on making a pre-chemo Sweet potato and roasted garlic soup from the The Eat-Clean Diet Cookbook: Great-Tasting Recipes That Keep You Lean!
A friend gave this one to me. I recall it being time consuming but delicious..

I have had a post on the tip of my fingers about my current highly ambivalent feelings about my life, identity and treatment but I can't seem to bring myself to write it.

In fact, I can't seem to bring myself to write much these days.

Maybe, later this week, as I recover from chemo.

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day. And the four year anniversary of my mastectomy.

I was felled by a yucky stomach bug this week and really didn't feel much like blogging. It's the price I pay for a weakened immune system. My older son is home sick today, too. Not sure what his excuse is.

Also, my spouse is in Florida. As far as I know, he's not sick.

To compensate for my bitterness at having been struck down during a week of single parenting (I know, some of you have to deal with this kind of thing all the time), I thought I would show off a little.

Here is my latest clapotis. I made it for my mom.



She thinks she's not very photogenic but I think she's lovely.

I made this thing on tiny (2.75mm, if you care about these things) needles and a laceweight (read very fine) yarn. It nearly killed me.

I was working on it during chemo one day and one of the pharmacists, herself a knitter, shook her head and exclaimed, "You must really love your mother!"

I do.

And while I wouldn't necessarily recommend doing this as a laceweight (not just because it takes forever but because fixing errors is a painstaking process) but I am very pleased with the end results. The yarn is an alpaca and silk blend from Knit Picks and the scarf is soft, airy and has a lovely drape.

I think I am addicted to the clapotis. Although I'll do it in a thicker yarn and on bigger needles (the original was done in my much thicker yarn). Doing this on sock yarn will feel like a breeze.

And did you note the state of my walls?

I have been stripping wallpaper. It's part of a project that a friend is helping with (I know that should be "with which a friend is helping" but that felt awkward. Just want you sticklers to know that I am aware that I'm taking liberties). She offered to "paint a room" in my house in exchange for a bunch of kids' stuff we'd outgrown.

I definitely got the better end of that deal. We got a bunch of stuff out of our house and she has already devoted two afternoons to scraping the wallpaper in my hallway - on two floors and up the stairs.

I have to admit that I have never undertaken this kind of project before and I'm actually enjoying it. On our second afternoon we used "Concentrated Wallpaper Remover" from the hardware store and the hard-to-scrape stuff just melted off. Very cool. I hope it's not too terribly toxic. There didn't seem to be any fumes. It kind of smelled like dish soap.

There's another hour of stripping to do and then I gather everything has to be washed, then primed then painted. And then it will all look so good that the rest of the house will seem really dingy in contrast.

Finally, I feel like I can't conclude this post without mentioning the horrific situation in Haiti. Please give what you can, to a reputable organization.

When the Yarn Harlot sent out the "knit signal" last week, I was prompted to direct my money to Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders). They are already set up to help and do excellent work aroun the world.

Click here to donate in Canada, the United States or everywhere else in the world (find your country in the menu on the left). The Harlot mentioned in her post that it is most helpful if you direct your donation to "Emergency Relief" or "Greatest Needs" instead of to a specific project.

These are questions from the Proust quiz in a recent issue of Vanity Fair magazine. I stole the idea from a friend (she did it on Facebook, so I won't identify her here) and I've been thinking of it ever since.

It was interesting to do. My answers reflect the fact that I have been in a somewhat melancholy mood of late. I tried to answer without censoring myself.

Feel free to answer the questions in the comments or to link to your on blog if you do it there.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Being somewhere beautiful, being with someone I love. Happiness can come out of nowhere. I am better trained to notice it now.

What is your greatest fear?
That I will die and my kids will forget me.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Lack of discipline and the fear that causes it.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Intolerance of difference.

On what occasion do you lie?
Sometimes to protect others' feelings. Occasionally to protect myself.

What is your greatest extravagance?
It used to be shoes. I do like nice glasses but that's only every couple of years. I'd have to say that now, it's eating out and yarn.

What is your current state of mind?
A little fragile, anxious and blue. Figuring out how to get past it.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Intelligence. The ability to laugh at himself. And if he's in love with me, that's pretty attractive, too. OK, so that's three. I did say that I lack discipline.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Intelligence, strength and a sense of humour.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Lately, it's "Oh, for pity's sake!" Trying to excise the potty mouth.

When and where were you happiest?
No particular moment in time. In PEI with T., in London with S., at the family cottage, in the arboretum with the dogs...

Who are your favorite writers?
Depends on my mood. John Steinbeck, Jane Austen, Joseph Boyden, Sarah Waters...and lots of mystery novelists too.

Which talent would you most like to have?
I wish I could sing.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
I'd make us all appreciate what we have.

If you died and came back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A well-loved dog with a stay at home alpha human and a family that loves me, walks me and feeds me well. In other words, I would come back as one of my dogs.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
Where to begin? Trying to be healthier in my attitude about this. But my weight (exacerbated by lymphedema) is getting me down lately. And it would be nice to have my breast back.

Where would you like to live?
Somewhere where there is no winter.

What is your most treasured possession?
If you agree with me that the dogs are family members and not possessions, then I guess that would be my raven ring.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Being 38 years old and learning that your liver is riddled with tumours and you don't have long to live. Needing morphine to control the pain for months. Having your heart ache on behalf of those who love you, especially your kids.
And life really is pretty good when you climb out of those depths.

What do you most value in your friends?
Loyalty, love and and humour.

What are your favorite names?
Sacha
Daniel
Katya

What is it that you most dislike?
People who think they have already learned all there is to know. And cancer. I don't like cancer either.

What is your greatest regret?
Not maintaining friendships with some people who were very important to me.

How would you like to die?
Painlessly and after having lived a long life.

What is your motto?
Be good.

You don't need to tell me how lucky I am.

I have a roof over my head, great medical care and I'm surrounded by people who love me.

And don't think I forget how very lucky I am to be alive at all. Why did I get to go into remission? Why me? I am indeed very fortunate.

But there are times when I do feel sad that I will never put this cancer behind me. I feel the toll ongoing treatment takes on my body and my emotional well being.

So last night I stood in my kitchen, with my head on my husband's chest (we say we were built for each other. My head lands flat on his chest and tucks under his chin). He put his arms around me and we just stood there, breathing together.

He didn't need to say anything. He understood my frustration. Only a few hours before I was finallly feeling sharp and healthy and energized. And then, after chemo, I stood in his arms, feeling sick and more than a little shaky.

He didn't remind me how lucky I am.

But I know it.

Today is a pretty emotional day for my little family.

Tomorrow, my youngest, will start Grade One at a new school. While that's a pretty big deal in and of itself (at least it's the same school his big brother attends), this also marks his last day at the day care housed in his old school.

My family has been involved (except for a few years between kids and when D. was in home care), with the Glebe Parents' Day Care since 1999, when S. was a toddler. It's a great day care but the staff at their First Avenue program are truly exceptional.

When S. was "emergency airlifted" out of First Avenue in Grade One, they re-opened the day care an hour early so that staff could meet him at the bus (his temporary school was further away and the school day ended earlier) for the rest of the term (from February until June).

And, earlier this year, when I needed a space to launch my book, the staff offered their wonderful facility free of charge. They decorated it so beautifully and there was even a message on a chalkboard in the washroom telling me how proud they were of me.

And those are just a couple of examples.

This past week end, D. and I made a poster-sized card with a photo of our family. We all signed it. We also made cookies (I burned the first two batches, my spouse did the baking of the last couple, as I was becoming hysterical). We also gave them a bottle of gourmet chocolate sauce to pour in their coffee.

D. and I made cards for the three teachers who hosted the book launch. I want to make scarves for all three of them but of course, only one was finished. D. had me paste photos of the scarves in the cards for the other two, so that they would know what they are getting (I made a "Lace Ribbon" scarf for J., T. is getting a "Clapotis" and, if I can manage the pattern, I want to make "Juno" for A.)

I had T. and D. deliver it all to the day care, confessing to my spouse that I am "emotional coward." Apparently, the staff and T. have decided that I am not to be let off the hook, though, so S. and I will join T. when he goes to collect D. at the day care this evening.

There might be tears.

These photos were taken first thing this am and are thus not particularly flattering. I just wanted a photographic record.

To distract myself this, I thought I'd do this nifty little book meme that Sassymonkey wrote about at BlogHer:

"Using only books you have read this year (2009), answer these
questions. Try not to repeat a book title. It’s a lot harder than you
think!

Here's the meme with my answers. If you haven't read enough books so far this year to answer all the questions go back as far as you need to get enough books. If you've played it on your blog leave a link so I can go visit."

I was planning to do it even before I noticed that Sassymonkey had used my book to answer one of the questions but that particularly tickled me.

Describe yourself: Dragonslayer (Bone #4, Jeff Smith)

How do you feel: What It Is (Lynda Barry)

Describe where you currently live: Three Day Road (Joseph Boyden)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Toronto Noir (Janine Armin and Nathaniel G. Moore, eds.)

Your favorite form of transportation: Walk Through Darkness(David Anthony Durham)

Your best friend is: Tipping The Velvet (Sarah Waters)

You and your friends are: Casting Spells (Barbara Bretton)

What’s the weather like: All the Colours Of Darkness (Peter Robinson)

You fear: The Price Of Darkness (Graham Hurley)

What is the best advice you have to give: Nobody Move (Denis Johnson)

Thought for the day: Don't Look Twice (Andrew Gross)

How I would like to die: A Good Death (Elizabeth Ironside)

My soul’s present condition: Hurry Down Sunshine (Michael Greenberg)

She was known as Sepha and her blog was Undone.

I have been meaning to email her, send her a package, comment on her blog. I have been thinking of her lots.

Now we have lost another one. Another smart, funny, creative woman has succumbed far too young to cancer.

Life, sometimes is so unfair. And damn, I wish I had sent that package.

My heart goes out to her family and her Dear Other.

I hate cancer.

Smart, funny, creative, talented Sara has passed away.

I only knew her as an online presence (although we did once spend more than an hour on the phone together) but I am grieving tonight and for all the people that love her.

I am told that Sara loved red wine and good tequila so if you partake of either of these tonight (and even if you don't) please raise a glass in her honour.

I am going to put on the lava earrings I bought from her (they are my favourites).

Damn. Cancer really sucks.

I have just come back from an echo-cardiogram appointment (I have regular echos to make sure that Herceptin isn't damaging my heart) or rather what I thought was an echo appointment. It had previouslybeen scheduled for Thursday, February 26 (when I was travelling to Dallas for the Conference for Young Women Affected By Breast Cancer) and I'd had to reschedule. I had entered the appointment (I use Google Calendar) for Friday, March 6 at 3pm. It turns out the appointment is for Tuesday, March 10th, at 3pm.

Since I was told about the appointment over the phone, I have no idea where along the channel of communication the mistake was made - as it came out of the caller's mouth, or as it went through my (increasingly sieve-like) brain. I guess it doesn't really matter, though (and next time, I will call to confirm).

I did find that it made me feel a lot better to get out of the house (both physically and mentally). Can you remind me of that next chemo cycle, please? I don't know why I am still figuring these things out.

I am still all aglow from the conference (even if I have been too tired to write about it). It was a truly supportive, joyful atmosphere, despite the shared circumstances of the women in attendance. I had been hoping to learn (and I did). I had been hoping to get a chance to talk about my book (and I did). I had been hoping to meet a few nice people (which I really did). I did not anticipate how very inspired and hopeful I would feel on my return. I am so grateful that I was able to attend.

There were some excellent sessions on practical and medical issues (I mentioned the session on nutrition in yesterday's post and I will write a post on Monday about the medical stuff) but also workshops and speakers that addressed what it means to live with cancer.

Here are some of the comments that resonated with me:

From Advanced Breast Cancer: Living With Uncertainty, a workshop led by Mary K. Hughes, a nurse who helps cancer patients cope with anxiety and depression-

• Instead of focusing exclusively on what we have lost, it is important to "find new meaning in what you can do."

• There is a difference between depression and the grief we all experience as women living with metastasis.

• People often tell us we are brave. We don't generally feel brave, just that we are doing what we need to do.

• It's hard to explain to people that we will never be "done with treatment."

• "Coping is temporary. Adapting is permanent." This is so true.

• Talking about our cancer "takes the power out of it. It's like deflating a balloon."

• When she was first diagnosed with cancer, she had a busy practice and two kids. Cancer felt "like a storm had descended." I can really relate to that metaphor.

• A "healthy survivor" is one who gets good care and lives as fully as possible. Good health is a "wholeness of body and mind and not dependent on biology." Dr. Harpham advised us to "make your life the best it can be, whatever the circumstances."

• Minor discomforts (hello lymphedema!) can be an obstacle to happiness. She called it "the rubber band syndrome."

• Unpleasant emotions can be "the signal of a problem or the response to a problem." They can sometimes be used "in healing ways."

• "Anger and grief have a purpose."

• "It matters less what you feel than what you do with what you feel."

• "Live until you die." I know that sounds obvious but it is easy to lose sight of the living when all you can see is the illness or the ways in which your life has changed.

• Strike a balance between hope and acceptance - "hopeful acceptance."

• "Setting the stage for hope is a choice."

• "A prognosis is not a prediction."

• "Little problems have become trivial. The ordinary has become marvelous." I have written about revelling in the mundane.

• "Even the hard stuff reminds me that I am alive."

• On communicating with kids - "open the lines of communication and tell the truth. The greatest gift we can give our kids is not to protect them from the world but to give them the skills to deal with what life deals them."

I'm green and orange. As with previous events of this nature, I like to identify others who know what it's like to live with mets. I am also acutely conscious that wearing the orange may be every participant's worse nightmare.

A brilliant and beautiful girl that I know (the daughter of an equally brilliant and beautiful friend) is turning 13 this week. Her mother, who wonders at how quickly this happened, sent this link about girls to a a group of her friends.

My spouse's great aunt, a talented and formidable woman, passed away late last week at the age of 97. Tutzi was extremely proud of her granddaughters and her great-granddaughters and loved them very much. She was also an artist and a teacher of art.

My spouse and I have been wanting to do something as a tribute to Tutzi. The family has asked for donations to the Baycrest Foundation (the wonderful facility where Tutzi passed her last years) but I think that she would be equally pleased if we made a donation in her honour that would have a lasting impact on the lives of girls.

I urge you to take a minute today to think about all the girls in your life and the lives of girls in your community and around the world. Then check out the link and think about making a small change in a girl's life today.

In our early thirties but still so young, in hindsight.

There are two kids now.

The babe in this picture is just a head shorter than I am.

I have not seen T. without a beard since shortly after this was taken.

We have lots more gray hair between us.

We still have that red couch.

So much has happened since this picture was taken.

There's not much I would change.

Except for the cancer.

But not much else.

My spouse and my ten year old son are reading Maus together right now. So, so hard.

I am glad S. wants to learn this but so sad he has to learn how cruel people can be.

S.: "So they were just allowed to shoot Jews for fun?"

T.: "Jews were not considered human."

S.: "They were treated like vermin."

S. and T. together: "Like mice."

T.: "Not all the Germans felt this way but when your government and all the news and your neighbours are all telling you one thing...People get swept up."

So hard.