My Life-After-Cancer-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure-Journey

As I approach the two-year anniversary of the onset of my cancer treatment (which, thankfully, also means we’ll be approaching my two-year anniversary of having it all completed and behind me…), I’ve been able to step back and truly figure out where I am in my journey. Common sense dictates that my cancer journey should officially be over but I’ve come to realize that common sense is not always so common.

Although having cancer was merely one chapter within my journey, I’ve come to realize that, similar to a “choose-your-own-adventure” book, that chapter has greatly influenced the direction of the current and future journeys.

One of the things I’m certain about is that life is filled with uncertainties. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I don’t even know how I’m going to feel about whatever it is that does happen. What I do know, however, is that life is an adventure – and I’m going to do whatever I can to choose the pages that send me down the path towards the ‘happily ever after’.

My hair grows incredibly slowly. After a year and half it still isn’t anywhere near I thought it would be and every time I look in the mirror I still think “in progress”.
But it is growing and it’s long enough to get messed up in the wind on a beautiful summer day.

My body hasn’t fully bounced back from the weight gained during my treatment.
But I’m here and I’m healthy and there aren’t tons of deadly drugs or radiation waves flowing through me anymore.

I still have residual numbness and lack of strength in my arm from my surgery.
But my arms are still strong enough to wrap around all of the people I love in my life.

I can’t help but see my scars and radiation tattoos every single day that serve as constant and permanent reminders of what I’ve been through.
But they are also permanent reminders of what I survived.

I can’t hear phrases like “two-time cancer survivor” or “three-time cancer survivor” or stories about people who have been forced to endure this journey more than once without  feeling the pain through my very core.
But I choose to focus on the word “survivor” and how important it is for me to be grateful for where I am in life right now.

I still have days where I feel sad and think about everything I lost since being diagnosed with cancer – friends, strength and the belief that things like that “can’t happen to me”.
But more often than not I have days where I’m extremely grateful when I think about everything I have gained since being diagnosed with cancer – friends, strength and the knowledge that things like that can happen to me… and I’m stronger for it.

There are days where I still wake up feeling somewhat lost and sad.
But I wake up.

It can be incredibly frustrating to have things like this just “happen” to a person, with no choice in the matter.
But I can choose to focus on what I can control – my passions in life, my happiness, my love for my friends & family… That’s an adventure I would choose every single time.

I'm Running... But Not Necessarily Why You'd Think

 
This time of year always seems full of new beginnings and inspiration – maybe even more than New Years. Maybe it’s the new routines that come with the whole back-to-school world, or perhaps it’s the pull to get outside and enjoy the beautiful Fall weather but I’m always filled with a little bit of restlessness that needs to be channeled into something productive. It’s always seemed like good timing that the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation CIBC Run for the Cure takes place in the Fall, as it gives me a focus to not only work off the “summer excess” but also channels my energy into a worthwhile cause.

My boys and I have been taking part in this event for the last four or five years and it has always been an incredibly emotional and inspiring experience. Last year, being in the middle of my own cancer journey, everyone understood why we were running. Even though the physical demands were incredibly difficult and the emotional strains were tough to overcome, but obviously the prospect of a cure to end our current suffering was our focus.

This year I have no doubt that everyone will assume I’m running because I had cancer last year. And I am. It is an incredibly moving and overwhelming experience to be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with other woman who are fighting similar battles or with family members who are honouring those whose battles ended far too soon. At the finish line last year I watched a woman in the identifiable pink “survivor shirt” cross the finish line to cheers and hugs from at least 20-30 people with her name emblazoned on the back of their shirts. There were smiles and tears and, to me, it personified the reasons why we do this run.

So yes, I’m running because I’m a cancer survivor – or surTHRIVOR, as the inspirational Look Good Feel Better workshops founder, Sherry Abbott, wrote. I’m eternally grateful to be on the other side of this journey and I want to make sure that neither I, nor any of my loved ones, ever have to deal with such an ordeal again. I’m running to raise both money and awareness and to send good karma out to the universe in the hopes that positive energy can help eradicate something so incredibly negative. This year, as always, I am running for a cure – but this year, I’m also running for so much more: 

• I’m running because one in nine women diagnosed with this disease is one woman too many.

• I’m running so that no woman ever has to feel like a patient and not a woman.

• I’m running so that no woman ever has to look at the scars on her breasts – or the places where her breasts used to be – and ever feel less than a beautiful woman.

• I’m running so that no other woman ever has to sit beside her little boy as he helps pull out handfuls of her hair.

• I’m running so that no other man has to look at his wife and be forced to imagine a future without her.

• I’m running so that no child ever has to write “My Mom” as their reason for joining the event.

• I’m running so that no woman ever has to attend their child’s school event and fight back tears as they wonder if they’ll ever get to see another one.

• I’m running so that every woman can look forward to and attend their children’s milestones in life and cheer them on every step of the way.

• I’m running so that friendships are never lost because the journey has become too complicated or difficult.

• I’m running so that no woman ever has to feel lost and alone as they navigate their “new normal” following their own journey.

• I’m running so that no woman ever has to face losing their battle and the thought of leaving her friends and family behind.

• I’m running so that no family or friends ever have to say goodbye.

• I’m running because I love my son and my husband more than life itself and they’re not getting rid of me that easily! ;)

I’m also running because my incredibly 9-year old has set a goal to beat both my husband and myself in fundraising donations. So if you’re looking to donate, it’s a great cause – and if you’re looking to help beat cancer AND make a little boy's day, you can donate here .

For more information on the CIBC Run for the Cure, as well as how to Register, Donate or Volunteer, join the conversation on Twitter or Facebook.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Cancer Clinic...

Let me start off by saying Cancer sucks. Plain and simple. From diagnosis to treatment to aftermath, there is absolutely nothing enjoyable about having Cancer. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy and I cross my fingers every day that I never have to embark on this journey again.

That being said, I truly believe in the power of the mind-body connection. If you want to start feeling better, start thinking better. It may not completely cure what ails you but, really, can it hurt?

My own personal Cancer journey was full of many emotions – sadness, frustration, anger, fear… but anyone who knows me even a little will know that it was also filled with laughter. I don’t know if laughter really is the best medicine, but speaking from experience, it beats chemo hands-down!

So why was I smiling as I went through one of the toughest eight months of my life?

• How many places can you go and have virtually everyone continually tell you how young you are?
• Nothing gets the older crowd in the waiting room talking like showing up in a bright orange raincoat & leopard-print rain boots - no sensible shoes here!
• “Preferred parking” at the hospital’s Cancer clinic – score!
• Finding a discarded receipt at the parking machine for more than yours was for – yahoo!
• Free coffee from the bald guy at the local coffee shop – solidarity, brother!
• Think of all the money you save on hairdresser’s & esthetician’s costs!
• Getting trapped in underground parking can be an experience - did you know you can have quite a lovely conversation with the person on the other end of the "Help" button?
• Ever wonder if you could rock a “GI-Jane” look? Now you know!
• Do you have any idea how quickly I can get ready in the morning – goodbye, blow dryer!
• When else can you eat a full meal of chocolate milk & powdered donuts and not have one person raise an eyebrow??
• When people say they like your hair, how often can you take it off and let them try it for themselves?
• Months of lying in bed watching HGTV makes one heck of a “Honey-Do” reno list!
• There is no better time to immerse yourself in some full-character Sinead O’Connor-style karaoke…
• My amazing nurses’ names were “Joy” and “Bliss” – seriously, can you have better karma than that?

So do any of these reasons offset the physical or emotional suffering? Absolutely not. But if you’re able to smile for even a few moments throughout the darkest moments of your life, isn’t that already a victory?

The Ultimate Cancer Care Package

I hope you forget about this post. I hope you read it, enjoy it, and never refer to it again.

Counterintuitive? Perhaps. But unfortunately if you happen to find this article helpful and useful at all it means that you or someone in your life has thrown into the ring to battle against one of the most unforgiving opponents.

I am by no means stepping up as the ‘poster child’ for the Cancer journey. Nor can I attempt to speak for the millions of people who have been impacted through their own personal experiences. 
Everyone’s cancer experience is kind of like fingerprints – many similarities but ultimately everyone’s reactions are unique to themselves. If you want to support a loved one at any stage of their journey, there are a few things I’ve learned that I’m passing along in order to help you create the ultimate cancer care package.

• Lip balm – hospitals and doctor’s offices seem to all be moisture-free zones to begin with. Throw in some chemotherapy, radiation or other treatments and you’re practically Sahara-bound!
• Hand  & body moisturizer – same reasons as above. And gold stars to you if you get a large bottle for home and at least one travel size version to have on hand at all times.
• Glaxol skin cream – if going through radiation, this cream is recommended to keep the skin hydrated and protected throughout the treatments. You can pick it up at your local drug store.
• Deodorant – No, your friend won’t start to stink. Many deodorants contain aluminum, which can impact the radiation treatments (and probably isn’t all that good for you, anyway!) – so if you can find some ‘natural’ deodorant or at least an aluminum-free variety, they’re already ahead of the game.
• Alcohol-free mouthwash – chemotherapy can be extremely drying and can leave you with that pasty dry-mouth feeling. Fabulous. Normal mouthwashes just aggravate this but the alcohol-free types seem to work much better.
• Epsom salts – Sometimes a good soak in the tub just makes everything better – easing sore muscles, and allowing for a temporary escape from the reality of treatments. Adding in some Epsom salts helps add health benefits, including soothing the body, easing stress and drawing toxins from the body.
• Hand sanitizer & wet wipes – germs are definitely not a cancer patient’s friend. Picking up any sort of virus or illness can result in prolonging the treatment – something no one wants, so the more things they can add to the germ-fighting arsenal, the better.
• Money – you may not be able to ease their physical pain but you can help ease the financial pain with money that can be put towards parking, or even a two-week parking pass if you know he or she will be going every day (common for radiation treatments).
• Pyjamas – odds are they will be spending a significant amount of time in bed, on the couch, or assuming other horizontal positions. A cozy pair of PJs or a nice comfy outfit to hang out in can help lift people’s spirits and keep them looking & feeling better – plus it’s great for greeting drop-in guests.
• Gatorade or Vitamin Water – staying hydrated is so important – not just during treatments. Unfortunately, I found I wasn’t able to drink water during my treatments – not sure why, but I was sometimes able to sip some Vitamin water or Gatorade and that seemed to help.
• Green tea – There are tons of health benefits to drinking green tea, and it is even believed to be helpful in preventing cancer. (Can I get a big ‘Yahoo’??) I’m no stranger to green tea but during my treatment I was lucky enough to have great friends who dropped off a green tea sampler package from David’s Tea – it felt great to be drinking something good for me, and having tons of options to be sure I found some that I liked. That and a pretty mug can make a big difference on an otherwise crummy day.
• Kobo/Chapters/iTunes gift card – A thoughtful way to help people kill time during and between appointments – they can load up their iPods or eReaders, or have some great new books shipped to them. Anything to make waiting and waiting seem less exhausting.
• Sour candies – A wonderful friend of mine introduced me to these during my treatments – specifically the Icebreakers Sour Orange variety – and for whatever reason, they were extremely helpful when it came to dealing with dry mouth issues, and was even somewhat helpful as an anti-nausea aid. No idea why but trust me, when you’re in the middle of it all, you’ll try anything!
• Magazines – sometimes mindless entertainment is just what a person needs to take their mind off of everything.
• Blanket – it can get darn cold sitting in those chemo rooms, so a nice light throw or afghan would definitely come in handy. Some hospitals give patients a quilt as part of the process, but I know for me, they forgot and I didn’t get mine until the end so extra blankets would have been great.
• A cute tote bag – something bright, cheery and practical to carry around all of these handy things to their treatments – bonus points if you include a cute lunch bag to match. Chemo treatments can go on for hours so bringing lunch and snacks helps.

One thing I need to mention is when purchasing any of these items, always opt for the unscented varieties of products, where applicable. Many of the treatments can leave you very sensitive to various smells; plus, if you happen to be one of those people who are suffering through unending waves of nausea, the last thing you want is a strong smell to set things off again. Even if the smell isn’t particularly offensive, I found that there were certain smells that I now associate with my “treatment time”. I had to give away certain body washes, shampoos & soap because just one little sniff was enough to transport me back to a time I would rather not go back to.

So there you have it – it may not cover all the bases but it’s definitely a good starting point if you’re thinking of picking up a few items to support a friend who has been diagnosed with cancer. As I mentioned, everyone’s experience is different but I’ve had so many people ask me what they can do or what they can give to help someone through it, I’m hoping this is a good place to start.

Most importantly? Caring enough to read this article and wanting to do what you can to support someone through a difficult time means more than all of the lip balms in the world.


But trust me on the candy…

After the Happily Ever After

Once upon a time there was an evil disease that invaded a body and ravaged a family. In response, many of the local villagers banded together to defeat the evil disease and declare the body a safe and happy place once again. The disease was gone, the villagers cheered and everyone lived happily ever after.

Like most well-known fairy tales, people assume the story ends there. But did you ever wonder what happened after the happily ever after?

In some ways, my cancer journey was like a story – not necessarily a great bedtime-read, mind you, but there was a ‘good vs. evil’ plot, a battle, and a victorious finish.

I’ve learned, however, that the ‘happily ever after’ we were all working towards is not exactly as comforting as originally written. What if “after-cancer” is just as difficult as “having cancer”? Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely thrilled and that the surgery is done, the invasive treatments are done, the brutal symptoms and side effects are done – and now I’m happy, healthy and on the ‘winning’ side of this crazy battle. 

Here’s my problem – for someone that’s as Type A as myself, even though the cancer journey was absolutely horrible and I never want to go through it again, I was still able to find elements of comfort within it:

I could still work the disease and all things surrounding it into some sort of controlled schedule – my life and my calendar were full of various doctor’s appointments and treatment dates.
I came to know which days I would feel more like myself and which days I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed.
I could still quarterback plans and playdates to keep my beautiful boy busy and distracted on the really tough days.
I was still able to prop myself up with my laptop and my cell phone and continue working on most days throughout the process.

In short, I was still able to “be me” and feel like I still had some element of control, even though I was in the midst of something that seemed to be beyond my control. I had a goal and a focus every day – concentrate on one day at a time, one treatment at a time, and appreciate how much closer to the end goal that brought us all to. I was surrounded by an amazing support network that continued to visit/call/email/bring meals/cheer on/check-in throughout the entire process, and I’m so fortunate to have had that. Doctors and nurses were checking in on me all the time and letting me know how I was doing, how the treatment was going, etc. Really, I was far too busy to ever be worried or wonder what life was going to be like after it all ended – the goal was just to get to the end.

Well, here we are at the infamous ‘end’. Hoping to be cancer-free and ‘back to normal’. Here at my own ‘happily ever after’. Yet now, more than ever, I find myself feeling scared, unsure and alone, with the question “What now” echoing loudly and drowning out many other thoughts in my head.

Now I’m learning that the post-cancer experience isn’t quite like they depict it in the movies. I didn’t get that chance to sit across from my doctor, anxiously awaiting the words “Congratulations – you’re cancer-free”. I pictured sitting there with my husband, letting tears of joy & relief stream down my face as we hugged and thanked her for all she had done for us. In reality, it felt more like a “good luck to you” send-off, complete with a “We don’t test to see if you have it anymore but let us know if you have any symptoms” finale. Really? After all we’ve been through, that’s it? Not even a high-five or a balloon?

Now I have time to truly process everything I’ve gone through. Previously I was far too busy & focused to be sad, scared, or introspective – now I’ve got nothing but time to field these thoughts and feelings that keep washing over me and figure out what the heck to do with them.

Now the daily ‘check-ins’ and support are less frequent (as they should be, of course!) which leave me feeling less distracted and, at times, more alone.

Now I’m mourning friendships and relationships that didn’t survive the bumpy road I found myself on.

Now I’m acutely aware of stories about people whose cancer continues to return – those who successfully battle it time & time again, and those who were sadly unable to claim victory once again.

Now I’m not working anymore and I desperately miss the routine, the outlet and the camaraderie that meant so much to me during these difficult months.

Now I’m learning that getting my body and my mind to get back into total alignment (or something close to it) is trickier than it looks. My mind says “We’re done, we’re healthy, we’ve spent far too much time in a horizontal position lately and we need to get back into shape!” My body, on the other hand, says “We don’t have the energy, we’re still reeling from the last year or so, we need to ease back into things.”

Now I feel like I’m supposed to have learned numerous life-lessons throughout this journey designed to “make a difference” or “ensure my life really matters” – a lot of pressure if you’re not sure how to do that.

Now I understand with every fibre of my being that life is short and can have its own agenda, despite all of our best-laid plans and preparations. It’s so incredibly hard not to be absolutely terrified about the prospect of not being there for those people who mean the most to me.

So there you have it – a lot of “what now’s” that you may not expect to run across when you begin your “once upon a time”. Does that mean I don’t believe in happy endings? Absolutely not – the most important “what now” I have taken away from all of this is that now I am extremely aware of all of the things in life that are beyond my control – but also that there are still things that I CAN control. I can control my reactions to what happens in life and I can choose to appreciate where life has taken me. Perhaps this story isn’t over after all – and now it’s time for me to figure out how that next chapter will go…

Cancer doesn't discriminate

When I shared my “D-Day” (aka “Diagnosis Day”) details with my friends and family last year, the overriding response was “Why you?”. No one in my family has ever had cancer; I work out 2-3 times a week; I eat relatively healthy (hey, I even willingly ate kale!); and have never suffered more than a cold throughout my entire life. So admittedly, I was on the “Why me” train with the rest of them.

Here’s what the past year has taught me – why NOT me? Cancer doesn’t read the checklists. It doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if the “rules” show that you shouldn’t have it. It doesn’t care that you weren’t planning to get sick. It doesn’t care that you didn’t see this coming. It doesn’t care if you don’t feel strong enough to deal with it. It doesn’t care if you have a lifetime of plans and goals ahead of you still to achieve. It doesn’t care whether you’re young, old or somewhere in between. It doesn’t care if you have a loving partner or supportive friends & family that count on you. It doesn’t care if you have children at home who could not (and should not) have to imagine a life without you. It has its own agenda and truly couldn’t care less about yours.

So if these checklists don’t mean as much as we thought they did, we really only have two options. Continue to bemoan our fate and worry on what should or shouldn’t be… or make a new checklist. A checklist that allows us to take some of the power back and focus on the things that we CAN control. We fight for – and enjoy – every single minute we have.

We fight even harder knowing that there are things beyond our control.

We continue to build our bodies to be “un-cancer-friendly” environments.

We eat the foods that make cancer run in the opposite direction.

We work out to make sure our bodies are ready to fight off any intruder.

We go for regularly scheduled doctor’s appointments and we do self-exams on a regular basis.

We make sure our heads are not stuck in the sand somewhere and we arm ourselves with the knowledge that makes us powerful.

We listen to our bodies and appreciate them for all that they are and all that they give us.

We look around us and make sure we are surrounded by a positive, loving, support network.

We make sure to let this support network know how much they mean to us.

We recognize that every day is a gift and it is our choice every single day to decide whether to celebrate it or take it for granted.

We make a conscious effort not to ‘sweat the small stuff’ – compared to the thought of not being there for your family and loved ones, does anything else truly compare?

If cancer doesn’t read the checklists, then maybe it’s time to focus on a different list. Perhaps instead of focusing on the question of “Why me” we should simply focus our energies on “Me”…

Why You May Not Get a Thank You From Me

There are times when it’s extremely difficult to find words that accurately convey a certain thought or feeling – even for me! Sometimes in the act of looking at the words themselves, you’re left with a feeling that something’s just “missing”. Such is the case when I read these two words:

Thank you

Now, this phrase is one that shouldn’t be unfamiliar to most people (although, sadly, I have encountered my share of people who could use a quick refresher!), yet somehow when I look at it, it’s just not enough. I’ve tried thanks, gracias, danke, merci, mahalo, grazie, much obliged, cheers, and even “back at ya” but no luck.

Over the last 10 months, I have been so incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by acts of kindness from friends, family, acquaintances and even strangers. Cancer can be extremely isolating, yet somehow the whole “it takes a village” philosophy stood up, took over and surrounded us with support and love that was truly beyond my comprehension. For Type A personalities like me, it can be extremely difficult to hand over the reins and ask for help at any point, even when faced with a challenge like facing – and beating – cancer. It can be extremely easy to push people away in an attempt to prove how strong, independent and capable a person can still be.

I’m so glad my ‘village’ didn’t listen.

So even though these two words will never fully convey the sincere appreciation, gratitude and love behind them, I would be remiss not to take the opportunity to provide a special “shout out” to the best support network a person could have.

Thank you for the countless emails, cards, voicemail messages, tweets and more that not only served as a continued reminder of the support that surrounded me but also kept me engaged and connected with the ‘real world’.

Thank you for the amazing meals, snacks and desserts that magically appeared on my doorstep a few times a week during times of intense treatments. It was such a relief to have one less thing to worry about – and has now become quite a challenge as I attempt to replicate some of the incredible meals we were all treated to!

Thank you for the random surprise gifts that showed up on occasion – the lattes & lemon poppyseed loaves, the books, magazines & DVDs, the bottles of wine, the chocolate treats, the “just because” gifts… All the things that somehow miraculously arrived when I was at my lowest points and served their purpose by lifting my spirits to get through another day… with a smile.

Thank you to the incredibly talented individuals in my life who shared their gifts with us by capturing positive memories during a less-than-ideal time. From beautiful family portraits at the onset of the journey to celebratory pictures commemorating the end of the treatment process, I felt so incredibly blessed to have our lives documented in such a creative and amazing fashion – by such creative and amazing individuals.

Thank you for the company – whether it was catching a ride to various treatments or appointments, or just hanging out on the couch watching bad TV, it’s an incredibly comforting experience to pass such unpleasant times with such amazing people.

Thank you to those people who just “did” rather than “asked”. Now don’t get me wrong – when your life is in constant turmoil, any positive thought, energy and prayer is always appreciated. And sometimes it can be difficult to know what people truly want or need. But it was such a relief for me (in a weird non-Type A sort of way) to just have things done for me, rather than have to figure out what could be done. Not having to schedule, ask or even think can definitely be a blessing!

Thank you for remembering my family – the phone calls & emails to my rockstar husband just to make sure he was alright and had someone to talk to if he needed it; the playdates, activities & even little gifts for my amazing little boy so that his world could remain as “normal” and “fun” as possible. After spending so much time as the unwanted centre of attention, it meant so much to me that the two centres of my world could take their own much-deserved turn on the pedestal.

Thank you for keeping things normal – when something shakes up the normal routines of life like this, it can be quite normal for all thoughts, activities and conversations to revolve around the situation at hand. Obviously, I have had no problem discussing any part of my journey to-date, however it’s definitely a welcomed change of pace to chat about the crummy weather, bratty kids or the crazy lineup at the drive through. Just because my “normal” was put on hold, doesn’t mean anyone else’s has to be – it’s nice to stay connected.

So there you have it – some of the countless reasons why “thank you” just doesn’t cut it. This is the reason why all of the incredible people in my world who helped us through this won’t get a thank you. Instead, please know that you have touched my life and my heart with your kindness and have helped to make this journey memorable for the right reasons, rather than the painful ones.


 “The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the grandest intention.” Oscar Wilde

*Photo credit: www.tumblr.com

Bare With Me

Let me start by saying that body image has always been an issue for me. I’ve owned one bikini in my entire life – and it only made one appearance during Spring Break in university, where I was probably too hung over to fully appreciate what I was doing! I have spent countless hours wishing that my pre-Spanx tummy would just miraculously stay that way without assistance from the wonders of spandex, and I am now far too familiar with every last little wrinkle that has taken up permanent residence on my face – without paying rent. Sadly, I know I’m not alone in this critical obsession with my body and all the things that it isn’t, wasn’t or perhaps never will be.  

Over the past nine months, my body has definitely been put through the ringer – blood tests, mammograms, ultrasounds, chemo treatments, radiation, breast exams, nausea, sore muscles… poking, prodding… Trust me, we’ve done it all. If there was ever a “real” reason to hate my body, this should have been it – after all, my body allowed this tumour to form. It was the reason that all of this invasiveness occurred. It let me down.

Well, as I sit here being six weeks post-treatment (and cancer-free!), here’s what I’ve come to realize. My body is exceptional. It endured months of poking, prodding and poisoning. And it survived. I’m finished my treatments, the cancer is gone, and I’m still here. Here to hug and kiss my beautiful boy each and every day. Here to fall asleep with my husband’s arms around me every night. Here to share my story and thank everyone who was there for me. Here.

My body and I have started coming to an understanding. We’re working out together again. We’ve gone back to focusing on healthy eating again. We’re trying to get to normal energy levels again. We may not always see eye to eye on what we should be able to feel or accomplish, but we’re working on it. Together.

Why is it that we’re all so critical of our bodies and so quick to list its flaws? Maybe its time to start celebrating what our bodies ARE and not what they are NOT. I’m so proud of my body for surviving cancer. I’m proud that it’s allowed me to not only survive but to move forward and accomplish all of the things I want to do with my life. Besides, how can I stay mad at something that allowed me to create, carry and deliver the most amazing gift ever given to me almost nine years ago?

So can I triumphantly announce that I have moved beyond all of my body issues and insecurities? Nope. I still cringe when I’m forced to step on the scale at each doctor’s appointment. I still glare at the untoned mushiness that eight months on the couch has left me with. And I’m still hypersensitive to the stares in my direction – real or perceived – while I’m out sporting my “GI Jane” hairdo. But what I can say is that each of these insecurities are now grounded in and complemented by a new foundation of appreciation. My body may not always look the way I’d like it to but what’s important is that it’s there for me. Like a true friend. One that I need to celebrate and appreciate. 

So in the spirit of appreciating “the new normal” and celebrating what “is” rather than what it “should be”, it’s time to step outside of my comfort zone and bare it all -   no more hiding behind surgical gowns, baggy sweaters, wigs or scarves. I vow to be defined by things other than extra pounds, added wrinkles, or a lack of hair. I’m sure there will be days that are easier than others  but I know it’s a journey… and I’m on my way. So ‘bare’ with me… ;)

P.S. Huge shout-out to the amazing Leah Kirin of Forever Moments for helping me "bare the baldness"!

What If...?

Nothing like stating the obvious – Cancer sucks. And just for the record? Cancer treatments suck too. From first diagnosis to now, finally having my final chemotherapy treatment behind me, it has been a long 5.5 months – and we still have about a month and a half left of treatments (radiation this time) and then time to get my body (and brain) back on track to where we were prior to this adventure. It’s been a roller-coaster of emotions and learning, and although some people will suggest its made me a stronger person because of it, I would be lying if I said I was thankful for it.

After my last chemo date, I felt a gigantic sense of relief – and people who have been surrounding and supporting me throughout this journey flooded me with support and congratulatory messages. It felt like I had reached a major milestone, hopefully never making myself comfortable in those green, sterile treatment chairs again. So I was completely taken aback to feel enveloped by a sense of sadness shortly thereafter – I was thrilled to be done this leg of the treatment (did I mention it truly sucked??) so what was going on?

I’ve been focusing so much mental and physical energy on getting through the chemotherapy, that now that I’ve reached that goal, it forces me to focus on other things – like perhaps some things that I didn’t have the energy to concentrate on prior to now.

I feel like a veil of ignorance has been forcefully removed from my eyes and I can no longer pretend I’m immune to diseases and ‘bad stuff’ outside of my control. I’ve been allowed to spend the majority of my life to-date comfortably shrouded in a world of “Not me” – and now, it’s “me”. I will never again be worried about the occurrence of cancer, but will be continually aware of the possibility of its recurrence.

• What if the cancer comes back?
• What if we don’t catch it as quickly next time?
• What if I have to endure these treatments again?
• What if the treatments don’t work?
• What if I spend the rest of my life wondering “what if”?
• What if I don’t?

I recently attended my son’s Remembrance Day celebration at his school and was thrilled to be well enough to be there. I told him I would be there and I was – promises that haven’t always been easy to make or keep lately. So as I watched him sit with his friends and sing their well-rehearsed song, my eyes filled with ‘mom pride’ – but then quickly turned to something even stronger and the ‘game’ began once again.

• What if I never get to go to all of the school assemblies, sporting events, music lessons, and everything else that makes up the fabric of his life?
• What if I have to look into his beautiful brown eyes one day and tell him that all of this chaos over the last half-year has been for nothing and we have to do it all over again?
• What if I’m lucky enough to see it all?

I have an amazing life. I have so much to be thankful for and have gained a new perspective and appreciation for the things that are truly important to me. It has truly been humbling and inspiring to see the number of individuals who have reached out since my diagnosis to make the needs and concerns of my family a priority in their lives.

• What if I’m always seen as ‘that girl who had cancer’?
• What if I’m never able to let these people know what a difference their kindness has made to my life?
• What if the relationships that have been strained because of an inability to face or deal with my diagnosis never return to the places that they were?
• What if I’ve been lucky enough to add even more amazing people to my life?

Although my brain knows that the chemo and all of the physical pains that accompany it is behind me, my body hasn’t caught up yet. All I physically feel is the cumulative effects of 4 months of treatments – but I can’t wait to start feeling better again – and know that the recuperation process will only continue in the right direction with each passing day.

• What if my body never completely feels like my own again?
• What if I’m always forced to live with the residual numbness from the surgery and the pins & needles in and lack of strength in my fingertips from the chemo?
• What if every pain, ache or twinge fills me with worry?
• What if I live a long and healthy life from this point forward?

Here’s what I know for sure – I didn’t choose to get cancer. I didn’t choose the emotional and physical side-effects of both the cancer and the treatments. I don’t get to choose whether the cancer ever comes back again. But here’s what I do have a choice in…

• I choose to define myself as Christy – not as a someone who had cancer; not as a ‘survivor’; just me
• I choose to keep my perspective focused on the things that matter in life, because I know how quickly they can be taken out of our control
• I choose to be forever grateful for the people who truly stepped up and have made this process that much easier – not only for what they have done for and contributed to my family, but particularly for those people who just treated me as “me” and not “me with cancer”
• I choose life – my life - and everthing that comes with it because it truly is a great one.

The New Normal

I’m generally a fan of pie. Well, truthfully, it’s usually more about the pie crust but, overall, pie ends up in my good books. Lately, however, I’ve been served up a slice or two that’s been pretty tough to digest – yup, the infamous ‘humble pie’. Chock full of things that are good for you, but still a digestion disaster. I have learned that no matter how “Type A” or scheduled or organized I might like to think I am, no amount of planning has prepared for me for exactly how difficult this journey has been – and how completely out of my element I am.

You see, I went in to this crazy journey trying to keep things as normal as possible – for me, for my friends, my family – and particularly for my beautiful little boy. What I have learned, now that we are officially 62.5% of the way through these “poison powwows” (but who’s counting??), is that no matter how hard I try, the ‘normal’ that I have come to know, love and rely upon is nowhere to be found.

Instead, I have been left with a new set of rules, feelings and survival tactics that I have not-so-lovingly come to refer to as “The New Normal”.

So what does this “new normal” entail?

• It’s waking up each morning holding my breath & crossing my fingers as I pry open each eyelid in the hopes that today will be a relatively good day.
• It’s explaining to my saddened little boy why I can’t get out of bed and hang out with him yet again.
• It’s praying (albeit somewhat selfishly) that my eyebrows and eyelashes don’t follow the path my hair did and leave me completely.
• It’s a continual cycle of counting days/weeks/months until the next treatment/appointment/feel good day occurs.
• It’s attending weddings where the mother-of-the-groom dances with her son and doing everything I can not to burst out into an ugly cry at the thought of not being there for my own son’s wedding.
• It’s feeling incredibly self-conscious anytime I wear my wig – like everyone around me knows that I’m trying to pull one over on them or something.
• It’s spending so much time choking down pills & hooked up to IVs that the thought of ever even popping a Tylenol again makes my stomach turn.
• It’s the daily guilt that my husband, son, family & friends have pretty much taken over the responsibility of getting our family through these past few months while I contribute next to nothing.
• It's the constant fear that I won't live to do all of the things I want to see, do, and experience... and that I won't get all the time I want with my husband, my son and all of the other wonderful people in my life.
• It’s celebrating people I hear about who are multi-time cancer survivors, while feeling a huge horse-kick in the stomach every time I hear about people who have to go through this more than once. No way can I do this again.

So there it is – The New Normal. And here I am, trying to somehow jam its rectangular-shaped edges into the beautifully rounded shape that the “real normal” holds in my life.  As any toddler with a shape-sorter will tell you, that’s never a pretty process – and my tantrums can be just as ugly.

What I have learned, however, is that there are a few elements of this “new normal” that seem to be able to fit in a bit more smoothly.

So as I sit here serving up yet another lukewarm slice of that infamous humble pie, I can tell you that The New Normal also includes:

• An appreciation for the little things that add so much joy to my days – lattes & lemon poppyseed loaf, the crispness of the Fall air sneaking in through my window, extra snuggles with my son…
• A promise to take my son on a trip when all of this is over. His choice of destination. And I won’t roll my eyes or try to lobby for a better location. And I won’t complain that we can’t afford it. I will simply enjoy the fact that I’m spending healthy, happy, amazing time with my boys.
• An awareness that there are people in this world who will drop everything to put other people’s needs ahead of their own. I have been truly inspired day after day by the continued contributions – meals, gifts, emails, prayers – that my family has been blessed with over the past few months. I don’t know that I deserve them but I’m pretty sure no one could appreciate them more.
• A reminder to ‘get over myself’ – my biggest ‘ugly cry’ since my cancer diagnosis was when my hair started falling out. A very small price to pay when compared with spending a long and happy life with my family.
• The realization that asking for help doesn’t make you weak or undercut your own strength and capabilities. I simply can’t get through all of this without help – and I feel so fortunate that I haven’t had to.

So there you have it. In another week I will hopefully be 75% of the way through this – yes, 3/4 of the way there… a solid B+ if anyone was grading me. I will go on record and state that this will definitely be a big day for us around here (we’re all counting!) – so you can just imagine the state of the Lawson household once we hit that treasured final treatment date! There will be smiles, there will be laughter, there will be hugs… there may even be a bottle of wine or two!

And then we will be left to figure out our even “newer normal” – the place where we try to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other in these new circumstances. I don’t know what it will entail, I don’t know how we will adjust, but I have no doubt I will do everything I can to embrace our New Normal and all of the gifts that come with it.

And it may even involve pie.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

The very last thing I told myself leaving my follow-up appointment with my surgeon.

Seems like relatively simple instructions, doesn't?

Well, apparently I listen about as well as my 8-year-old.

I got my hopes up.

Which now leaves me in the strangely awkward position of having to give myself the “I told you so” lecture.

Truthfully, it can’t entirely be my fault… I mean, picture this:

You’re a student who knows the big end-of-year exam is coming and you’re dreading it. About a month before, your teacher says there’s a 50-50 chance that perhaps you won’t have to write it this year. Hallelujah, right? So you cross your fingers, your toes, your eyes… whatever you can in the hopes that you will be one of the lucky ones who can avoid this killer exam. Then, you get a call from your teacher right before the scheduled date and find out that, in fact, you have to write it after all.

It shouldn’t be a HUGE surprise, right? All year you knew it was coming, and here it is. But it was that tiny glimmer of hope that took hold in your heart and grew and grew that now leaves you feeling about 1000 times more disappointed and stressed out than you would have been if you’d just blindly followed the typical course of action.

Well, my oncologist was my teacher, and that dreaded final exam? Chemotherapy. It’s happening. My name is on the test paper, and truthfully, I’m pretty sure all the last minute cramming wouldn’t help the end result anyway.

Somewhere within the next month or so, I’ll have no choice but to face some of my biggest fears head-on:
•    How am I going to look without hair?
•    What sort of potential damage could these poisons inflict upon my body long-term?
•    What if I’m in the 15% of the population that has to endure all of this with no positive outcome?
•    What if this burden is just too much for my rockstar husband to have to deal with?
•    What if I’m just not mentally tough enough to truly beat this?
•    What if I’m not there to watch my sweet little boy grow up?

So many questions, so many fears… and truthfully, so little time to be worrying about any of them. The reality is, this is not the Fall season I would have planned for myself and my family, however, it’s the one that I seem to have been dealt. Therefore, doing anything other than dealing with all aspects of this situation head on and one step at a time appears to be wasted energy. Why worry about what “might” happen, when I need all the energy I’ve got to tackle what “is” happening?

Admittedly, it does wear on a person to continually listen to how rare, aggressive, invasive, and complicated my situation is. The only positive I’ve managed to squeeze out of any of the medical professionals I’ve encountered so far is that we caught it early. So I’m going to cling to that affirmation and wholeheartedly believe that it is that element of the diagnosis that is going to be the thing that works in our favour and gets us through this successfully.

Let’s get this straight – I don’t want to do this. I’m scared. And I hate not knowing what the outcome of any given situation will be – particularly one with such life-impacting circumstances. But I can’t worry about that right now. I need to get this journey behind me – and unfortunately that can’t happen without starting the treatment process. But I will get through it – and I will figure out what this voyage is supposed to teach me. I’m pretty sure I’ve got many more things that I need to accomplish in this lifetime. I may not know what they are, but I’m determined to find out. More importantly, my son has important things to achieve and, come hell or high water, I intend to be there in his cheering section every step of the way for years to come.

So here we go. Time for a deep breath… maybe two… A decaf double-tall non-fat latte for the road and off we go. I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to feel like… what I’m going to look like… how my body will respond… or what they outcome will be. The only thing I’m confident about is that I have incredibly strong & significant reasons for getting through this successfully – and I will be hugging each of them just a little bit longer every day from this point forward. Like the title of this blog says, with "two steps forward" and only "one step back", it may take a little longer, but you're still bound & determined to get there!

One Victory at a Time

In the weeks since I shared my recent cancer diagnosis, I have been truly overwhelmed, touched and deeply humbled by the outpouring of support from countless people. These days, it’s so easy to say you have a ton of friends/fans/followers, etc. but it is only through something like this – something that shakes you to your very core – that helps shed light on the fact that there are true compassionate hearts, shoulders to lean on, and hands to hold behind those names.

So, where are we now? We have officially reached the front line of the battle and are taking no prisoners. I’m recovering as well as I can from surgery – cutting out both the tumour and any delusions that this entire situation might have only been a convenient misdiagnosis. It’s definitely very real… and very sore… but on some weird level, I’m glad to have the first step behind me.

I’m pretty sure I make a terrible patient – did I mention that my husband is a total rockstar? – but I’m trying to find my glimmers of light wherever I can find them. The hospital was cold but the medical staff was incredible – and the heated blankets were a godsend!

So through all of the support I’ve been fortunate enough to receive, one sentiment keeps rising to the surface – everyone can’t wait to read the “major victory” blog at the end of this journey. Well, I can’t wait for that either, but because we’ve still got quite a few more steps to get through before this becomes a distant memory, I’ve decided to focus on the “mini victories” we’ve managed to achieve so far…

•    This process can be good for a girl’s ego – I’ve repeatedly been told how young I am throughout this whole process – haven’t really heard that much in days prior!

•    What better excuse to go out and stock up on some pretty new bras? If everyone in the world is going to be seeing them, might as well make them look good!

•    I finally managed to squeeze in a family portrait session – no idea how they turned out yet but at least I can visibly prove I’ve been part of this family too! (Thanks, Anita!)

•    There are some AMAZING resources set up to deal with these types of situations!

o    I found an incredible retail store in Burlington that outfitted me with a post-surgical camisole, support pillow and an avalanche of information and resources – all as part of a complementary support program. So sad that such a shop needs to exist, but so wonderful that it does!

o    I attended a Look Good Feel Better workshop and was shocked at the amount of resources, support and, yes, products I walked away with. Questions I didn’t even know I had were answered, hopefully putting me even further ahead in the game.

•    Did I mention my husband rocks? Forget the white horse – any guy who can deal with post-surgery vomit and empty an ‘ooze sack’ on a regular basis with a smile on his face is definitely my kind of knight in shining armour!

•    I have always been a “Let me know if I can do anything to help” kind of girl. One of the things I will be sure to take away from this whole ordeal is to offer less and do more. Seriously, my heart has always been in the right place, but I’ve learned to take the Nike approach going forward and “just do it”! The meals that miraculously appeared and kept my family fed, the decaf double-tall non-fat lattés that made their way into my hands, the care packages filled with wonderful little time-fillers that just showed up, the playdates for my son that just materialized… I have no doubt that being able to enjoy these benefits while not having to coordinate a single thing definitely contributed to the entire recovery process.

Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things.  ~Author Unknown

And as for the latest medical “victory”? Well, the lump has been removed, the surgeon is confident she got it all, the lymph nodes they took all came back “clear” and I’ve been able to spend the last couple of weeks recuperating and enjoying my incredible family and friends. Whew. Next step is to meet with the oncologist and find out where the course of treatment will take me. Truthfully, this is the part that freaks me out the most, but I’m not going to let it get me down. I’m just going to take it step by step… and enjoy every victory along the way.

My Lumpy Life Lessons

I need to get something off of (and out of) my chest…

I have a confession to make – I’m one of those people who resolve to focus on things that really matter when confronted by tragic situations, but after a couple of weeks, real life seems to get in the way of my best intentions and I fall back into the same old rut. I get bent out of shape by the constant telemarketing calls, the fact that my son refuses to brush his teeth for longer than 37 seconds, the fact that the dog has made it his life’s mission to continually be underfoot each time I head up or down the stairs. I get caught up in conference calls, emails, field trip forms, and dentist appointments. Admittedly, I end up forgetting to just sit and enjoy the ‘here & now’.

Well, apparently the “powers that be” figured that I needed to learn my lesson – and they delivered it with a swift two by four to the side of the head… well, in this case, the breast. Yup, looks like I have cancer… the Big ‘C’. For the last week my world has been full of words like ‘invasive’ and ‘aggressive’… rather than some of my more preferable ‘ive’ words, such as ‘decorative’ and  ‘expensive’.

The good news is that we seem to have caught it relatively early. I would love to say I was one of those proactive women who routinely performed regular self-examinations and caught it that way, but again, I fell into the percentage of the population who checks (sort of) when something reminds me to, yet was never fully sure what it was I was looking for. No excuses – I’m fully aware of all of the statistics*:

•    One in 9 women is expected to develop breast cancer during her lifetime and one in 29 will die of it.
•    An estimated 22,700 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2012 and 5,100 will die of it
•    On average, 62 Canadian women will be diagnosed with breast cancer every day.

Yet somehow it was so easy to fall into the “Its-an-awful-disease-but-it-isn’t-going-to-happen-to-me” camp. I work out, have no history of cancer in my family, eat relatively healthy (alright, who can say no to the occasional lemon poppyseed loaf??)… it just wasn’t going to happen to me. Right?

It did.

I won’t tell you exactly how the lump was detected (after all, my mom reads these blogs!) but suffice it to say, my husband deserves a big “high five” and medal of honour for doing what he thinks is his job anyway!

So it looks like we’re going on a journey – and this one won’t be to Disney, much to my son’s dismay. My understanding is that this can definitely be a time of uncertainty and unknown. And while that may be true about a number of things, I do feel that there are certain things that I’m more certain about than ever:

1.    Cancer sucks.

2.    I won’t ever give my husband a hard time for wanting to fool around again.

3.    Hugging my son is the most beautiful feeling in the entire world.

4.    I have some truly amazing friends. Seriously, you should all be jealous!

5.    It is incredibly overwhelming to navigate your way through the medical system but it’s just as important to be your own advocate. Push, question, and investigate. It’s not just a right, it’s a responsibility.

6.    I don’t have nearly enough pictures of my family – I mean, there are a lot of my son (never enough, of course!), a bunch of my son and my husband… but not a lot of “us”. Why is it that we moms never step out from behind the camera??

7.    The thought of losing my hair doesn’t thrill me. Just sayin’…

8.    There is nothing sadder for a parent than the thought of not being there for their children. That’s why for this particular issue, I am extremely content to be the ostrich with its head in the proverbial sand – even given my extreme bird phobia…

9.    You can never say or hear “I love you” enough.

10.    My husband is a true rockstar. A full-blown multi-platinum, Grammy-winning rockstar. And this time, you can actually tell him I said so!

So, why am I sharing my story with all of you? You may be thinking that its far too personal to talk about… heck, some of you might not even be able to pick me out of a crowd of two – so why does it matter? Truthfully, it doesn’t – but here’s what does… my lumpy life lessons may not be yours, but I’m hoping that by reading this, you’ll all take a moment to find your own life lessons to work with…

1.    Public Service Announcement – your breasts are yours (and quite possibly, your partner’s!) – do yourself a favour and check them out on a regular basis so you know what you’re dealing with.

2.    Allow yourself to sweat the small stuff – get annoyed/frustrated/ticked off/upset/whatever – and don’t feel guilty about it. Feel it, own it… and then let it go. It just doesn’t matter enough to hang on to.

3.    Cry hard but laugh harder… and often.

4.    Take a minute – or two- to look around you and breathe it all in. Whatever your life has blessed you with, hug it, love it, savour it, cherish it and enjoy it.

5.    Every moment you have with the people you love is truly a gift – unwrap it and revel in it over and over again, each and every day.

*www.cancer.ca