The Pink Diaries

Words of Eloquence and Wisdom ...

2008-05-23T06:47:00.001-07:00

During my research at the art gallery today, I came across some very powerful words from an important Native artist from Fredericton. The words seemed to jump off the page, and I could only sit and bathe in philosophical pondering after reading it. These are wise words that we all need to embrace in our lives:

"The true path lies not in a place where many follow, but in a way that evolves from deep within the heart of each and every individual being having the courage to take faith and hope, and to grasp an ephermal understanding of the vanishing moment. We delve into so many past wrongs in our lives that we forget to revel in the present.

Learn to capture what you may never have again, now! Do what makes you content for this time, and begin to realize the true purpose of life."

~Edward "Ned" Bear (Fredericton, New Brunswick)

~On Taking the Plunge!

2008-05-18T16:11:00.000-07:00

Back in January, I was approached by the Saint John Arts Centre to be a part of their "Carnegie Concert Series." Each year they have a series of 4-5 concerts over the span of a few months in the name of the man who founded the arts centre. A previous professor of mine (who has heard me play several times and who happens to be the Vice President of their Board of Directors) suggested me as a possible feature artist. So they invited me to hold a concert (playing classical piano) in April.

At first I was very hesitant to agree. It had been an area of my training that I had rediculously neglected since I graduated (especially since being diagnosed with breast cancer). I worried that I wasn't able to play to my previous ability and wondered if I could actually pull off preparing for and performing at a full concert, after not having performed or prepared that large a repertoire of music in over two years. Then I also thought that this could be a great chance to get back into performing before its too late. It would give me that drive and motivation I needed to dive back in ... I needed something to work towards.

In the end I decided to take a leap forward and, after far too much thinking, I agreed to jump on board. I thought up a unique concert that would utilise my biggest strengths: teaching and music. I decided to hold a sort of survey of keyboard music, from the Baroque period to the Modern Period, where I would introduce each piece (telling some things about the era, what was going on at the time, who wrote the piece, what it was about) and then play the piece. I thought this would be an excellent way to draw the audience into the classical music experience and come to understand and enjoy it. I hired someone to do the "speaking" part of the concert and prepared the following pieces:

~J.S. Bach: Aria from Goldberg Variations
~Joseph Haydn: Sonata No.60 in C major, Hob.XVI/50 (Allegro and Adagio)
~Franz Schubert: Impromptu Op.90 No.3 in G flat Major
~Bela Bartok: 6 Romanian Folk Dances
~Linda Smith: Zart

I worked my buns off for four months--practising everyday, making arrangements, writing introductions to the pieces, and driving to Saint John weekly to practise on the grand piano. At times I felt like there was no way I was going to be able to do it. The amount of pieces I was preparing was overwhelming and it was like diving back in at 100% full force right off the bat! Although overwhelming, however, I did it! I managed to have the pieces perfectly prepared (and most of them memorized) by the April 12th date. I showed up, I played, and I got a standing ovation! CBC plugged the concert on their Saturday morning show, which I thought was awesome! Sometimes I would sit back and think ... wow ... I can't believe I've come all this way. And when it was all over and done with, I could only sit back and be proud of what I accomplished.

A portion of my musicians fee as well as profits from the bar were donated to the Canadian Cancer Society (some will be donated through my Relay for Life team, which I'll talk about in another post!).

The concert went so well, that I am seriously considering doing it at the Savoy Theatre in late June, and in Fredericton in the summer. Feel free to email for more details.

Thanks to the Glace Bay Gleaner for doing a 2-page interview about me and the concert in their April issue. Click here to read the article:

The Glace Bay Gleaner: Entertainment: Q&A with Melanie Roach

Here are some concert photos:

"Make Your Life a Mission, Not an Intermission." ~Arnold H. Glasgow

Photos From March/ April '08 (Approx. 1 year post-chemo)

2008-04-20T19:00:00.000-07:00

Picture Updates

2008-03-21T21:30:00.000-07:00

I've always kept you updated on the hair issue, so that tradition I will continue. Here are some pictures taken between September and February:

This is Mike and I at the Run For The Cure, Fredericton, in September (2007)--approx. 7 months post-chemo. My hair began turning into a mass of curls at this point. I had not yet cut or died it--every strand was still too precious!

This is me during my visit to Cape Breton for Thanksgiving weekend (October, 2007)--approx. 8 months post-chemo. At this point, I had just got my hair highlighted for the first time. Everything turned out great!

Here are some pictures from the Christmas Holidays (December, 2007, and January, 2008)--10-11 months post-chemo and finally seeing some length! The one with the curls is the natural look--the rest are the result of a straightening iron!

"If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going" ~Winston Churchill

2008-03-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a while since I have written last, and there are lots of updates to offer.

I recently had my one-year post-chemo follow-up appointment, and everything looked "perfect" according to my oncologist. And, I must say, I have been feeling great. With a run-down body and mind, it took a little while to recuperate. Right up until September I was feeling extremely tired and run-down. The thought of working full-time again was scary to say the least--I didn't know how I would do it. But, somehow, it happened. By October (6 months post-chemo) my energy levels had increased significantly and I was beginning to feel like myself for the first time in a while. I eased my way back into the workforce--I started by substitute teaching and acquiring a few piano students. I gradually added new projects to the load, and presently I have seven such projects on the go.

Right now, I am really focusing on developing my career and getting my finances back on track (which explains my lack of writing!). I am trying my best to focus on everything that was, unfortunately, put on hold for the past 1.5 years. I am currently the Project Manager for an Arts Education Resource which is being developed by the New Brunswick Visual Art Education Association--we are creating a set of DVDs featuring artists, musicians, and performers from New Brunswick, which will eventually be used in the schools. I am also assisting in the development of an "Art EduKit," which is another resource being developed by the Beaverbrook Art Gallery in Fredericton, for the NB Department of Education. In addition to all of this, I am holding tutorials for Music Education at the University of New Brunswick (Faculty of Education), teaching piano privately, and preparing for a concert upcoming on April 12th, which will be an evening of classical music featuring me on piano. And, the substituting continues ...

When I look back to how discouraged I was just 6 months ago, I feel proud about everything I've been able to accomplish and how far I've come in such a short period of time. At this point in my life, cancer seems like a bad dream. Sometimes I cannot believe that one year ago I was undergoing chemotherapy. Sometimes when I tell people that I had cancer last year, I feel as though I'm speaking about someone else--did I really go through all of that?! But, at the same time, cancer has become a piece of me, so I guess it is has been normalized for me.

"I have learned to use the word impossible with the greatest caution." ~Wernher von Braun

2008-03-21T20:18:00.000-07:00

In terms of my present health, I have been feeling great for the most part. I continue to take 20 mg of Tamoxifen daily, which is the hormonal therapy drug I will be taking for 5 years. I have been fortunate enough not to have the most common side-effect, which is hot flashes, so I am thankful for that. However, I have been experiencing crazy periods--complete with cramps and irregularity. But, for me, the benefits outweigh the unfortunate sife-effects. What worries me the most about Tamoxifen is the possible long-term effect of uterine cancer. I received my first uterine ultrasound a few weeks ago and everything came back normal, so let's just hope that this continues to be the case!

On the psychological side of things, I feel much happier. I look back to last summer and realize that I was an emotional mess. I had so many things going on. Regaining control of my life proved to be a tremendous task, full of uncertainty, fear, guilt, stress, resentfulness, and self-pity. I think that at that point I had allowed cancer to claim my life and to take control over me. I feel grateful that I was able to pull myself out of that dark time and reclaim the life that is MINE.

I would be lying, however, if I said that this disease has no bearing on me. I worry frequently about my health-I still wonder whether this or that could be cancer or whether I will have a recurrence. I feel a great deal of guilt if I don't eat well or if I miss exercising a few days in a row. I am constantly wondering whether I am doing all that I can to prevent myself from getting cancer again. And, sometimes I feel overwhelmed and helpless in my attempts to do all that I can to be healthy.

I have come to learn that the cancer journey is not only a long one, but an endless one--it will be a part of me for as long as I live. This I cannot control. I can control, however, the way I choose to view it and the role I will allow it to play in my life.

"The block of granite which was an obstacle in the pathway of the weak, became a stepping-stone in the pathway of the strong." ~Thomas Carlyle

Financial Woes

2008-01-18T20:22:00.001-08:00

I was now seeing first hand the financial impact that a cancer diagnosis can create. This impact also brings with it a number of unique concerns when the person in question is a young adult. We are a stage in our lives where there is tremendous pressure to become educated and be successful as an undividual. Many of us are in university or just coming out of university. Many of us have thousands of dollars accumulated in student loans, all waiting to be paid. Many of us cannot recieve disability or unemployment because of our university careers. Those of us who did not choose the university route are just beginning our financial lives and have little expendable income. A cancer diagnosis is a HUGE blow to a young person financially.

This was suddenly becoming a dark reality for me. I became overwhelmed with financial stress. My credit cards bills began piling up, rent needed to be paid, RBC was awaiting their money. Every bit of money I earned was immediately being handed over to a bill. I couldn't afford anything extra, which was creating a deep sense of unhappiness for me. I felt as though I couldn't enjoy my life because I didn't have the money to do any of the things I wanted to. It was an extremely stressful time. If it weren't for the help of my parents, my credit would probably be completely ruined by now.

I think that there needs to be more awareness about the financial strain caused to young people who receive a cancer diagnosis or any other life-threatening illness. We are the gray area-- a tiny population of individuals who have a completely unique and unusual set of circumstances. And we are oftentimes overlooked. I hope that in the future I will be able to create a fund to help ease the financial burden of a cancer diagnosis for other young cancer survivors. I know it would have been extremely helpful to me. It is a time when financial support is a necessity, but unfortunately there are very few resources available for unique situations as such.

$$$ Money $$$

2008-01-18T19:53:00.000-08:00

In September, Mike and I packed up our things and moved to Fredericton, New Brunswick. Exciting. I immediately filled out an application for substitute teaching upon arriving and Mike began taking his courses at UNB. I also contacted an old professor of mine, whose music education class I used to tutor, and offered my tutoring services for his classes once again. I hung posters around the city advertising piano lessons. I figured having a few smaller jobs would give me flexibility and diminish stress levels so that I could still heal while also making money.

Subtituting did not provide the cash I planned for. As it turns out, Fredericton has a surplus of subsitute teachers. Even worse, it is a very political city where connections mean everything. Weeks went by at first where I didn't get any phonecalls. Teaching piano, tutoring, and subsititute teaching the odd day here and there were just giving me enough money to scrape by.

And suddenly, one day in mid-September, I receieved a phonecall from RBC with whom I have a student line of credit. There was a one-year grace period following the end of my degree where the loan was interest-free, but I guess that one year period had expired. They were suddenly asking me for a minimum payment of $380 per month, which was due by the end of September. What?!?!?! I just had cancer and haven't worked for an entire year-there has to be some way around this! I made an appointment with bank to discuss my oustanding circumstance. I told them my whole story-- I had just graduated university and decided to move to South Korea to teach English for a year so that I could make enough money to pay at least half of my $50,000 student loan. But, unfortunately, a month after I arrived in South Korea I was diagnosed with breast cancer. This meant that I had not accumulated enough unemployment hours over the year because I had been in school for the past 7 years. I was also working in South Korea upon graduating, so I had no employer to offer me disability leave, which is what would happen with most people. I had to undergo surgery and chemotherapy which prevented me from working. Thus, over the past year I had not earned a penny. I was just getting back into the work force. I was hoping that they could offer me some sort of grace period, even if it were a few months, until I was able to accumulate some income.

Let me tell you-- banks are concerned with nothing but profit. They had no concern for me as an individual. They said there was nothing they could do because I did not have disability insurance. The funny thing is that they previously told me that they don't even offer disability insurance on student loans unless it is asked for. When I was 18, which is when I got this line of credit, the last thing on my mind was being diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. After I insisted that there must be something they could do, they called around and gave me one other option. They said: "We can make the credit line interest-only instead of minimum payment until you are able to accumulate some income." This sounded great, until she told me how much the interest was per month-- the interest alone was $250 per month!

This was a blow to my motivation and my confidence. How was I going to get by, considering my health and my bills and everything else going on in my life?

Health Vs. Career, Life Vs. Money

2008-01-18T19:33:00.000-08:00

September was approaching and I knew it was time for me to start picking up the pieces and moving on. Although I was still not feeling 100%, money had to be made and my life had to be lived. I decided that the best thing for me to do was to start working little by little, until my energy level was finally restored and I felt physically able to endure the stress of being a full-time teacher. I needed to think of my health first.

This decision to take my health first and to mold the rest of my life according to its shape presented me with some further tough decisions. I was approached by the Cape Breton Victoria Regional School Board, who offered me a full-time position teaching elementary classroom music in the 2007-2008 schoolyear. Wow. What an awesome offer. I am basically being handed a full-time position! But wait ... am I feeling physically capable of doing this? At this point I needed to make a choice between my health and my career. On one hand, I could have an amazing job making lots of money, but I would be jeopradizing my body's ability to heal itself after everything it had just gone through. And on the other hand, I could settle for substitute teaching and making less money for the year, but at the same time I would be giving my body ample time to heal and recover. The biggest thing that concerned me about teaching full-time so soon was the stress of first year teaching. I knew I was still feeling tired and run-down and my body was not fully recovered from chemotherapy. I knew that the stress of teaching would only make this worse.

Ultimately, it came down to what my gutt was telling me, which was: "Your body is not ready for this yet. You want to live!" And, in the end, I turned down the job and settled for substitute teaching.

Mike was later accepted into the Bachelor of Education program at the University of New Brunswick, which we had been hoping for for many months previous. We decided that we would move to Fredericton together for the year. I was extremely excited about this move because it was almost like a first step. It would get me back out of my parents house and away, so I could regain some independence. I also have university friends as well as my brother and his family living in New Brunswick, so I would have a chance to spend some time with them again and rekindle some friendships. I felt confident about taking this first step back into my life.

On a lighter note ...

2007-11-29T17:55:00.002-08:00

It was mid-August and my hair was now full of cute little curls. The days of fretting over being bald were now a far-off memory, or more like a dream. Mike and I had moved into an apartment together in Sydney in a nice little residential neighbourhood full of little kiddies. One afternoon I heard a knock at the apartment door. Who could that be? I went to the door and saw three little bodies peering through the glass--it was a few of the kids that I had seen playing out in the yard next door numerous times since I had moved in. Must be selling something ...
I opened the door and noticed that the three little ones seemed nervous, like they were up to something. "Yes?" I asked. One of the little girls said: "Ummm ... we were wondering ... does a bald teenager live here?" For a moment I had to think about who they may have been referring to ... as I mentioed before, the days of being bald almost seemed like a dream far off in my memory. "No," I answered. One little girled looked extremely puzzled, as the other two gazed at her. She said: "Are you sure? Because one day ... I was over there on the swings ... and I saw a blad, skinny teenager walking right into this apartment." Ahhhh. She is talking about me! "When was this?" I asked. She replied: "Oh this was earlier in the year, in the winter." "Hmmm," I said. "Are you sure she didn't walk into the apartment next door?" "No, I know the girl who lives upstairs. I could have sworn I saw her walking right into this door!" The other two childen looked at her and smirked. "Okay," she said, looking as if she'd been defeated. I was about to close the door when one of the other kids looked at the little girl and said: "Seee .... I told you Britney Spears doesn't live here!!!"
I could only close the door and laugh. The entire time I was living there, there was a little girl in the neighborhood who thought a famous star was living next door. Suddenly, I was given a new perspective on the whole "Britney Spears" fame I once loathed.

How could I ask for more?

2007-11-19T16:12:00.000-08:00

August 29th- my 6-month follow-up appointment. After attending the retreat I found myself worrying a little more about the possibilities for these appointments. I had heard numerous stories that weekend where young cancer survivors had to face cancer a second and/or third time--each one of them expressed how much hope and courage they had after battling cancer the first time. And each one of them also expressed just how very difficult it was to have all of those hopes crushed when their doctors informed them that their cancer had returned. For those battling breast cancer, it is particularly crushing to hear of a recurrence because recurrence means that the cancer has metastisized to other organs and is then considered "uncurable." That word is just plain debilitating and discouraging. I know that there is a possibility that I could face that word some day. And that possibility scares me to death.

However, I cannot spend what time I do have worrying about things which are simply out of my control. While I am healthy, I want to feel happy, peaceful, and content ... not fearful, stressed, and uncomfortable. I want to focus on the 90% possibility that my cancer will not return and that I will be given the chance to live a healthy, happy, and normal life. It is easy to spend for us to spend our time engulfed in the darkness that life throws at us. I choose to be challenged to see the light. And if that uncontrollable darkness decides to return, I will deal with it when necessary.

I went to the appointment and simply tried to find a calm place within myself. There was no point in attempting to anticipate what would happen. I sat in the office and waited ... and waited ... again--like I used to do every few weeks just 6 months earlier. I forgot how much of my life over the past year had been spent in these hospital rooms. Ugggh. I suddenly felt thankful that I was now able to live a "normal" life, rather than dividing all my time up between my bedroom and the hospital.

Dr. MacCormick entered the room. I was actually surprised. He hadn't come to my last few appointments. He told me that everything looked excellent. He seemed very pleased with the way everything looked, but his comments did not make me feel overly confident: "Everything looks perfect--on paper. But unfortunately I cannot tell you what your future holds." Of course you cannot tell me what my future holds. That was unnecessary. I felt that although it was unintentional, his words were discouraging. I would like to leave my follow-up appointments feeling hopeful and courageous, not confused and helpless. Afterall, strength of the mind has a great deal to do with strength of the body--that is definitely one thing I have learned from cancer.

I shook off the comments and thought about how lucky I was to have been able to bounce back so quickly from all the mental and physical turmoil my body had endured for an entire year--surgery, chemo, tamoxifen, and more stress than I could have ever imagined--and here I am, feeling healthy, with a body that appears to be in great condition. How could I ask for more?

"Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand." ~Emily Kimbrough

2007-11-18T15:34:00.000-08:00

The return to normal life after the retreat proved to be a much larger adjustment than I had imagined it would be. Sometimes we don't realize how much stress surrounds us daily--from work, to money, bills, relationships, health, etc. etc. etc. We all know that life can seem like a sea of turmoil. Being in such a comfortable, relaxed environment that focused on nothing but the self offered me a welcomed escape from the drama of day-to-day life. But completing the 360 and coming back to what I had temporarily left behind seemed to put all of those stressors under a magnifying lens. It was like a shock to the system. Dr. Routledge had warned us to ease our way back into it when we returned home by not immediately returning back to work or doing anything else we would consider stressful. He was correct.

What I did notice, however, was that although I was now more in tune with the things that were happening around me, I was now better able to put them into perspective. Because I knew that the things I was feeling and experiencing were perfectly normal and that everyone going through similar situations has similar reactions, I was able to take a step back and say ... "ahhh ... this is what is going on here." I was able to accept things for what they were, rather than becoming stressed or agitated about them. I was also able to use some of the skills I learned from the retreat to handle various other stressful siuations, like deep breathing and meditation, and by simply changing the way I thought about things.

Overall, I felt both calmer and wiser after returing from the retreat--it was definitely an enormous benefit to me.

A Creative Bunch, We Are.

2007-10-29T20:45:00.000-07:00

Being such an emotional farewell, the retreaters decided that on the final night at camp we would do something special. We decided that since there was so much talent amongst us, that we would have a talent show where every single retreater would have a chance to showcase their talent or do something they were good at. In between our afternoon sessions on Sunday, you could see everyone running off into their private corners to prepare for their skits for the night.

The talent show turned out to be an amazing way to end off the weekend. It gave us a chance to learn that little something extra about each retreater, and best of all, it gave us a chance to have some good laughs and fun together. We ended up with poetry, musical performances, comedic skits, acting, wrestling, and acrobatics, among other things. A testicular cancer survivor amongst us, Daniel Schneiderman, even performed his "one man cancer show," which he performs at high schools around the country. Daniel is an actor with a great sense of humor, so he decided to use his talent to get the message about testicular cancer across to young men. He conveyed his message in an entertaining, almost comical way that captured his audience. It was most most impressive.

I have attached some pictures and videos from the talent show here. Enjoy!

'New Slang' (by the Shins) Cover

2007-10-29T18:08:00.001-07:00

Me, Shali, and Steve

Mel singing 'Nothing Compares 2 U'

2007-10-29T18:07:00.001-07:00

Retreat Yourself 2007

2007-10-27T16:57:00.001-07:00

Although the facility and the food at Retreat Yourself 2007 were undeniably amazing, it was the experience of meeting such special people and learning so many valuable things that offered me the greatest gifts.

From my fellow retreaters I learned a great deal about strength, courage, and perserverance. I met people who were told they were going to die and defied their odds. I met someone who was told he only had a 1% chance of ever having children again, and had 2 children since. I met someone who was able to shrink tumors using alternative medicinal practises. I met someone who went through divorce and death of a sibling during treatment for cancer. The stories of perserverance were enough to inspire anyone to fight through the toughest times in life. These people humbled me, gave me courage, and opened my mind to new ways of coping and thinking about life.

From the professionals at the camp I learned a number of excellent coping mechanisms. They taught me methods of relaxation and mindfulness through yoga and meditation practises. They taught me ways of being proactive with my health and how to be an advocate for my own health. They opened my eyes to new resources available to me.

By the end of the weekend I felt completely relaxed and rejuvinated. I felt like the weekend had given me the opportunity to spend ALL of my time focusing on myself and on my health. There were no outside distractions and all our worries were left at home. It was as though we spent the weekend in a world of our own--just our tight little niche of people, who all had to endure similar trials and tribulations in this game called life. It created a sort of inner peacefulness that is difficult to describe in words.

By Sunday, we were all sad that this would be our last day at Camp Maromac. We had all formed lifelong friends who we would now have to part with. We would have to leave the extreme comfort of being surrounded by people who understood. We would have to leave our little paradise and return to the real world--and face all the stressors and problems we had left behind at the beginning of the weekend. I also felt as though returning home would be a major test--could I bring myself to continue with the ways of thinking and coping I had been taught over the weekend? Would I be disciplined enough to continue on with meditation? I felt that if I could, I could likely be a changed person in many ways down the road.

We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival. ~Winston Churchill

2007-10-26T17:57:00.001-07:00

The days following were quite structured--there were many possible issues to touch on in one short weekend, so our time was organized accordingly. Each morning began with an 8:30 Qigong session. Qigong is a practice similar to Tai Chi. It's name is derived from the Chinese words "Qi," meaning "energy," and "gong," meaning "practise." It is a Chinese exercise system which works on cultivating and attracting lifeforce energies to strengthen health and prevent ilness. It includes "regulating the body" through posture, "regulating the mind" through quiet, relaxation and concentration of one's mental activity, "regulating the breath", self-massage and movement of the limbs. This was an activity I really enjoyed, but it takes a great deal of practise to truely benefit from it.

Following Qigong there was a delicious breakfast served in the kitchen, with the entire family of Camp Maromac always present. There was always a large variety of food to eat--eggs, pancakes, fresh baked breads, cereals, fruit, yogurt-- you name it, they had it. Following breakfast we would meet for approx. 3 hours, during which time we would meditate, practice yoga, have support group sessions, and do workshops in small groups. Each meditation and yoga session was led by Tim and Rob (the psychologist and oncologist), and each workshop and small group session was led by either Tim, Rob, or one of the 3 social workers who were present the entire weekend. We covered a wide array of issues facing young adults dealing with cancer, including: moving forward, expectations of others, self-confidence, sexuality, fear, relationships, advocacy, and many more.

Following our busy mornings, our afternoons consisted of lunch (again, always an amazingly delicious meal), and lots of time spent enjoying all the amazing facilities the camp had to offer. In one weekend I got to paddleboat, kayak, run, play baseball, basketball, volleyball, and tennis, and have many fun jam sessions with the numerous musicians who happened to come to the retreat. The latter part of the days were basically a repition of the earlier part of the days--eat, sessions, then free time. The fire pit, musical instruments, and talent, made for some rather enjoyable campfires at night.

Paradise exists, indeed

2007-10-26T16:59:00.001-07:00

After driving for over an hour, we finally arrived to our lovely, serene haven. We drove through a hallway of dense forest and were finally presented with a beautiful, peaceful lake to the left and a massive building with a large veranda to the right. On the veranda stood 3 or 4 people waiting to greet us. This was the family who ran Camp Maromac-- and we were to learn that they were a wonderful, hospitable, and generous family too.

The family greeted us and showed us to our rooms. The 30 or so odd bunk rooms were all located on the second and third floors of the building and each had a set of bunk beds and one single bed. We were paired with roomates according to our diagnoses or situation. I was paired with 2 fellow breast cancer survivors-both between 25 and 26. Mike was paired with the boyfriend of a cancer survivor who was about the same age as him. Other rooms grouped thyroid cancer survivors, leukemia survivors, gynecological cancer survivors, hodgkins survivors, and so on. I thought this was an interesting way of doing this because we got to see quite a bit of our roomates (especially in the morning and late nights) and it gave us a chance to bond with people who had the same disease.

The main level of the building consisted of a large general purpose or meeting area, equipped with a piano, stage, a fireplace, and plenty of seating. There was also a large kitchen and eating area, and a sports room, where any sports equipment you could ever wish for was located. There were bathrooms and showers in every wing of the second and third floors. Outside, there was 2 volleyball courts, a basketball court, a tennis court, a baseball field, a gazebo and fire pit, walking trails, 2 docks at the lake, and approx. a dozen each of paddle boats, kayaks, canoes, and catamarans. I could not believe the activities that were available to us! They picked the perfect spot for a retreat.

After settling into our rooms the first evening, all 30 retreaters, as well as the facilitators, met in the general purpose room. We all sat in a large circle, where we were to have a support group session. Dr. Routledge explained that to start the weekend off, we would all first have a chance to introduce ourselves formally to the entire group. During our introductions we were to tell the details of our cancer diagnoses, the biggest challenge cancer has presented to us, and what we hoped to gain from the retreat. The room seemed to grow uncomfortably silent at the beginning of the session, as they tried to select the brave retreater who wished to "spill their guts" first. When the brave one finally volunteered, we were off on what would be one of the most moving moments of my life. With each introduction my heart was warmed more and more to the point of tears. Every one of these people, all around the same age of me, had their own unique, touching story to tell. Some of the stories were absolutely amazing. And from these simple introductions I already knew that I was not alone--everyone in the room expressed thoughts and feelings that seemed very familiar to my own. I suddenly felt extremely comfortable and ease with my situation.

On the road again ...

2007-10-19T07:02:00.000-07:00

On August 1st, Mike and I headed out of Sydney on our way to the experience of a lifetime. In all actuality, I had no idea what to expect upon arriving to the camp. What I was sure of, however, was that I was going to get to spend four full days with a bunch of people in the same boat as myself. And, this was something I felt I needed. I would finally get to talk to people who really knew what it was like to go through this, who I could really relate to, and, most importantly, who I could draw things from. This would no doubt be an amazing learning experience. I was also told that there would be a psychologist, an oncologist, and various other professionals at the camp that would lead workshops related to issues surrounding young adults with cancer diagnoses.

We were to first meet up with the entire group at a hotel located at the airport in the afternoon of August 2nd. The hotel is where all the retreaters would be introduced and board the bus that would take us approximately 1 hour outside Montreal to Camp Maromac. When Mike and I first arrived to the hotel we were greeted by many smiling faces and introductions. The psychologist, Tim, and the oncologist, Rob Routledge, were standing at the door to greet us and made us feel completely at home. As we made our way through the room to find a seat, the 20 or so odd people in the room all made it a point to smile and introduce themselves to us. It was almost like coming home. I knew I was now a member of an elite group that had a very unique bond, and this could be felt all around me.

After filling out some forms and meeting everyone, we all loaded up the bus and headed to Camp Maromac. Everyone laughed and talked the entire way and there was an intense feeling of excitement radiating from every seat. I knew this weekend would be a special one.

A change of luck

2007-10-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

One day in mid-June I was browsing one of the websites I commonly visit: http://www.realtimecancer.org/
This site is home to an organization called RealTime Cancer-- a community of young cancer survivors. If you would like to read more about RealTime Cancer, see my previous post Realtime Cancer. I noticed that the folks at Realtime were organizing a retreat for young cancer survivors in August. The retreats are a way for survivors between the ages of 18 and 35 and their supporters (who also have to be under 35) to come together and "share their shit" in a very inviting atmosphere. This year it was to take place at the beautiful Camp Maromac just outside of Montreal. This sounds very intriguing. I read a little about what happens at the retreat and I knew right away that it was something I would benefit greatly from. But, I brushed the ideas that were brewing in my mind off quickly because, although the retreat itself is paid for by Realtime Cancer, retreaters were responsible for travel expenses to the retreat. This was something I definitely could not afford at the time.

At my next appointment with the social worker, I mentioned the retreat that was happening in Montreal very briefly and he immediately opened a keen ear to the prospective experience. He agreed that this would be something that both Mike and I could definitely benefit from. He told me that he would look into getting us funding to go. I was so excited. Maybe my luck was changing!

The following week, Tom (the social worker) informed me that a group called "Tits and Glitz," which raises money to assist breast cancer patients with medical and cancer-related expenses, agreed to donate $800 for Mike and I to travel to the retreat in Montreal. I felt so grateful to be offered this experienced and I finally felt that there were people who understood that being a young adult dealing with cancer is a unique experience and that there is little support for us out there.

"The best way out is always through." ~Robert Frost

2007-10-17T18:22:00.000-07:00

With feelings of guilt, resentment, anger, sadness, confusion, and loneliness (to name a few) gathering within me, I decided that change was necessary. I needed to get out of this hole I had dug myself into and I needed to do it fast. If I did not, I could be risking my health, jeopradizing the healing process, and leading myself on a pathway to serious depression. I decided that I would make it a point to visit the social worker at the hospital regularly. This would give me a neutral person to talk with about my feelings. My first meeting with him a few weeks earlier also gave me the feeling that he understood where I was coming from because he had dealt with so many cancer patients in the past.

Thus, I made an appointment with the same social worker I had met with briefly a few weeks before and began meeting with him on a weekly basis. At first I went alone and talked about anything and everything that was on my mind. He reassured me that the feelings I was having were perfectly normal. He expressed that many people feel lonely and isolated following treatment and that this is cause for feelings of depression and anxiety. He also spoke with my doctor about the mood swings I was experiencing. My doctor told him that the hormonal therapy I had just begun a couple months earlier was definitely a culprit in this. I now know that one of the major side effects of Tamoxifen, the hormonal therapy I am to be on for 5 years, is mood swings and depression. The side effects caused by Tamoxifen are actually quite similar to the symptoms of menopause (and as most of you probaly know, one of the major symptoms of menopause is severe mood swings).

I felt that being aware of this made me much more able to control it. One of the major lessons I have learned from cancer is that Knowledge is the ultimate power. Knowing that I was not alone, and that was I was experiencing was perfectly normal, also eased the feelings of confusion and helplessness caused by everything I was experiencing mentally and emotionally.

After a few sessions, Mike joined me at a couple of my appointments and we talked together with the social worker about some of the things he was experiencing as one of my major supporters. Having a neutral person to talk to greatly helped us to understand one another and what each of us was experiencing throughout this process.

"What progress, you ask, have I made? I have begun to be a friend to myself." ~Hecato, Greek philosopher

Pictures

2007-10-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

Here are some pictures from Canada Day, 2007 (approx. 4 months post-chemo).

Oh, Sweet Sorrow, The Time You Borrow, Will You Be Here When I Wake Up Tomorrow?

2007-10-14T17:02:00.000-07:00

Throughout my chemotherapy treatments, as I mentioned so many times before, I acquired what I refer to as "tunnel vision." I had one and only one thing in mind- getting this damned treatment OVERWITH so I could get on with my life. But little did I realize at that time that the end of chemotherapy did not mark the end of my battle with cancer. After chemo, I was faced with a comepletely new side of cancer -- the aftermath of the diagnosis and treatment. A new battle was just beginning.

Three weeks following my final chemo treatment, I was nothing but enthusiastic and hopeful. I hoped to be able to work within a couple of months, I hoped to be able to socialize again, I hoped to be able to do normal things with my boyfriend, I hoped to feel good once again, I hoped that I would never have to deal with cancer again. I wanted my life back. Period. Thus, as soon as I began to feel better I began doing all things I could to make this happen. By April (just a month after chemo) Mike and I began looking for an apartment, I placed myself on the substitute teacher list with the Cape Breton Victoria Regional School Board, I started working out a lot, and I began to gradually make my way back into the 'social butterfly mode' that was once a definitive aspect of my life. I told the goverment that I would no longer be needing their assistance financially and convinced myself that I could handle working enough to get by until I was feeling 100% again.

But even after I gathered up some of the normal parts of my former life, I was not happy. In May and June I felt extremely depressed. I felt like I was surrounded by darkness and could not escape it. I was experiencing mood swings which were negatively affecting my relationship with Michael. I had suffered a major blow in self-esteem-- I went from being a confident, outgoing woman to what seemed like a self-conscious, insecure baby. I was constantly worrying about my health. What is that pain? Could it be cancer? Could this shortness of breath mean that chemo ruined my lungs? I have a headache--maybe I have a brain tumor! Is this a lump? Is that a lump? In addition to feeling insecure about my general health, I felt that I no longer had the stamina I once enjoyed. I worked for one full week teaching P-6 music and band and I felt like someone had literally beat me up by the end of the week. I was so tired I could literally not move my body. This was fatigue working at its finest. And this was something I had never experienced before. I was always a very energetic person who barely sat down for 5 minutes-- work used to define my life. Now I couldn't handle working for one week.

In addition to all of these road blocks, I felt that there was something major underlying the stress I was experiencing. I later came to realize that this source of stress was the expectations that others were placing on me, although I know that no one caused this intentionally. Regardless, I felt that once I finished treatment everyone thought that my battle with cancer was over. Perhaps this had a great deal to do with the fact that I attempted to move on too quickly and appeared to be back to "normal" to many people. Nonetheless, people thought everything was now fine and that they could to some extent forget about all that happened to me. But while they were forgetting, I was clearly remembering-- alone. I began to feel alienated--like no one understood what I was going through. And, because people thought I was back to "normal," I felt an underlying pressure to have to work, party, and do all the things that everyone normally does, more than I felt that I could handle. I felt that I was "over-doing it" physically and mentally and I became extremely scared that this was interfering with the healing process.

Why did I do this to myself? Why did I try to move on so quickly? Am I going to get sick again? All of these thoughts haunted me. But, at the same time, I heard the haunting voices of friends and family saying: "You don't have cancer anymore" and "I think its time to move on."
Feelings of anger and self-pity brewed within me because of both the expectations I placed on myself and the expectations others placed upon me. I knew I could not live up to either requests. It was time, then, to begin respecting myself and my limitations and to change my expectations. It was also time to turn a deaf ear the haunting voices of others.

Relay for Life: The aftermath

2007-07-08T15:06:00.000-07:00

The Relay For Life was a great chance for me not only to raise some money for cancer research, but also to come together with other cancer survivors. This was my first year participating in the event, so everything was rather new to me. My cousin, Jenn, and I gathered up a group of 9 family members and friends and had each person independantly raise a minimum of $100. All team members were successful in meeting their personal fundraising goals and I was thrilled to have raised $800 on my own. By the time the Relay approached we raised a collective total of approx. $1800! Although I am satisfied with the amount we raised and grateful to have had all the help and support of my team members and those who pledged us, I definitely think that there are some things I would like to do differently next year in terms of fundraising. Rather than having each person raise money individually only, it would be an excellent idea to incorporate fundrasing ideas like yard sales, basket tickets, bake sales, and such. It would also help for team members to begin fundraising well before the event as a collective group and to have team meetings frequently.

The event went something like this: Team members showed up to the track at approx. 4pm and set up tents, coolers, blankets, lawn chairs, a team sign, and other supplies in the middle of the track. Team members then met back at the track at 7pm. There was a stage and bbq pits set up near the track as well as a large building complete with a stage, lots of activities, food, and washrooms which could be accessed all evening. The evening began with a gathering of the cancer survivors, all decked out in their yellow t-shirts, at the stage. Volunteers then read out a hefty list of cancer survivors who all stood by triumphantly. As I joined this large and immaculate group of people, I began to feel a mosaic of strong emotions. I felt amazed at all the people here who looked so incrediby "normal" and who had all faced this deadly disease. I wondered what they had gone through and how they must be doing at present. I felt comfort because I knew I was not alone. I felt proud, powerful, and triumphant to be able to stand there amongst all those brave souls. I beat this disease and came out stronger and more beautiful than ever before on so many new levels. I felt supported and loved.

The next event was the "Survivor's Victory Lap," where all the brave souls in yellow t-shirts walked one lap of the track in celebration of life. We walked in order of children survivors, young adult survivors, and then all other survivors. I felt so hurt when I saw three small children accompanied by their parents at the beginning of the line. What must these poor little things have gone through? No child should have to go through such an awful thing. When it was time for young adults to walk, I walked alone. No one joined me. I was shocked that of the hundreds of survivors walking the track, I was the only young adult. An elderly lady quickly joined my side and we exhanged stories of battle as we walked the narrow pathway. She told me that five years ago she was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. She was not a smoker. They had given her six months to live and decided not to give her chemo so as to make her last months on this earth as comfortable as possible. They did, however, decide to give her radiation treatment in hopes to shrink the tumor to relieve some discomfort. Six months later she was still fighting. They went in to check the progress of the cancer and found nothing but scar tissue. No tumors. Now, five years later, she still appears to be cancer-free. She looked strong, healthy, and happy as she walked victoriously around the track and suddenly I was overcome with hope and courage. As we neared the end of the track, we were met by hundreds of interested faces with mixed expressions--some smiled, some cried, some clapped, and some cheered. I looked on and saw my team cheering me on. My mother and Mike smiled proudly, my aunt cried, my cousins clapped and waved. I felt so victorious.

The teams were then given an hour to socialize and eat, and at dusk it was time for the "Luminary Ceremony." The track was lined with hundreds of little white paper bags filled with little tealight candles. Each bag read "In Memory of ... " or "In Honour of..." and some had an additional message written as well. Luminaries were purchased before the Relay by friends and loved ones of cancer victims and survivors. During the ceremony all the tealights inside their little bags were lit, leaving the track a beautiful spectacle of lights. Everyone was given the chance to walk around and read the names and to say a prayer for special people if they wished. It was an excellent chance to remember those lost and to celebrate those still alive who battled cancer. As I walked around tears filled my eyes--it was a very touching ceremony.

Because the Relay For Life is a 12 hour ceremony, there was still at least nine hours to go after all the ceremonies were completed. Nonetheless, there were plenty of things to do during that time. Inside the adjacent building there were tables of food, poker tables, 2 massage tables complete with lisenced physiotherapists, and cancer information booths. There were also intermittent on-stage performances throughout the night, including karaoke, a men's fashion shows, some local music performances, and various speeches. Our team members walked the track in pairs and when we were not walking we were either indoors or sitting outside around our tent chatting.

My only complaints about the Relay were both the date and time of the event--June 6th from 7pm-7am. Any of you who are from Cape Breton should know that early June is by no means a warm time of year for this area. I was still wearing sweaters and jackets at this time! So, by midnight it was absolutely freezing out. I was wearing my winter parka and everyone was bundled up in big blankets and hoods. In addition, it was extremely difficult to stay awake for the entire event. First of all, participants were tired from a combination of all the prep work involved in the event, all the activities that took place during the first few hours of the event, and, of course, the time of night. Many of the participants were also people who had recently finished chemo (some were still undergoing chemo), so I thought this should have been taken into consideration when a time slot was considered for the event. In my opinion, the event would have been much more fun and more successful it was held throughout the day/evening (i.e. 9am-9pm, or 12pm-12am) rather than in the middle of the night. I also thought it would have been much more enjoyable if it were held in July or August (especially in this area) when it is warmer.

Overall, however, I thought the Relay was an great time and an excellent opportunity to raise money for cancer research. I would definitely encourage you to take part in the event next year if you have not already done so. I will likely write into the cancer society with suggestions for future changes.

And the follicles reunite ...

2007-06-15T14:44:00.000-07:00

Here are a few updates on hairgrowth.
The first two pictures were taken May 15th-- approx. 3 1/2 months post-chemo.
The second two pictures were taken June 1st--approx. 4 months post-chemo.

Follow-up Appointment #1 ... Eek

2007-06-07T05:04:00.000-07:00

As if I did not have enough on my plate post-chemo, my first check-up snuck up on me very quickly. I had been trying to push ideas associated with that appointment as far away from my mind as possible. What is the point in worrying about something you have absolutely no control over? Why spend the time you have worrying about the future, when you can easily spend your time focusing on the present and what is happening now? And, to be perfectly honest, I had a calm feeling of reassurance somewhere within myself that was telling me that I needed not to worry and that everything was going to be fine.

Thinking about the appointment, however, was difficult to avoid, mainly due to the interest of others concerning my progress. For instance, I went to the dentist for my annual cleaning just a few days before the appointment. This was the first time I had been to the dentist since my diagnosis, so she was quite interested in knowing the details of what I had been through. "So when was your last treatment?" she asked. I replied that I received my final treatment in February. "Oh so you must have a follow-up coming soon then, eh?" I nodded my head. "You must be a nervous wreck about that, are you?" she asked. The answer to this question was by no means black and white and I quickly attempted to gather all the little inklings of thoughts together that concerned the appointment to give her a straightforward reply: "No, I think I'm pretty confident about the appointment, actually." I smiled. Am I being braizen?

The day of the appointment was a little different, however. As I went about my usual morning routine, I thought about the possibilities for this appointment. What if they were to say that my tests were not clear? What if I am being too confident? I tried my best to push these thoughts as far away from my mind as possible and soon arrived at the hospital. The usual routine for appointments unfolded-- check in at the front desk, wait, see the nurse to get some routine stuff done (like blood pressure, weight, pulse, etc.), wait ... again. Fortunately, my wait to see the doctor was much shorter this time than previous appointments. However, it was the female doctor who helps Dr. MacCormick who arrived to greet me once again. I thought for sure I would at least see my own oncologist for my follow-up appointments. But I guess not.

The doctor asked me general questions about how I was coming along and allowed me to ask her some questions of my own. She then wrote me a prescription for Tamoxifen and began to gather up her things. Wait a minute ... what about the results for the bloodwork I had done last week? A strange look must have overcome me: "And ... my tests results were..." She looked startled: "Oh yes!!! That's the reason you are here isn't it?!?!" She laughed. "All your test results were absolutely perfect, hunny. You are as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside." How nice. I felt a wave of relief overcome me, but at the same time thought the whole appointment was a little unprofessional.

Nonetheless, I was filled with feelings of excitement, happiness, relief, and freedom as I left the hospital. All I can do now is hope that I will be just as fortunate in the future ....

Make a Pledge For Your Future And Mine

2007-05-25T05:26:00.000-07:00

The Canadian Cancer Society is hosting its annual Relay For Life event once again this June. The Relay For Life is a fundraising event held nation-wide where teams of ten walk, run, or stroll around a track for twelve hours (through the wee hours of the morning) in exchange for pledges. Money from pledges is used to fund cancer research projects, to provide information services and support programs through the Canadian Cancer Society, and to advocate for public policies that prevent cancer and help those living with it. The event also provides a chance for cancer survivors to come together and for loved ones to celebrate those touched with cancer or to remember those who lost their battle with cancer. Among the planned events of the evening are the Survivor's Victory Lap and the Luminary Ceremony.

This year will be my very first year taking part in the Relay For Life and I'm really looking forward to the event. This year I relay in hopes for a long and fufilling future for myself and the millions of other people who have been or who may someday be affected by cancer. I relay in memory of those brave souls whose lives cancer has claimed. And, most of all, I relay with the determination to fight this disease.

I think the event will give me a chance to come together with other people affected by cancer and will give my family and I a chance to celebrate my victory over this gruelling disease. Most importantly, however, it will give me a chance to come together with others in hopes of making cancer history.

If you would like to pledge me in the Relay for Life, click here. By pledging you will not only be supporting me and the millions of other Canadians affected by cancer, but you will be contributing to a future with better treatments for cancer, more information and services for those affected by cancer, and advocacy that could all very well benefit you or someone you love in days to come.

(All pledges over $10 are tax deducatable. All pledges must be received by June 7th, 2007).

***I will keep you updated on my personal fundraising progress by adding comments to this post!

April 30th: My Birthday!

2007-05-17T09:47:00.000-07:00

Tired. Period.

2007-05-03T11:02:00.000-07:00

I apologize for my lack of posting as of late. As you can probably imagine, the hussle and bussle of my life over the past 8 months has slowly begun to fade. It is difficult for me to reflect on the current state of my life as it is unfolding. Many things are occuring, but in such a slow and subtle manner that they are often difficult to sort through. I am sure that in a year's time I will be able to write a book about the transition between having cancer/ cancer treatment and obtaining a normal life. But, for now, I hope you will understand why the well has been running slightly dry!

The past month has seen a great deal of ups and downs both physically and mentally. Physically, I feel great ... most of the time. I have noticed, however, that when I exert myself moreso than usual, I get tired much more easily. For instance, I was painting a room with Mike one afternoon and found that after just an hour of continuous work, I felt I had no other choice but to lay down. My body felt overwhelmed, as if a wave of exhaustion suddenly overcame it. This also happens to a lesser extent when I go to the gym everyday. I usually do about thirty minutes of cardiovasular activity (like running or biking), followed by about an hour of stretching and weight training. Sometimes I play squash following my workout if I have the time and energy. Usually I find myself tired and needing a rest as soon as I get home from the gym, where as in the past I used to feel energized following my workouts. I find that once I relax for 10-20 minutes and have a drink or a bite to eat, I am usually fine. I feel that now, more than ever, I am much more in tune with my body. If I feel tired, I take a short rest, rather than trying to beat my way through it. I feel that if I listen to my body the healing process will unravel much more smoothly.

In addition to feeling physically tired, my menstrual periods have also come to a sudden halt. During chemo, I continued to have my periods and was very happy about this, simply because it meant that the chemotherapy hadn't managed to shut my ovaries down. I hoped that this meant that the small risk of me not being able to have children in the future would be ceased. It was in mid-March, however, that I noticed I did not have my period. This was almost two months following chemo, and approximately six weeks after beginning Tamoxifen (my hormonal therapy treatment). When my period failed to arrive on time, one million things began to run through my mind. Predominantly, I thought about the warnings I was given by Dr. MacCormick about getting pregnant: Tamoxifen can make you more fertile. But, you need to take extra care not to get pregnant while on Tamoxifen because it is proven to be harmful to the unborn child. Luckly, I had an appointment with my family doctor in early April, so I was able to ask her about my sudden halt in periods. She reassured me that it was the Tamoxifen and that my periods could come and go randomly for the next year or so.
Although it is great not to have a period (we women all know the pain they cause!) it is also somewhat distressing to me to know that I am supposed to be having periods and I am not. This means that my body must be going through some dreadful hormonal changes. I just hope that this will not cause any additional harm to my body.

We May Not Be Able To Direct The Wind, But We Sure Can Adjust The Sails!

2007-05-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

Mentally, the past month has seemed like a rollercoaster ride of emotions. I recently heard someone say: "It is possible to get rid of the cancer inside your body, but it is impossible to get rid of the cancer that is in your mind." This definitely contains elements of truth. As I move forward from this crazy experience, I feel that I am presented with endless obstacles and barriers to overcome.

As of late, I have been feeling as though a whirlwind of emotions are flooding over me. I am unsure whether this is due to my recent traumatic experience and everything that I am contuining to deal with or whether it is a result of the hormonal therapy I am undergoing ... or a combination of the two. First of all, I am left to deal with a number of issues:

1) Health Issues- Am I doing everything I should be to prevent a recurrence or a new growth of cancer? I wonder what could have caused my cancer? (I can't help but rack my brains about that one) Will I be alive in ten years? What would happen if my cancer returned? Is this a lump? Is that a lump? Could this or that be cancer?

2) Self-confidence Issues- Mainly stemming from hairloss and loss of a body part, although this aspect is slowly regaining strength.

3) Friendship Issues- I cannot help but feel resentful towards those that failed to offer their support during this time. Also, I feel as though I have become disconnected with many people during treatment when, first of all, there were many limitations on what I could do in my spare time, and second, because I distanced myself from some people because I felt as though they couldn't relate to me and what I was going through or because I was in a completely different place than most people my age.

4) Hormonal Therapy- Tamoxifen works by mimicking the body's natural estrogens and thereby competing with natural estrogens for a place on the body's cell receptors. This means that less estrogen is actually gaining access to cells because "someone else" has gotten there first. As I mentioned so many times before, Estrogen is often a fuel that allows cancers to burn --or the food that helps them to grow. Without Estrogen, many breast cancers cannot develop. My breast cancer was over 70% fuelled by Estrogen and Progesterone, so it was a given that I would be placed on Tamoxifen. The benefit of Tamoxifen is that it dramatically reduces my risk of cancer recurrence and of developing a new cancer. It is not without its drawbacks, however. One drawback that has been haunting me over the past several weeks is changes in mood. As many of you probably already know, severe changes in hormones mean severe changes in mood (hence, PMS). Although I do not feel that my changes in mood are severe, they are definitely noticeable. I find myself feeling "down in the dumps" much more than usual without really knowing why. Small things seem to irritate me easier than they normally would have.

5) Relationship Issues- The ups and downs as well as the highs and lows associated with all of the above have definitely caused some strain on my relationship with Michael. We have been able to beat our way through it all thus far, but sometimes I wonder how much a relationship can take.

With all of the stress and strain I have endured thus far, it has certainly not been an easy ride. But, one cannot sit and complain and self-loathe all of the time (although that does make me feel better SOMEtimes!). I recently decided that I needed to take action with my life and make some changes that could do nothing but benefit me.

The first step was to find someone professional to talk to. I was speaking with a few people along the way who thought it should be a given for me to talk to someone on a regular basis about everything I've been through. Being the stubborn person I am, I wanted to be strong and get through it on my own (with the support of my loved ones, of course). But after enduring eight months of such intensity, I felt like that time had definitely arrived. It was a very simple process:

I had a doctor's appointment at the cancer centre one morning, so while I was there I simply mentioned to the doctor that I would like to talk to someone about cancer-related issues. Normally, the doctors would suggest support groups and the like. But, when you are in your 20s facing cancer, it is definitely not the same as being in your 60s and facing cancer. And, the age majority at most of these support groups is 50+. The doctor mentioned that they have a social worker at the cancer centre who leads some of the support groups, is there for cancer patients to talk to, and deals with other issues cancer patients face (like financial woes, for instance). She said she would call him down right away so we could at least be introduced and obtain a starting point.

The social worker quickly arrived to my room, and I remembered that he was actually a friend of Mike's father's. I wasn't sure what to think about this. Could I really pour my heart out to someone who has personal connections with me? I tried to forget about it and focus on the fact that this meeting was confidential and that he was here to help me. He turned out to be extremely easy to talk to and seemed to know a great deal about everything I had been going through. He had dealt with so many cancer patients in the past and heard so many things directly from other people going through similar ordeals, that he was able to tell me what I was feeling. I was left only to agree with everything he was saying and to add my own personal take on things. There were even some issues he discussed that I was able to relate to without even previously realizing that those things were bothering me. It felt great to know that there was someone out there who might understand what it I'm going through. I was so used to trying to make sense of things on my own and then attempting to explain these feeling to family and friends, knowing deep down that they really couldn't relate to me.

After speaking with the social worker for about thirty minutes we decided to schedule another appointment, which has yet to take place. I definitely feel great about this step I have taken, because I feel that it may give me a chance to get some things "off my chest" and to talk to someone who understands what I'm going through. If it is unsuccessful, then my next step will be to talk with someone more specialized, like a therapist. I'll keep you updated on how it unfolds.

I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind.
Some come from ahead and some come from behind.
But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see.
Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me! ~Dr. Seuss

Update on Hairgrowth

2007-04-12T11:53:00.000-07:00

It is now 10 weeks post-chemo and my is now coated in an even array of dark blonde, soft hair, about a half an inch long. I am very pleased with the progress--every morning when I wake up I go to the mirror to see the changes and every day the growth is noticeable. My friend visited yesterday after not having seen me in about two weeks and she was awestuck at how much it had grown in that short amount of time. My mother even noticed after not seeing me for three days! The rest of my body hair has also grown in, although I could have went without shaving for another little while! My eyelashes and eyebrows never did fall out, although they did seem somewhat thin for a couple of week following my final treatment.

Here are some pictures from Easter Weekend:

On Coming In From The Dark ...

2007-04-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

It's funny how life goes. I can remember the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The prevailing thought in my mind was: How could I have been so stupid to worry about the petty things I used to worry about? If only I could go back to the days when my major worries were getting good grades, paying the bills, traffic jams, petty arguments, and being late... Suddenly I was posed with a much more massive load of issues to deal with--Will I be dead before I'm 30? Will I ever be able to have children? Will I be able to deal with the mental weight of a cancer diagnoses and the physical strain of its treatment? I remember thinking that I would never again allow life's minor inconveniences to trouble me. I would care about nothing but being alive and being happy.

Six months came and went. I was finished of all my treatments and was finally given a second chance to live my life to the fullest without being sick. Did I do that? Unfortunately, no. As you may have noticed from many of my posts from March, my attitude began to transform from positive and optimistic to rather negative and self-loathing. Instead of feeling fortunate to be alive and to have made my way through one of the most horrible experiences of a lifetime, I began to focus on the negatives: my lack of hair holding me back from teaching and socializing, my compromised physical strength holding me back from being as active as I would like, the resentment I felt towards some of my friends, and the sense of confusion and defeat caused by the apparent ignorance of the complete strangers who took it upon themselves to judge me.

Suddenly I found myself entwined in the same chaos from which I had managed to liberate myself from upon my diagnosis of breast cancer. All the little things in life that manage to get us down, that seem to pile up and become a mound of stress and affliction, began to overcome me once again, as it always had in the past. One day I began to wallow in my own self-pity: I have such bad luck. I must be cursed. Why is all this happening to me? Can't anything in my life go right? I cried. I freeked. I went to my parents and repeated all of my thoughts as tears streamed down my face.

My father could only shake his head in disbelief. He said: "Melanie. I know some things aren't working out the way you would like, but just look at yourself. You need to calm down. Melanie, you just survived cancer. That is one of the biggest things you could ever overcome, and here you are getting this upset over little petty things?" At that moment, I walked out of the dark.

Light bulb moments. I love those. At the very instant that my father said those words, it was as though I had awoken from a dream. How could I be so ungrateful? How could I allow little things like these bother me when I had just gone through all that I had? The day of my diagnosis rushed back to me and I remembered all the things I said to myself. I said that I would focus on living and being happy, rather than allowing all life's minor inconveniences trouble me. I had begun to abandon all of that. But it did not take long for my thoughts to change.

From that moment on, I have been able to enjoy my life tenfold, along with all its little "twists, turns, bumps, and bridges." Because of my father's simple but wise words, I have been able to regain my former sense of positivity and optimism. I try to see every day as a blessing. I attempt to do the things that make me happy everyday. I make an effort to see the big picture and to put all of life's little troubles into perspective. Rather than worrying what people think or say about my hair, for instance, I now feel happy that my hair is growing back as quickly and as healthy as it is, I am thankful that I can pull off the short hair look, and I feel grateful that I can go out into public places at all (after being practically house-ridden on chemo). I feel that taking things into perspective and reevaluating life as such has diminished my stress levels tremendously, and I think that this is an integral part of the healing process (and an integral part of maintaining health and wellness).

Thanks, Dad :-)

"Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it." -Groucho Marx

The Greatest Ignorance Is To Reject Something You Know Nothing About ...

2007-03-27T08:57:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, Mike and I made plans to go to a Cape Breton Screaming Eagles playoff game and then to make our way over to a small bar in Sydney where Mike's friend was playing an informal gig. Two weekends previous, I had gone to the same bar to see the same person play, but I went sporting my long blonde wig. Although I looked great, by the end of the evening my head was so itchy I couldn't wait to leave the bar and remove the wig as soon as possible. I found myself in the bathroom on a number of occassions removing the wig so that I could relieve my head of the extremely uncomfortable sensation it was causing me. So, this time I decided that I was going to go as myself--no uncomfortable wigs or hats, no facades ... Just me as me. Despite all the rude comments fired at me from ignorant people the few weeks leading up to this particular night, going out in public bald (just about anywhere) was becoming easier each and every time I did it. I learned to ignore the stares and comments and to feel sexy as is. This night, however, would be the first time I would enter an extremely crowded hockey game or a bar full of twenty-somethings. But I didn't think about that. I got ready as I usually would, met Mike, and made my way into the night thoughtlessly.

First stop: Screaming Eagles Hockey Game. As we drove up to the Centre 200 parking lot it was evident that the place was crawling with people. There was not a parking spot in sight and we were left to park down the road about a five minute walk from the building. So ... it was a busy night. I still, however, entered the place thoughtlessly-- almost forgetting that I was sporting a Sinead O'Connor style. This thoughtlessness, however, was quickly revoked as I made my way towards the front door of the building. Just as I was about to enter, I heard: "What the f*** ?!?!?! ... Look at that f***in' Britney spears f***er!!!!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not only were people make rude, judgmental comments about me ... they were screaming them AT me. I felt completely violated and stopped in my tracks. I turned my head to see a large group of young boys, probably early high school aged. I stood there looking at them, silently threatening them to say it again. I looked over at Mike--he looked as though any minute fumes may blow out his ears and nose. His jaw clenched: "Who said it?" he hollared. Every boy in the group put his head down. He repeated: "Who said it?" They all turned sheepishly ... the little cowards. Mike said: "Let's go, they're only kids, its not worth our time."

Although they may have been young and ignorant, the abuse these kids threw at me completely killed my confidence. Suddenly, I became very aware of myself and felt as though everyone in the whole rink was looking at me. I wondered: Do I really look that strange? They made me sound like some kind of alien or monster or something. I tried to brush it off and hold my head up ... but this became difficult. I looked around to see if anyone was looking at me. They were. It seemed that everywhere I turned there were people looking at me in shock. The whispers invaded me and began to sound like screams: "Britney Spears ... Britney Spears!!!" I sat in my seat and tried to shelter myself amongst the hundreds of people seated around me.

Somehow I managed to make it to the end of the hockey game, despite feeling as though I was being made a mockery. Here I am, a 25 year old battling a potentially fatal disease, dealing with things most people my age wouldn't have to dream about dealing with, trying my best to cope with devastating hairloss and trying to maintain what feminitiy I have left, and I have people screaming at me, whispering about me, staring at me, and making a joke out of everything I've been through. Do I need to wear a sign around saying that I am I cancer survivor in order to get people to leave me alone?

I happily left the Centre 200 that night, finally escaping the cruel. I felt so small, helpless, torn, and battered. I tried to hold it together but the thoughts of what I had just endured invaded my mind. The whole arena may as well have physically thrown things at me ... it was the equivalent to me. Suddenly I burst into tears. Helplessness overcame me. I felt that no matter how hard I tried to move on and live my life again, something would get in the way.

With a little support and encouragement from Michael, my friend Lindsey, and my Dad, I somehow mustered up the courage to make my way to the bar as planned, a couple hours later. They convinced me that people simply don't understand my situation and that I shouldn't allow other people's ignorance to get in the way of my happiness. Lindsey provided me with the insight that most of those people wouldn't be half as strong as me if they had to go through what I did and that none of them could look so beautiful doing it. This gave me a boost of confidence, and so, with my cheering squad behind me, I made my way to the bar.

The rest of the night proved to be a great time and I was finally able to let loose and be myself. The bar was much less crowded (less than 30 people) and I knew about 80% of the people there. As the night progressed, I was soon able to allow the nights events to fade from my memory. Although I was able to collect myself and regain my confidence since then, I still look back on that evening and shiver. In reflecting on the events of that evening, I have thought of one hundred things I would have said to those people if I could have that night over. I wonder what their reaction would have been if I had calmly approached them and told them I had cancer? Next time something like this happens this is how I plan to deal with it. Hopefully it will impact those people enough so that they will never make such rude remarks, etc. to others again.

"And don't you see the strange way
That the girl dances away a day
Even ridiculed display
Won't stop her feet from moving"

"Why should I be hypnotized
By someone else's lie?
Why should I take time and pride in
What someone else believes?"

"Why should I bend myself around to make you smile
Why should I wear your blinders to give you style?"

~ Dave Matthews

Poor Britney.

2007-03-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

Before signing off of this topic, let's talk about one of the major roots of this problem of mine: Britney Spears. Although I try not to get wrapped up in Hollywood drama, this time I have no choice. For those of you who have been following her story (it's kind of difficult not to follow it if you watch television or read newpapers/ magazines), you probably know that once Britney met her beau, Kevin Federline, things seemed to go downhill for her. She let her physical appearance slide, began smoking, drinking heavily, and using drugs, and had a child. When her hubby left her, it seemed as though she had trouble dealing and began doing erratic things--including shaving her head.

When I first heard the news that Britney Spears shaved her head I couldn't help but let out a chuckle, simply because I find Hollywood so rediculous sometimes-- I often think some of these people will do absolutely anything for attention. Mike mentioned that he thought she was trivializing something serious which many women are forced into experiencing because of diseases like cancer. I really didn't consider it to be that serious, and didn't think much more of the comment. A few nights later I saw a clip of her on television, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Here is a girl who was thrust into stardom at a young age, had the whole world following her every move, and simply could not handle it. Many stars turn to drugs and alcohol as a way of coping, and it seemed as though she had fallen into the same trap. Poor Britney.

My opinions have since then changed. Because of Britney's idea to shave her head, my life and my battle with one of the many devastating aspects of this disease has been made one hundred times more difficult. Complete hairloss, as I have mentioned so many times before, can be extremely devastating to many people who undergo chemotherapy. In fact, it is usually one of the things women dread the most about chemotherapy. As a cancer patient, I have learned ways of using hairloss to my advantage and dealing with it as best I can. However, my attempts to deal with it have become trivialized because of what Britney Spears has done. Now I am left to deal with people screaming at me when I go to hockey games because they feel that I am trying to be like a star that many people believe to be a lunatic and a drug attict. I'm sure there are many other women out there who are being mocked because of this as well.

If Britney shaved her head for a purpose, as did Sinead O'Connor (for political reasons) or Natalie Portman (for a film) or others who have shaved their heads in order to donate their hair or for other reasons, then this would be much more acceptable. But she did this for attention, and in doing so she has drawn a great deal of negative attention to me and many other people who have been unwillingly thrust into complete hairloss from things beyond our control.

Although I do believe that people should do whatever it is that makes them happy, and although I normally would never pay attention to something that seems so petty, this issue has become very real and very serious for me.

What are your opinions about the Britney ordeal?

I Am The Captain Of This Ship

2007-03-25T22:08:00.000-07:00

My Gastroscopic Experience

2007-03-25T18:32:00.000-07:00

March 20th arrived quickly and, although nervous about receiving my first gastroscopic, I readily welcomed the opportunity to discover what has been ailing this poor stomach of mine over the past seven or eight years.

The ordeal began the night before: no food or drink after midnight. I have found this to be one of the true pains about many medical tests. The worst part about this one was that my appointment wasn't until 2pm the next day. I knew it would be difficult to get through both the morning and afternoon without a drop of water or a bite to eat (especially when an empty stomach seems to be the strongest trigger for my stomach pain).

By the time I arrived at the hospital the next day I was absolutely starving. All the nervousness I previously experienced about the procedure was soon overcome by the overwhelming urge to eat. I now anxiously awaited the procedure (and the meal that was to follow!).
The nurse called me in at 2pm to ask some routine questions, take blood pressure, and get me into my favorite outfit -- the jonny shirt. What I wasn't expecting was an intravenous needle (How did I not think of this???). I cursed the nurse in my mind. I thought that chemo would mean the end of IVs for a while! I only managed to escape 5 weeks without any needles?
I sucked it up. I had to. So, after some pitiful arguments with myself and some serious labouring with that dreaded needle on the nurse's behalf, the IV was finally put in place.

I was soon taken into a day surgery room, where I was met by Dr. Butler and a very upbeat nurse who welcomed me and directed me to lay on the hospital bed. The nurse assured me that this procedure would be a "piece of cake" and that the worst part about it all would be the Xylocaine that would be sprayed in the back of my throat. Xylocaine is a local anesthetic which, in this case, is sprayed in the back of the throat to numb the area and thereby prevent gagging and coughing when the tube is inserted. The nurse warned me that the spray tasted absolutely horrible and not to panic when my throat became numb--it may feel swollen but it really is not.

I took a deep breath and hung on to the side of the bed as she approached me with the spray: "Open up!" She sprayed 10 sprays into the back of my throat. Horrible was not the word to describe this taste. Disguisting, revolting, stomach-churning. I gagged and I could feel every muscle in my face twist and turn. The nurse copied my expression and looked as though she felt sorry for me: "We need to do that two more times." Two more times? Ahhh! "Don't worry it gets easier each time," she explained. She came at me with ten more quirts of that putrid stuff. And then ten times once again. After 30 squirts of xylocaine, my throat was completely numb. I did not like the resulting feeling, however: swallowing became difficult and my throat felt extremely swollen. I looked at Dr. Butler and blurted: "I am not enjoying this sensation ONE BIT!" He looked at me in a very nonchalant manner and replied: "Yes, I know. I had this procedure done and I really didn't like that sensation either. It almost feels as though your airways are constricted." Airways constricted. Yes, that is the sensation. Oh no. I cannot breathe!

I began to panic. Suddenly that miserable experience I endured in November came rushing back to me. I remembered my face tightening up, my jaw locking, my teeth clenching, and the muscles in my mouth and tongue spasming--I felt as though I couldn't swallow or breathe. The numb sensation the Xylocaine produced caused a very similar feeling. Put me out, put me out, put me out. I want to be asleep!
Within 3 or 4 minutes (which seemed like an eternity at the time), the nurse told me to roll over on my side: "Now for the best part of this procedure: the drugs!" She laughed as she came toward me with a needle full of anesthetic/ sedative. She pumped drugs into my intravenous tube and I could instantly feel myself becoming sleepy. Dr. Butler came toward me and said: "Melanie I am just going to place this tube in your mouth and when I say 'swallow' I want you to swallow okay?" "Okay," I replied. Everything went black.

The next thing I remember was feeling the tube wiggling around in my throat. It didn't hurt and I didn't care. I just remember feeling it very briefly and then feeling Dr. Butler pulling it out of my throat. It seemed to me as though I 'came to' in perfect time. Just as he pulled the tube out of my throat it was as though I awoke and bounced up, not remembering a single thing. Cool! "So what did you find?" I asked. "There was some esophageal erosion." Some time passed, although I cannot tell you how much. I repeated: "So there were no ulcers?" "Nope. Just some erosion of the esophagus. What medications did you say you have tried?" I told him I tried Zantac, Losec, Pantaloc, and Pariet. I suggested that Nexium may be a good choice, as I heard it has worked wonders for many people and I hadn't yet tried it. He quickly agreed to prescribe Nexium and told me to go to his office and pick up six weeks worth.

The rest of the day (including anything else the doctor may have told me after the endoscopy) was a complete blur. It seemed as though as each moment occured to me I felt absolutely normal (maybe a little more upbeat and happy). However, as each hour passed, I seemed to forget the last. I kept repeating to myself: Did I do that? DId that actually happen or was I dreaming? What did I do all day? The drug created a very bizarre amnesiac-like experience which remained with me for at least four hours after it was administered.
So, the experience was funny and rather bizarre, more than anything. I can assure any of you who have to undergo this procedure that it is really nothing to worry about. It's a "piece of cake" and may even give you something to laugh about a little later.

The best thing about having the procedure done for me is the reassurance that I have a treatable illness (no cancer) and that I finally know exactly what it is that has been causing me so much pain over the years: erosion of the esophagus. Although I can remember nothing of what Dr. Butler told me about my condition (besides the fact that it is esophageal erosion), I have done a small amount of research to feed my curiosity until I meet with Dr. Butler again in six weeks. I learned that the "esophageal erosion" Dr.Butler spoke of is actually refered to as "Esophagitis" and indicates a wearing away of the lining of the esophagus. This wearing away is most often caused by GERD (or acid reflux), where stomach acid is refluxed or pushed into the esophagus. This can cause inflammation, irritation, or erosion of the esophagus. Esophagitis occurs when GERD has become severe and it eventually leads to ulcers. Here's the scary part: approximately 10% of patients with eroded esophagus have a condition known as "Barret's Esophagus." This is an abnormal change in the cells of the esophagus caused by chronic exposure to acid, which may eventually lead to cancer (in a small number of patients). Eeeek. Let's just hope that those biopsy results don't come up with any abnormal cells!

To read more about Esophagitis, visit the following links:

To read more about Barret's Esophagus, visit the following links:

Dr. Butler has prescribed me with a proton pump inhibitor called Nexium to deal with acid production in my stomach. Nexium basically works to decrease the amount of acid produced in the stomach. Nexium can heal erosive esophagitis in 4-8 weeks. I will take Nexium for six weeks and then meet with Dr. Butler to discuss whether or not it was successful and where to go from there.

Until next time ...

A little progress!

2007-03-15T10:40:00.000-07:00

It's 6 weeks post-chemo and I'm finally starting to notice considerable progress with the hair growth. As you can see from the pictures below, my head is now almost completely covered with thick fuzz. Although many people say that the hair often grows back thicker, curlier, and a different shade than before, it appears thus far that I may be keeping my blonde locks afterall. The hair looks to be a dark shade of blonde ... it's impossible to tell whether it will be thicker or curlier yet, but I'll keep you posted!

RealTime Cancer

2007-03-12T08:30:00.000-07:00

A "survivor profile" has recently been added about me on the website "Real Time Cancer." Real Time Cancer is a site designed for young adults aged 15-30 who are dealing with cancer. Young adults from around the country get together and share their stories, write articles, and participate in discussion boards dealing with the unique issues that face young people who are dealing with cancer (whether you are diagnosed or are a supporter of someone who was diagnosed). RealTime cancer also organizes retreats called "Retreat Yourself" which give young cancer survivors and their supporters a chance to come together and also to learn valuable coping skills. RealTime Cancer also distributes a newsletter to hospitals, schools, and business environments to let the general public know that the program is available.

Being diagnosed with cancer as a young adult presents unique challenges. Cancer is different when you are young. Issues like dating, friendships, fertility, and finances take on a whole new meaning. If you are a young cancer survivor, you are likely facing some tough challenges like these. RealTime Cancer is place you can go to feel that there are others who understand what you are going through.

To visit the RealTime Cancer website, click here.

To read my Survivor Profile, click here.

Inhibition, Inspiration, and Ignorance

2007-03-09T07:22:00.000-08:00

Losing my hair, as I spoke about so many times before, was definitely a challenging aspect of my battle with cancer. As a woman, and especially a young woman, hair becomes connected with femininity, attractiveness, and identity. So, losing that part of yourself can be extremely devastating. I found that becoming mentally prepared for hair loss made it much easier to cope with. I checked out pictures of people with buzzed cuts and hairless, ordered wigs and bought new hats, researched hairloss (i.e. when it happens, when it grows back, how it grows back, etc.), and tried to picture myself as a bald woman to get used to the idea of it. I discovered that when I actually shaved my head, losing my hair was much less difficult then I imagined. Not only was I was completely ready for it, but I thought the look was fun and different and I knew it would only be shortlived. I also looked at my loss of hair as a chance for me to experiment with my looks much more than I ever would have.

To my surprise, however, being hairless seemed to become more difficult for me as time passed, rather than becoming easier. As I attempted to regain my 'normal' life and move on after chemotherapy, I couldn't help but be continuously reminded about my lack of hair. Being hairless is a reminder to you and everyone else that you had/ have cancer. It is impossible to feel normal when you look in the mirror and see a cancer patient looking back at you. It is impossible to feel normal when you go out in public only to be stared at by people who can't get over the fact that you have cancer or, as I'll explain later, can't understand the reasons why someone so young would have no hair.

For several weeks following my last chemotherapy treatment, I allowed my hairlessness to completely interfere with my ability to move on. I felt inhibited. I worried what other people were thinking of me. I had little confidence in how I looked. I avoided going places and if I did, I wore a wig or a hat which, in turn, often made me physically uncomfortable. Finally, I decided that this had gone too far. It was not fair for me to live this way. I wanted to move forward and I wanted to feel comfortable in doing so. Just as I began to come to this important realization, I came into contact with a young cancer survivor, Lindsay MacPhee, who I had added on "Facebook" (an internet 'friend network'). As I browsed through Lindsay's photos I noticed that she never once wore a wig while going through chemotherapy. In most of her photos she was completely bald, and looked completely confident AND absolutely beautiful. Seeing those photos gave me the extra push I needed to go out bald. I didn't feel so alone in doing it and I began to realize that bald can be attractive. I told Lindsey how gorgeous she looked bald and her reply was that she felt the sexiest she ever did when she was bald because she was fighting a battle and was therefore empowered. I thought this was an amazing positive perspective that I could totally benefit from adopting. Cancer is a tough fight and those waging in its war are tough, strong, and courageous ... this fight should be something we are proud of, not something we are ashamed of. Suddenly, I felt crazy for hiding my baldness. Lindsay inspired me to accept who I am and what I am going through and to be proud of myself.

The next step suddenly became easy. I pranced around in public for the first time without anything at all covering my head ... and I felt a true sense of liberation in doing so. First I went shopping, then for coffee, then bowling with friends. Each time I went out in public bald it became easier and I felt more and more liberated. I did notice stares, but then I reminded myself of what Lindsay had told me. I also reminded myself that it wasn't common for someone my age to have cancer, so people may want to take a look moreso out of shock than anything. I tried my best to go about my own business and block everyone else out. It worked. I felt amazing and suddenly became much more comfortable with baldness.

As I continued to take these essential steps, of course there would be obstacles. When bowling with my friends one evening, I noticed a lady who seemed to take a keen interest in me for the entire evening. As I mentioned earlier, I could understand that someone may be shocked and therefore want take a look at me, but I could not understand the persistent stares that seemed to radiate from this woman for the entire evening. I blocked her out and went about my business. I later learned that this lady was not staring at me because she felt sorry for me or because of her shock at my battle with cancer at such a young age. She had actually been whispering to people around her that I was trying to be like Britney Spears by shaving my head. Little did she know that my mother's friend was sitting next to her. This lady's ignorance was nipped in the bud quite quickly when my mother's friend informed her in a not-so-nice tone that I was actually battling cancer.

I didn't let this bother me. I felt more sorry for the lady and her blatant ignorance than for myself. I am only left to look at people like that and shake my head. I picked myself up and brushed myself off after hearing about this and went into a store just moments later ... bald. I minded my own business and did what I had to do. The next day, I was told by Mike's friend (whose sister was working at the store) that a man said: "Look at this one ... the next Britney Spears" as I walked out the door. This man was also taken by surprise, when one of the girls at the store told him to "get out!"

I feel sorry that people can be so rude and ignorant. I will not, however, allow such empty and thoughtless comments to get in the way of my dignity. I will continue to move forward with my head held high and with my confidence intact. These very heartless individuals will only make me want to do so more.

I will end this post with a very important message: never EVER judge. No matter what the circumstance may be ... you never know just what a person is going through or what makes a person do the things they do, act the way they act, or look the way they look. There is a reason behind everything. If you do insist on judging others, keep it to yourself. Making empty comments with no basis about other people may give you some sort of temporary satisfaction (for whatever reason), but it accomplishes nothing else but hurting other people.

"I won't back down!"

Save Your Scissors ... For Someone Else's Skin

2007-03-09T00:24:00.000-08:00

Since we are already on the topic of hairloss, I'll give you an update on the progress of my hair growth since completing chemo:

As I mentioned earlier, my hair was growing during treatments, but it was very sparce, fine, blonde hairs scattered throughout my scalp. Since I finished my last treatment, my hair has been growing slowly but surely and quite continously. As of now (my 5th week off of chemo) my whole head is covered in fuzz. It almost feels furry. It is thicker in some areas than others-- especially at the front and back of my head (not as thick on the sides). I have one very noticeable patch of thick hair at the very front ... it almost looks like I am growing bangs! My eyebrows and eyelashes did not fall out, but appear to be a slightly thinner than usual. Seeing my hair grow back so quickly and consistently at least gives me hope and reminds me that soon enough I will have hair again.

No More Turning Away

2007-03-05T09:11:00.000-08:00

I can't help but feel that this song has some extremely powerful messages:

On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we wont understand
Dont accept that whats happening
Is just a case of others suffering
Or you'll find that you're joining in
The turning away

Its a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And casting its shroud
Over all we have known
Unaware how the ranks have grown
Driven on by a heart of stone
We could find that we're all alone
In the dream of the proud

On the wings of the night
As the daytime is stirring
Where the speechless unite
In a silent accord
Using words you will find are strange
Mesmerized as they light the flame
Feel the new wind of change
On the wings of the night

No more turning away
From the weak and the weary
No more turning away
From the coldness inside
Just a world that we all must share
Its not enough just to stand and stare
Is it only a dream that therell be
No more turning away?

~Pink Floyd- "On the Turning Away" (from A Momentary Lapse of Reasoning)
(listen to it on the sidebar)

A "Gut" Feeling

2007-03-04T17:37:00.000-08:00

Since I was 18 I have been plagued with stomach problems. Stomach problems have become so much a part of my life that I can predict exactly how it will feel and when it will happen ... or so I thought. Normally it occurs when I have an empty stomach, when I eat certain foods (like spicy or acidic foods), or when I am stressed or tired. I become overwhelmed with an awful pain in the upper abdomen, which feels almost as though I have been punched in the stomach (but instead of the pain being shortlived, it remains constant). My stomach feels raw, sore, and painful. The pain can last anywhere from an hour or so (if mild) to an entire day or a string of days even. Sometimes I have a bad bout of stomach pain followed by a period of weeks where I experience no pain at all. At one point in time the best cure for my misery was Gaviscon, an antacid in liquid form. This thick chalky drink coats the stomach and numbs the pain. This worked for me for years, but has recently been losing its effectiveness. I also find that laying down helps the pain tremendously ... sitting upright makes it worse.

In university I self-diagnosed myself with an ulcer. It had to be an ulcer. All the symptoms of an ulcer were there and my high-stress lifestyle could very well explain how they were brought on. Also, stomach problems run in the family. My mother, father, brother, grandmother, and cousin have all had some form of stomach ailment (from ulcers, to acid reflux or "heartburn" to hernias). So it was easy to make a self-diagnosis. Nonethless, when I was around 21 (after experiencing this for at least 2-3 years), I made my way to the Dalhousie medical clinic and brought it up with a doctor. She put me on Zantac (the least potent form of stomach medication) and suggested that I probably had acid reflux.

Another year passed and the pain persisted, however ... the Zantac did nothing for me. I decided to go back to the clinic once again. The doctor decided to then place me on a more potent form of stomach medication called Losec and had me tested for what is called the "H. Pylori bacteria." The H. Pylori bacteria is thought to reside in 2/3 of the world's population, but it may be asymptomatic (unnoticed) or symptomatic (meaning it causes an ulcer). It only becomes symptomatic, however, in 70% of those infected. A large majority of ulcers are caused from H-Pylori bacteria, which is thought to be passed on in families. Those ulcers rooted in it can be treated extremely quickly and effectively using a potent form of antibiotic. I was tested for the bacteria, but received no call back from the medical clinic, presumably because the test came back negative.

Another couple of years passed and I still experienced this dreadful pain. It had now become a part of my lifestyle--it was still, however, a part of my life that I could not endure. I, thus, went to my family doctor and once again explained my symptoms and all the medications I had been on thus far (this was in the early Summer, 2006). This doctor decided that the best medication was Pantaloc, a drug which not only relieves symptoms but also heals ulcers when taken for an extended period. She put me on this medication for 6 weeks. I found Pantaloc to be quite helpful in relieving my symptoms and I barely noticed any stomach irritation for several months. However, a couple of months following my 6-week administration of Pantaloc, the irritation showed up once again (this was around the time that I was diagnosed with breast cancer).

Since finishing chemotherapy, my stomach problems have become nearly out of control. As I sit here typing I feel the gnawing pain eating away at my stomach. I discussed this with Dr. MacCormick and Dr. Butler. Dr. Butler did a physical exam and said everything felt normal. He said that it was likely an ulcer caused by the H. Pylori bacteria, especially since stomach problems run in the family. He said that often times the bacteria goes undetected in blood tests and one may need to be tested more than once in order to discover it. So, H. Pylori is yet to be ruled out. Dr. Butler arranged for me to have a "scope" or gastroscopy and a stomach biopsy on March 20th. A gastroscopy is a procedure whereby a doctor places a long tube containing a sort of camera at its end through the mouth and into the stomach to see the inside of the stomach. From these tests, the doctors can hopefully get to the root of the problems I have been experiencing with my stomach for the past 7 years of my life.

The worst thing about all of this is the mental stress it has caused me the past little while. Over the past 2 weeks the pain has been extremely persistent. I think it may be the longest time I have ever experienced these pains without some break. The longest break I seem to get from it is a few hours. Why is it becoming so persistent? Recently I have become worried that I may have stomach cancer. What if there is a tumor in there that is causing the pain? What if I had stomach cancer all along and just thought it was an ulcer? I researched the symptoms of both ulcers and stomach cancer and found that the symptoms are almost identical. The only way of really knowing what you have is to be tested. My parents think I am being silly and that I most definitely have an ulcer. My doctor warned me previously that from now on every ailment I have will likely be taken much more seriously than it would have previously. There will always be that voice questioning whether or not it may be cancer.

All I can do is wait for another couple of weeks until I am able to get some answers. Let's cross our fingers and hope that it is just a treatable ulcer and nothing more.
Until then ... let me know if you've had any stomach problems (especially an ulcer) and what it felt like. Thanks!

New Pics

2007-02-26T08:06:00.000-08:00

Mike and Mel Skating ... February 24th, 2007

On moving forward ... or something like that

2007-02-22T18:44:00.000-08:00

It's Day 21 of my fourth and final chemotherapy treatment ... and boy do I have a lot to think about. I developed a serious case of tunnel vision throughout all of this. Since the very first day I was diagnosed, and especially since the very first day I began chemo, all I could think about was how happy I would be when it was all over. I passed each and every day away, striving with all I could for the end of all this mess. Was that a good idea? I'm sure people would have varying opinions on the matter. I do believe that spending all your time wishing for the future is merely a form of wasting your life away, but I also believe that in this particular situation tunnel vision became a tool that helped me to get through it all without 'cracking up' before it had a chance to end.

And here we are. At the end of the tunnel. Or is it? I expected much more of 'the end' (or the new beginning) than this that I am now experiencing. I guess I never really knew where the end of the tunnel would lead me, I simply knew that it could only be better than what I was experiencing thus far. Perhaps I trivialized moving forward--it is much more difficult than I ever imagined. Now that I am left to begin picking up the pieces of my shattered life, I am also left to wonder where I should begin.

I would like to get back into running and playing squash, but my nervousness about my current physical strength holds me back. Am I moving too quickly? I worry that I will be placing too much strain on my already weakened body. I joined the gym to begin weight training, but I also find myself nervous to go there in fear that, again, it may be too strenuous too soon. What if I faint or get sick there? My plans for getting back into physical activity in full force at 'the end of the tunnel' now seem jeopardized. It will not be as easy as I imagined ...

I would like to begin teaching again very much as well. I miss being around children and I miss the business of my previous life (although I never thought I would be saying this a year ago!). I was always such an active person ... constantly busy and 'on the go.' My recent house-ridden life has thrown my mind a huge curve ball. I'm not used to lazing around in boredom and, frankly, I do not enjoy it in the least. Children have always been a part of my life. I enjoy being around them-- their innocence and naivete gives me a fresh outlook on life. My ties with children were abruptly dismantled when all of this began. So, as you can imagine, teaching was also a big piece of the tunnel's end. However, now that I am "here," I wonder if it may be too soon for me to get back into the stressful and demanding work I once did. I planned to begin substitute teaching and offering private piano lessons in mid-March (following March break), but I have recently had various people warn me that I may be moving too fast. They say both my body AND my mind need lots of time to heal and rest after all they have been through. Now I wonder, should I begin teaching next month? Or will this jeopardize the healing process?

I would also very much like to pick my social life up where I left it when all this began. My life was once bustling with friendships and social events, but since hell broke loose, that part of my life was quickly put on hold. Now that I have been basically house-bound for over half a year, I find this difficult. I do not feel as though I am in the correct mindset for 'partying' and I happen to be in Cape Breton--home of pogy and beer (which means that this is what most people my age are interested in doing with their spare time). And, athough I thought this experience would bring me closer to friends, it actually managed to distance me from many people who I once considered best friends. This was not only because of my inability to go out and do most things that other people my age were doing, but also because of others' inability to accomodate my temporary disabilities. I have heard so many cancer survivors (especially my age) that say that many people whom they would have expected to be there for them just abandoned them during the most difficult time in their lives. The same rings true for me. It is difficult to understand how anyone could behave this way, but it also really allows you to see who your true friends are. Because of all this, however, I feel reluctant to rekindle some of those friendships and I'm left to shuffle through the remains.

Finally, I saw 'the end of the tunnel' as being the time when I would return to my normal life. But frankly, being hairless is making normalcy seem impossible. Although I am finished chemo, my hair has just begun showing signs of regrowth. I feel as though it will be a very long process that will make moving on very challenging. And I'll add a newsflash, my eyelashes HAVE begun thinning over the past week (so, approx. 2 weeks into the fourth chemo treatment). They have not completely fallen out, but they seem thinner than usual. My eyebrows still seem the same. But, if I lose my eyelashes and eyebrows completely it will make the process of moving on even more difficult for me.

So, I suppose the end of the tunnel is not as cut and dry as I once assumed it would be. The process of getting my life back is going to be a slow and sometimes painful one and will be almost as though I am gathering fallen pieces and slowly placing them back together. I will need to acquire as much patience and diligence as is humanly possible. My task now is to learn how to keep the tunnel vision that has gotten me this far, while at the same time learning not to waste my life away wishing and waiting for days to come. I really do not want to take anything for granted. I want to cherish everyday, even if it has its challenges. I feel that this will be the only way for me to really enjoy the process of moving forward.

Do you believe
In what you see?
Motionless wheel,
Nothing is real.
Wasting my time
In the waiting line.
Do you believe
In what you see?

...Zero7- In the Waiting Line...
(Listen to this song in the side panel)

Dedicated To All Women ...

2007-02-14T07:16:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to all women out there. One of the biggest risk factors for breast cancer is being a woman. The ugly truth is that 1 in 8 of you out there will develop breast cancer at some point in your lives, and this number has been rising at an alarming rate over the past few decades. The scary part is that we don't know why. The good news is that survival rates for this disease are higher than they ever were and there is a good chance that if breast cancer is detected early it can be overcome. Because of this, it is extremely important that all women (especially young women) learn the importance of self breast exams so that we can arm and protect ourselves against this near-epidemic disease and nip cancer in the bud before it has a chance to potentially take our lives. If it weren't for my taking an active role in my health, I would likely still be walking around with cancer growing like wildfire within me and not even know it.

Back in late July, as I discussed quite a while back, I went to my family doctor in preparation for my travels to South Korea to get my yearly 'women's exam' and some vaccinations. I received a pap test and a breast exam (after my doctor asked if I would "like" a breast exam) and was sent on my merry way, not even considering that something was wrong with me. Just one month later, it was while performing a self breast exam (in South Korea) that I discovered the lump that changed my life.

There are a few things you can take from this. The first is that young people aren't expected to get breast cancer or other kinds of cancers, but they do. Although it is not AS common, it happens, and it is not as rare as you may think. So, young women beware. Be sure you go get a yearly exam no matter how horrible it may be. And, if your doctor does not offer a breast exam, ASK for one. Your yearly exam could save you not only from breast cancer, but also from cervical, uterine, and ovarian cancers, which are also quite common among us women (I recently learned of a 20 year old in my area diagnosed with uterine cancer!).

The second thing you can take from this is that my cancer was found through a self breast exam, and by doing this frequently, I managed to catch my breast cancer in its earliest stage, which heavily increased my chances of survival. Self breast exams could SAVE YOUR LIFE. And they only take a few minutes.

The final thing you may take from this is that at the end of July I received a self breast exam from my doctor. She did not feel a lump, which meant it was probably too small to be felt or to be noticed as anything abnormal. By the end of August, the lump was almost 1 cm in size, or approx. this big: (-----). Thus, within a month the lump grew from an insignificant size that could not be felt, to an easily distinguishable bump that could easily be felt. Thus, it is important to do exams frequently (at least monthly) to check for changes.

I know a lot of women are unsure about self breast exams. They aren't sure what to be looking for--what's normal and what's not. They aren't sure exactly how it's done. I found a very helpful 3 minute video on how to perform a self breast exam that can be viewed by click the following link: Self Breast Examination

For further information on self-breast exams, visit the following websites:

And ... Some personal tips:

Become familiar with the feeling of your breasts and look for changes. If you do self-exams regularly you will come to know the natural feeling of your breasts, which may include some normal lumpiness or bumps. Many women say "But mine feel lumpy anyway, so how do you know?" You are looking for changes in the normal feeling of your breasts, which will become more distinguishable if you know how they normally look and feel.
A cancerous lump will be a hard bump within the tissue that is fixed in one spot. Cysts (non-cancerous lumps) can often be moved.
Painful lumps are less likely to be cancerous. Cancerous breast lumps are usually not painful at all.
Examine your breasts just after your period, when they are less likly to be swollen or tender from hormonal changes.
Do the exam at the same time every month.
If you are over 40, use mammography to your advantage. Mammography is still the best way to detect breast cancer and it is a service you are lucky to have available to you. Younger women need to rely on clinical and self-exams, but women over 40 can use a combination of mammogram, clinical exam, and self-exam to detect breast cancer as early as possible.
If you find a lump, don't panic. Most of the time lumps are benign, cystic, or the result of natural changes in breast tissue or hormonal changes. But also be proactive and be sure to discuss any changes with your doctor.

I hope you found this post useful. Remember, know your breasts. It could save your life!

Self Breast Exams: Polls

2007-02-14T06:19:00.000-08:00

Ladies: Since we're on the topic of self breast exams, I've added a couple quick polls about self breast exams. Put your two cents worth in!!!

Get Free Opinion Polls

div style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px;height:20px;line-height:20px;text-align:center;width:250px;">Get Free Opinion Polls

The Trials and Tribulations of Mastectomies

2007-02-11T14:05:00.000-08:00

I had a small scare this week when I noticed a small red circle beginning on my mastectomy scar and protruding upwards about .5cms. It was moreso a mark than a bump. But, why would a red mark suddenly be forming on the mastectomy scar four months after the operation? The scar had already healed and was even fading in colour now. It had to mean something. As soon as I noticed the mark, I went to the internet to find some answers. What is a local recurrence? When does a local recurrence normally happen? What does it look like? I found out that local recurrence (a recurrence in the breast where cancer was already removed) happens in 10% of patients who had a lumpectomy and 1% of patients who had a mastectomy. It usually happens within the first 3-5 years and is normally a result of cancer cells that were 'left behind' after surgery (in other words, an unsuccessful surgery). In those who have had a lumpectomy, local recurrence normally presents itself in the form of another lump in the breast. In mastectomy patients, it will normally be a lump on the chest wall OR redness/ blistering/ bump at the mastectomy scar.

OH NO. What if this is a recurrence? This would be EXACTLY my luck. A thousands thoughts trickled through my mind. My heart fluttered. I showed my mother the mark. I showed my father the mark. I showed Mike the mark. All of them thought it was noticeable and that I should mention it to the doctor, but none of them seemed to think I should be overly concerned about it. My mind raced. I checked my appointment book. February 8th, 9:45 am: appointment with Dr. Butler. Perfect. I decided that I would not rush this and overreact because it would really do nothing for me anyway. Because I am still technically on chemotherapy, my cell counts are too low for for me to receive an operation. So, if the doctors were to discover that I had a local recurrence, there would be nothing they could do about it until well after my treatment ended anyway. I may as well try and forget about it, relax, and just ask Dr. Butler next week when I see him.

As the week passed, the redness of the mark diminished, as did my nervousness. I went into the appointment confidently to meet with Dr. Butler. The first thing he wanted to do was give me a breast exam and take a look at the scar to be sure it was healing properly. Perfect. I showed him the mark immediately and his only reply was: "Nope that's normal ... just a bit of scar tissue forming there that's all. Nothing at all to worry about." Ahhhh. I could take a deep breath and be happy. I am assuming this will be the first of many MANY scares I will have in the years ahead of me. Recovering, both mentally and physically, and dealing with the remnants of this disease, is a whole battle in its own.

Dr. Butler was then interested in knowing more about the letter he received from Dr. MacCormick, which was about my interest in receiving a prophylactic mastectomy of the right breast. He told me, just as Dr. MacCormick did, that this was something I would need to decide on my own, but he would be supportive of whatever decision I would make. He went on to say that if I do decide that this is the way I want to go, that he would try to arrange a mastectomy with immediate reconstruction, something which is quite rare in this geographic location. Dr. Butler had previously told me that this type of surgery didn't happen around here because they simply did not have the resources available. So, he was once again going above and beyond for me. I felt so grateful. Dr. Butler has done so much for me since all this began.

What does this mean? Dr. Butler would make arrangements so that he, Dr. Atiyah (the plastic surgeon), and the anesthesist would all meet in the OR for my arranged operation. Dr. Butler would remove the breast and, immediately following, (under the same anesthetic) Dr. Atiyah would insert the implants to begin the breast reconstruction. This would save me an extra operation and the negative effects of being under anesthetic too often. It would also get the most difficult part of the reconstruction out of the way. To read in more detail about the type of reconstructive surgery Dr. Atiyah has suggested for me, read the post Twins or Sisters?
Dr. Butler suggested having the surgery sometime in the next 3-6 months, between June and August, so we scheduled another appointment for May, when we will discuss my intentions and a specific surgery date further.

When I left the appointment I felt very relieved and even excited. The appointment made me feel more like I was moving on, and Dr. Butler's reassurance that Dr. Atiyah's work is excellent and the results look very nice made me anxious to have the procedure. As I thought about things more and more, I came to the conclusion that a prophylactic mastecomy and reconstruction would provide me with the most peace of mind for my future. And, being reassured that after receiving this surgery I could still have breasts (although not natural), made me feel all the more confident in my decision.

Viva La Musica!

2007-02-07T11:24:00.000-08:00

Music- that liquid beauty that seeps into our hearts, our minds, our ears, our fingertips and that drips from our lips and our tears.

Since I was a young girl of 5, I have been using music as an outlet ... so much that it has come to define me over the years. Growing up in a household of trained musicians and music lovers, it started with mere exposure to everything and anything from classical, to jazz, to rock and roll. Little did I realize how profound an effect all this exposure would have on my little untrained ears. Here I am, after 20 years of training in piano and various other instrutments, a music degree, and lots of experience performing and teaching that art I call mine. During my training in music, I became so engulfed in the academic and stressful side of it all that I began to lose sight of the true reason I ever decided to extend the training I had and enjoyment I once knew and make it a profession. Music was no longer simple--it was a whole other system, a whole other language, a whole other discipline ... most of which I had yet to embrace, even after the 15 years of training I receieved before entering university. As Aaron Copland once said: "Most people use music as a couch; they want to be pillowed on it, relaxed and consoled for the stress of daily living. But serious music was never meant to be soporific." This is the type of thinking that continued to present itself throughout my university years.

All that has come full circle for me since this crazy war was waged back in September. I was able to take a step back and allow music to give back to me ... and boy did it help. I have been turning to music more and more to deal with stress, to relate, and as a form of meditation, whether it be through singing, playing the piano or guitar, or through listening to music. I remember writing a whole chapter in my honours thesis back at Dalhousie U in 2004 about the relationship between music and self-expression, emotion, and feeling. I had no idea what I was writing about until now! Music has the power to ease or minds, touch our hearts, and speak to our souls. It is a therapy which we should all embrace in times like these (take that, Aaron Copland!).

So, although I have found myself complaining at times that I may have "wasted" the past year musicially simply because I was not teaching, studying, or performing, I now choose to look at my "break" from professional activity in music as a chance to regain my love for it and to use it to my personal advantage. It certinaly has helped me through some very tough times.

With all that said, I have decided to add an mp3 player to The Pink Diaries, through which I will play some of the music I enjoy that has helped me along this crazy journey. Some of the songs/ pieces are simply therapeutic, while other have lyrics I cannot help but relate to. You can simply turn the player off (just press the stop button!) if it is an annoyance.

Hope you enjoy!

"Music is the wine which inspires one to new generative processes, and I am Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for mankind and makes them spiritually drunken." ~Ludwig van Beethoven

The Nurses of the CB Cancer Centre

2007-02-04T11:45:00.000-08:00

Here are the faces of some of the sweetest angels I know ... the nurses at the Cape Breton Cancer Centre. Thank you for the wonderful care you give!
These pictures were taken at my final treatment ... February 1st, 2007.

Chemo 4 (My final treatment!!!)

2007-02-03T17:01:00.000-08:00

So far the fourth treatment has been the easiest to deal with. The first day (Thursday) was the hardest, unlike past treatments. I spent most of the evening feeling nauseous and unwell and ended the night with a bout of vomiting. Friday I decided to take it as easy as possible and spent most of the day in bed resting. I ate as much as I could and drank a glass of water each hour. I experienced some mild periods of nausea, but nothing I couldn't handle. The worst part of the day was a serious splitting headache which, at the time, I labelled to be the worst headache I ever had. I took some Tylenol and lay a cold cloth over my forehead and within an hour or so it had eased up significantly.

Today is day #3 and the symptoms have been very bearable. I woke up to a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, orange juice, and fruit, which Mike made for me. The breakfast got me off to a great start and I found myself able to get up and clean the kitchen and my bedroom, get a shower, and go out for a drive. This was a major leap in comparison to the third day of all previous treatments. The afternoon was, very thankfully, passed quite quickly. The faster I can get this overwith, the better.

I'm not sure why this treatment seems to be more well tolerated than others. Perhaps my body is building a tolerance for the drug. Perhaps it is my mindset. I have also come up with the theory that perhaps vomiting on the first day, rather than prolonging it, helped a little. Forcing myself to drink water every hour must also be helping to flush and cleanse my body.

So far, so good ... let's cross our fingers!

The Beginning of the End

2007-02-03T16:17:00.000-08:00

As if "the unexpected" hadn't already taken its toll enough, Thursday's pre-chemo appointment presented even more surprises. With my bloodwork done, I was met once again my one of the cancer centre nurses, who asked, yet again, if I could stay today to receive my final chemo treatment instead of coming in tomorrow. There was a possibility of another storm tomorrow and they had lots of chairs available today. An exact repeat of last week? I think so. But, yet, I was not surprised. I was becoming used to things happening exactly how I did NOT expect them to. After waiting all week for chemo, and wanting to see the end of it all more than ever, I now accepted the offer with open arms. If my cell counts are high enough, I will happily do my last treatment today.

Sure enough, my cell counts were now at a satisfactory level and the doctor gave the 'go ahead' for me to receive treatment a day early. Thursday, February 1st. The beginning of the end.

Everything happened quickly from then. I receieved the chemo as I always did, this time partially alone, however, as Mike and my family tried to hurry in at the last minute, not knowing that I would be receiving chemo that day. I spent the first hour or so alone, but it wasn't so bad. All that filled my mind were thoughts of the future and how this day was essential for me to finally move on. All I could picture was teaching, socialiazing, exercising, moving into my new apartment with Mike, and doing normal everyday things that I used to do. At this point I could bear whatever came to me in order to get all of those things back.

Soon enough I was heading home once again to deal with the brutal effects of the poison which dwelled within me for the past few months ... for the last time.

The light at the end of the tunnel??? Where?!

2007-02-02T09:07:00.000-08:00

"Tomorrow" (Jan. 26th) arrived and I went into the hospital amidst the commencing blizzard for my second round of blood work in 2 days. The nurse told me to head back home and they would call me with the results within the hour ... hopefully my white bloods cells would have boosted up that one extra point since yesterday so that I could get chemo and finally see the 'beginning of the end' of this horrible nightmare.

I did as she said and went home to wait for the phonecall. Two hours later (did I mention that hospitals work on their own strange clocks?) they called me back. "Melanie, we got the results of your CBC back. Your white bloodcells were actually just slightly lower than yesterday, so we're going to have to hold off until next week for your chemo." Numbness overcame me. A hundred thoughts raced through my mind. My white blood cells are LOWER than yesterday??? Did I take all those dreadful needles every night for NOTHING? Another WEEK??? Why can't it be in a few days or something? I tried to gather my thoughts. I said: "But I am on Neupogen. How is it possible for my white cells to be that low on Neupogen?" The other end was silent and the nurse replied that she wasn't sure: "Maybe they will have to give you a higher dose next time." I continued: "Does it have to be next week? Like, can't I come in on Monday or something?" She replied: "No, that's how long the white bloods cells normally take to reach the level where we want them to be." I could only hang up the phone in disguist and accept yet another unexpected stroke of bad luck.

I felt so awful. You couldn't begin to understand how much I wanted to get this overwith and move on with my life. This would be two weeks of chemo that were delayed due to Nuetropenia (low white blood cells). Two weeks may seem quick, but when you are suffering through chemotherapy it can seem like an eternity. The end just seemed to be even more unattainable, as if I would never reach it.

I went around the house mumbling and grumbling all day. My dad said: "Melanie, this is awful, but let's just try ot see the positive side of this." Losing all sense of positivity and practically abandoning my own self-motto, I replied: "What could possibly be positive about this?" "You get to spend the rest of this week feeling healthy and can put off being sick until next week." With that perfectly satisfactory idea I decided to take advantage of the wellness I was experiencing for the rest of the week. I took the opportunity to practise the guitar and piano, do some visiting, cook and eat all kinds of delicious food, and get some things done that I needed to do. Before I knew it next week was here and I was heading back into the hospital to do the exact routine I did last week, hopefully for the last time.

Life is a Sea of Conundrums

2007-01-31T07:55:00.000-08:00

I left the hospital with a lot to think about.

First of all, I wondered how it was possible that my cell counts were that low after having taken Neupogen shots for 7 days. Again, white blood cells are responsible for immune function and are killed through chemotherapy. They regenerate themselves approx. 14 days after receiving chemotherapy. It can be dangerous to administer chemo when the white blood cells have not regenerated themselves fully because the immune system can become too depressed. Neopogen is the injection I take which stimulates the production of white blood cells in the bone marrow. This ensures that the white cells will regenerate themselves quickly and fully so that I can receive chemo on time. How is it possible, then, that my white blood cells were too low after receiving 7 injections of Neupogen??? All I could imagine was how low my white blood cells would be if I had not taken Neupogen. I would probably be hospitalized by now. Is it possible that the dose of chemo I am getting is too powerful for my body to control?

Second, I wondered about what would be the smartest course of action for me to take with the second breast. A 50% chance of getting a new cancer in the second breast is extremely significant. That poses the risk of me having to go through this whole ordeal another time. And, what if I didn't catch it as early the second time? What if it was fatal? Could I really risk all that for the sake of breast feeding? I mean, many mothers raise children without breastfeeding.
Lately I have also been plagued with worry about my right breast. I have been experiencing tenderness in the breast, which Dr. MacCormick thinks is likely just hormonal changes in the body. He says that pain in the breast rarely indicates cancer and, if anything, could mean benign disease (like cysts). Nonetheless, the tenderness has been cause for me to fish around and wonder what's going on in there. I usually don't go 24 hours at this point without checking my breast for lumps. Can I really live the rest of my life worrying like this?
Another thing to consider is Dr. Atiyah's suggestions that if I were to leave the right breast on and have the left breats reconstructed, they would be more like sisters than twins. He was adament about the cosmetic result, saying that he could get the best result if he were to reconstruct two breasts, rather than one.

As you can probably tell, I am leaning towards having the right breast removed and having both breasts reconstructed. The benefits seem to clearly outweigh the downfalls:
Benefits: 1) less chance of developing a second, new breast cancer; 2) less worry and psychological distress; 3) a nicer consmetic result
Downfalls: 1) can never breastfeed; 2) will never have a natural breast again, which may be psychologically distressing in itself for a woman

At this point, I am almost positive that I will undergo the second matectomy and will receive reconstruction very shortly after. The second decision will have to be WHEN to go through with all of this ...

Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ...

2007-01-31T07:14:00.000-08:00

After agreeing to have my final treatment unannounced, I moved along to an examination room where I was to have my final pre-chemo appointment with Dr. MacCormick. He was very prompt this time, which took me by surprise. We went through the normal pre-chemo things, discussing how the anti-nausea medication worked for me and going over other symptoms that troubled me. Because the third treatment went well and I was getting used to dealing with the side-effects, we had little to talk about. The time came to discuss the end of treatment, which, for the first time since all this began, I was not prepared for. I had recently trained myself to deal with things as they came to me to avoid mind overload. So, all I was prepared for was discussing the usual.

"I believe this is your fourth treatment, correct?" I nodded my head and smiled. "This must have been very tough on you. You know, the younger you are, the harder this is to deal with, really. It's really is too bad that you had to go through this." Not knowing how to respond, I let out a nervous giggle and nodded, as if to say "you got that right." He responded: "It's not funny, though. I know you're trying to be strong, but this really is tough." There was a short, uncomfortable silence. I was glad to see the doctor I trusted when I first stepped into the cancer centre a few months earlier. I was shown this man's compassionate side once again as he looked at me as a human being, rather than a patient. "Is there anything you would like to ask me now?" Shoot... I have nothing prepared! There was a knock at the door and the doctor excused himself.

I tried to think quickly to conjur up any questions I may have had. Aha! I did want to know what he thought about the double mastectomy the plastic surgeon seemed to suggest last month. He quickly returned and we picked up where we had left off. I asked: "Would there be any benefit to getting the second breast removed as a precaution?" His response was that he thought it was an excellent question, but he really thought it was something I should decide for myself. He said that if I was his daughter there would be two things he would bring up to me. The first would be the warning that breastfeeding (something he seemed to consider as very important) would no longer be an option. If I wanted to have children I should take this into consideration. The second would be that having already had breast cancer at 25 years old, my chances of developing a brand new cancer in the other breast would be approx. 1% per year for the rest of my life. Thus, if my life expectancy is somewhere around 75 years old, I now have a 50% lifetime risk of developing a brand new cancer in the breast that was left behind.

Nonetheless, the doctor seemed to steer clear of making any suggestions. He said that, first of all, he was a man and could never fully relate to me in that way. He thought it may be useful for me to talk to another female about it, preferably a female doctor. Second of all, he thought that it was a very personal decision that should be left for me to decide. He did suggest that it may be a good idea, however, if it was causing me psychological distress. Being the very resourceful man he is, Dr. MacC said that he would phone a female oncologist he knows in Halifax and ask her what her opinion would be. He would let me know at a later date.

Another knock came to the door. Dr. MacCormick returned with a sheet of paper that he looked over quickly. He turned to me. Are you supposed to have chemo tomorrow? I explained that I was supposed to have it tomorrow, but due to the storm I was rescheduled for today. "Okay ..." He had a look of uncertainty on his face. "The only thing, Melanie, is that your cell counts are just slightly lower than we want them to be for you to receive chemo." (I believe they were supposed to be 15 and were 14). "We could go ahead and do it ..." He shook his head back and forth as if to say "This could be risky ... I'm unsure." He said: "See, I would say to go ahead with it, but with you being 25 and all, I don't like taking risks. We never know how you will react." I asked if he thought I should wait until tomorrow. "I would feel more comfortable if we waited until tomorrow. Your cell counts should probably be right by then, but we will still have to test them again tomorrow morning. I do hate for you to risk coming out in a storm, though, do you have a four wheel drive?" I answered yes and we then decided that I would wait until tomorrow for chemo afterall.

Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ... the story of my life.

What we anticipate seldom occurs ...

2007-01-30T20:17:00.000-08:00

The fourth treatment quickly approached and I felt as though I was looking at myself through a a video screen as people commented about how this experience would all be over soon. You must be so happy ... so relieved ... so excited. Soon all of this will be behind you. One more to go Mel! One more still seemed like a lot for me. But, at the same time, I was very grateful that this would hopefully be the last chemo treatment I would ever have to do. I remembered back to the first treatment I received--the most pervasive thought in my mind was that I would have to do this all over again ... threefold. Three more times??? Four treatments sounded so easy when Dr. MacCormick first talked about it! I couldn't fathom going through it once more, let alone two or three more times.

But here I stood, talking about my very last treatment and having gone through three already. I felt that my awareness that this was my final treatment would make it much easier for me to handle and would make it a much more unique experience. It would be relieving to know that the experience would be the last and that all of those dreadful feelings would soon be felt no more.

I found my Thursday pre-chemo appointment sneaking up on me as if I had just been there a few days earlier. In reality, it had been three weeks. Again, I felt as though I was watching myself through a camera lens, as though everything was surreal. A voice kept whispering ... this is the last time you will do have to do this. This is the last time you will have to do that.

The waiting seemed to be minimal this time and I was taken in quickly for everything. First, I was called in to have my blood taken. I dreaded the needle this time because ever since the second chemo treatment I have been experiencing an extreme tenderness throughout my lower arm (from the elbow down). The pain is felt mainly in the inner elbow where blood is normally taken, but it extends more faintly down the arm all the way to the wrist. I told the lady who was taking my blood about the tenderness. She said that it could be damage from having so many needles and so much blood taken from the right arm (remember, I can't get needles in my left arm anymore due to the removal of many of my lymph nodes in that arm). She said it could also be damage from the chemotherapy drugs. I feel that it is a result of the latter rather than the former ... a result of the chemo drugs damaging my poor veins. The technician even noticed that there was a darkening of one of the veins in the arm.

I sucked it up and let her poke me with that needle once again. As she was drawing my blood a nurse came in and approached me. Uh Oh ... what now. "Melanie, do you think you could stay later today?" I waited for her to continue, but she seemed to want an answer before explaining herself. When she realized my answer would not come without an explanation, she said "We wanted to give you your treatment today instead of tomorrow because there is supposed to be a bad storm coming tomorrow." WHAT??? Chemo today?!?!?! You have to be kidding me! I am not mentally prepared for that. I needed one last night of sanity! They can't be serious! I felt like a child again under the scrutiny of a teacher, as I fetched for some excuse as to why I could not get chemo today. Nothing came to me. I told her that I would check with my Mom to make sure she could stay with me, as she was supposed to work that afternoon.

Being the agreeable woman she never fails to be, my mother quickly agreed to stay, although this time I wished she would not. I told the nurse that I would stay even though I did not feel mentally prepared. She suggested that maybe it was best this way--to have less time to think about it and dwell on it. Maybe she was right. I took a deep breath and convinced myself that there was really no difference in taking it today versus tomorrow. Hell, it would be one less day I would have to be on chemo, right?

...it is what we least expect that generally happens

Remembering ...

2007-01-26T17:18:00.000-08:00

Remembering back to when I first stepped foot in the Cape Breton Cancer Centre ... my mother and I waited patiently in the waiting room for me to be called in to see Dr. MacCormick. A lady came in, seeming pleasantly surprised to see my mother, and came over to say hello. My mother said: "Oh, hello, Stella!" and expressed her shock at this lady's diagnosis of cancer. Stella was a woman who appeared to be in her fourties. She wore a warm hat around her head, which was hairless from chemo treatments. Her skin appeared dark and she looked tired. My mother asked how she was doing and she replied "I'm doing well ... I'm doing very well." I remember looking at her and wondering if I would have to go through what she was going through. I wondered if Dr. MacCormick would recommend chemotherapy and hoped he would not. I wondered what she must be going through at home and felt deeply sorry for her.

About a month later, when I entered the chemo room for the first time and for my very first treatment, I saw Stella once again. As the nurses got me set up in a chair, my mother went over to speak with her. She came back saying that this was Stella's final treatment. I remember saying "Good for her" and wondering if I could make it that far. I again found myself daydreaming about what she must have gone through, as I watched her chat with the supportive family members that gathered around her chair.

It has now been a couple of months since the last time I saw Stella (in the chemo room). Yesterday my mother told me that she heard that Stella passed away a couple of weeks ago. I was absolutely shocked when I heard this. Although I had only just briefly met her and did not know her at all, I felt deeply saddened when I heard those words pass through my mother's lips. Not only did Stella have ties to two key memories in my experience with cancer, but she had gone through what I fear the most--terminal cancer. When I met Stella I had no idea the extent of what she was going through. She survived less than two months following her last treatment.

Now that I have become a member of a club I had never wished to join, I feel a very strong bond with others "members." It is almost like an unspoken brotherhood that no one but we who have experienced that unspeakable word can understand. As I watch other "members" leave this world and enter the next, I almost feel as though I am losing a piece of myself. On the other hand, I also feel that I am gaining a strength that is caused by the overwhelming urge to keep us all alive (or at least to keep this horrible disease from claiming our lives). It makes me want to fight even more, to hold on even tighter, and to do whatever is in my power put up a fierce battle against this monster.

Let's all take a moment to remember Stella or someone we know or love that has passed away from cancer. Let's all hope and pray that we can find some way to put this monster to rest so that our future generations may live a life free of this horrible disease.

~~So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the entire earth.

Chemo 3

2007-01-26T16:26:00.000-08:00

The days ahead proved to be much more bearable than I had anticipated. The steroid alternative (Decadron) gave me welcomed relief from vomiting, although it didn't take away the feelings of nausea. My stomach felt like it was "bathing in toxic waste" (as Dr. Marla has put it) and I felt generally unwell. Nonetheless, it gave me solace to know that I was being kept from dehydration, which I have recently hypothesized as being the cause for the crazy eyes and blackout that occured during the second treatment. If I could be kept from vomiting (and drink at least 8 glasses of water per day), hopefully I could be kept from dehydrating, which would likely not only give me relief, but would hopefully prevent anything unusual from happening to me again.

I made it through the first three days feeling sick to my stomach, but without vomiting at all. But, of course, I wouldn't get of that easy! Sunday night all the feelings of sickness that had accumulated over the previous few days seemed to catch up to me and I had a small bout of vomiting late in the night. However, the vomiting provided me with some feelings of relief and from then on, the feelings of nausea diminished more and more.

By Tuesday, the nausea lifted and I was left feeling weak and exhausted. The Zofran (anti-nauseant which I was taking in combination with the steroid) also left me with an irritating headache, which reminded me of the pinching sensation you get when you eat something really cold, like icecream. It also left me with a few days of mild constipation, which it has a bad reputation for. They say Zofran is a powerful drug that has been a shining example of the leaps made in medications used to provide relief from cancer treatments. For me, on the other hand, it seemed to cause more harm than good. It did not prevent vomiting for me (at least not on its own) and it caused irritating side effects (like headache and constipation). Some people say that the constipation caused by Zofran can be extremely brutal, causing a great deal of pain and discomfort. I even heard one lady say that constipation was the worst side-effect of chemo (little did she know that it was likely not even chemo that caused this dreadful side-effect, but more likely the Zofran she was taking to relieve nausea).

Although I experienced some nausea, fatigue, and headache during the first week of the third treatment, the side effects were much less severe than the previous two treatments. I give credit to Decadron for most of this relief. Not only did Decadron stop me from vomiting, but it gave me an excellent appetite and a small boost of energy (although I was exhausted and drained, I was less so than previous treatments). I was actually able to gain 5 lbs during this treatment, where I had previously lost approx. 1-2 lbs during each of the previous two treatments.

Once the first week passed, I began to regain my strength and slowly began to feel normal. I could only look back on the third treatment feeling happy that nothing odd happened and that my body was able to remain relatively strong considering all its been through over the past few months.

Alternatives and Anticipation

2007-01-23T10:23:00.000-08:00

The third treatment approached quickly and I found myself hanging on to the final days of the second treatment in mere dread for what was to come. It was the first time that I found myself thinking about a coming treatment constantly--I began to dwell on the inevitable. I feared Friday, January 5th. All sorts of things were plaguing my mind. I hate being sick. I can't bear to go through that nausea again this weekend. I wonder if any more crazy things will happen to me this time? I became sick to my stomach just thinking about what I would have to go through over the weekend.

Thursday (the day before chemo) I went in to the cancer unit for my regular pre-chemotherapy check-up. This is when I get bloodwork to make sure my blood cell counts are high enough to receive chemo the following day and when I meet with a nurse and Dr. MacCormick to have questions answered and prescriptions added or changed, depending on the troubles the following chemo may have posed. I had the bloodwork done, which turned out to be fine, and proceeded to wait an hour, as usual, to see the doctor. After my hour's wait, I was surprised to see a female doctor (who so happens to be Mike's family doctor) come through the door of the examination room. Because I had seen Dr. MacCormick that same day buzzing around the cancer unit, I am assuming he was too busy to see me himself this time. The doctor went through her list of side-effects, asking what things I found troublesome. I told her about the "spell" I had experienced and explained to her that the ER doctor thought I was extremely dehydrated. She expressed her concerned about dehydration and said that the only way to really control it was to stop me from vomitting. Off she went to speak with Dr. MacCormick.

A few minutes later the 'fill-in' doctor returned with a prescription for Dexamethasone (aka Decadron) for me. This was the same steroid I was given through IV at the hospital a couple weeks earlier that helped me to feel better after I had been vomitting all weekend. I was a little concerned, however, because Dr. MacCormick had previously mentioned that he wasn't particularly fond of prescribing steroids for nausea, due to their negative side-effects (like weight-gain, fluid retention, insomnia, and, in the longer-term, osteoperosis). I told her I was skeptical about using steroids, but she reassured me that there would be few side-effects (especially longer-term ones) because they would only be prescribing the drug in a small dose and for the four days when I am the sickest. She told me that this was the last resort. Because of my pharmacological sensitivity to Stemetil and its large family of anti-nauseants, a whole list of other options became completely unavailable to me.

If Decadron did not work, the only other option for me would be Marijuana. A couple of weeks previous I had another discussion with Dr. MacCormick about using marijuana for nausea. This was, again, after I had been sick all weekend and he got a nurse to give me Decadron through IV. He said, "There is really not many more options for you. I could prescribe Marinol (marijuana in pill form), but it is known for its lack of effectiveness. Cannabis is really most effective when it is smoked and, unfortunately, I can't prescribe it in that form." He then went on to say that he would recommend smoking it if worse comes to worse and if I were to get caught with it, he could write me a note saying he recommended it for medical purposes.

Even though I was basically given a "get out of jail free card" for smoking marijuana, something in me suddenly told me that I shouldn't go this route. Too many pharmacological reactions seemed to be happening with me--all which seemed to stem from changing neurotransmitter levels in my body, which is what marijuana does to get people high. I didn't think it would be smart of me to mess around with my nervous system any further, even though my oncologist was more or less recommending it.

So, off I went with my usual prescription for Ondansetron and a new presecription for Decadron. I hoped that the Decadron would give me some relief from the torture I had experienced in the first 4 or 5 days of the previous 2 treatments. The nurses seemed to think that it was effective and that it would give me an added boost of energy and a stimulated appetite in addition to preventing vomiting.

Friday, January 5th appeared in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, and I found myself getting "cozy" in the chemo room once again. The same routine came and went. I stuck my hand in a bucket of hot water so that the veins would become more visible. The nurse poked around until she found a good vein with good blood return. I was then pumped with Benadryl, Dexamethasone (aka Decadron), Ondansetron (aka Zofran), Doxorubicin (aka Adriamycin or "The Red Devil"), and Cyclophsphamide (aka Cytoxin). About two hours later I was sent home feeling sleepy from the Benadryl, wanting to rest, and crossing my fingers in hopes that I could handle this treatment, both physically and mentally.

A Chance to Experiment

2007-01-18T14:52:00.000-08:00

Making our way back to the hairloss issue ...
It's now been just over a month since the evening when Mike and I took the clippers to my hair for the second time and gave me little more than a head full of "pricklies." Shaving my head was much less difficult than I first imagined it would be. When Dr. Butler first mentioned that I may have to have chemotherapy and would most likely lose my hair (just a week after I arrived home from Korea) I can remember being completely devastated. My heart sunk. I even felt as though my life was over. I obsessed about it and convinced myself that I would never have to do chemo simply because I just could not imagine not having the long blonde hair I had for my entire life. But, there are some things we simply cannot control. And this was one of those things for me. I had to lose my hair.

Here we are, and I've now been hairless (or mostly hairless, anyhow) for a month. The progression of my hairloss was rather bizarre or was at least not what I was expecting. As you may or may not remember, my hair began falling about 2-3 weeks after my first treatment. I chose to buzz it to about 3/4 of an inch when it began falling out and over the following week, it began thinning more and more. I then chose to buzz it once again, about 4 weeks after my first treatment, until I was left with nothing but fuzz. My hairline then slowly began to recede--and I mean slowly. I was halfway through the second treatment and still had half a head of "rough stuff" starting in the middle of the scalp and continuing right to the back of my head. The crown of my head was especially not catching on to the whole hairloss thing--it hung on for dear life, almost as stubborn as me I suppose.

I think that because I buzzed my hair during the 4th week of chemo, it then became difficult for me to continue monitoring the progression of my hairloss. It was so short (almost completely bald) that it was hard to see what was happening with it. I will report, however, that as of now (Week 10 or Chemo 3, day 15) I have still yet to have a completely bald, shiny head. As of now, there are little blonde hairs scattered all over the entire front part of my scalp--they are quite visible, especially in the light. When I rub my hand along the back part of my scalp all I can feel is "pricklies." I'm unsure whether this is all new growth or whether it is all just hair that didn't fall out. I did do some researching into it, though, and discovered that the hair CAN begin to grow back in between treatments. On a forum I read that the hair can become resistent to the chemotherapy chemicals (I'm not sure how reliable this information is). But, there are other people who have reported their hair growing back before chemo ended, although it doesn't seem to be common.

Let's talk about hair in other areas--I'm sure you're wondering about this by now. My eyebrows and eyelashes are still growing strong. I have read that these usually don't start falling out, however, until the 3rd or 4th treatment. Some people do not lose their eyebrows and eyelashes at all, while others just experience thinning (which can be severe). I even read about a lady whose eyebrows/lashes didn't begin falling out until close to a month after her fourth and final treatment. That had to be a bummer. But, people say that they usually grow back quite quickly and when they start growing back it usually only takes 1-2 weeks for them to finish. I have to say, however, that I am not looking forward to losing them and I'm hoping and wishing that I will be one of the luckly ones who can keep them.
My arm and leg hair is growing as usual. The particular treatment I am doing doesn't normally cause hairloss in these areas. My underarms and "bikini area" were the first places to lose hair and are now just about bald.

Overall, I feel that I am coping with hairloss quite well. I was blessed to have a very small head so the appearance of it bald is rather nice. I have never hid my bald head and since day 1 I have been prancing around the house without anything covering it. When I go out in public I either wear a beanie (Enzo got me a super cute white Armani beanie in Italy that I love ... Thanks Enz), a hat (I have 1 favorite that really fits my style and personality), or one of my wigs (I now have 2 favorite wigs ... one blonde and one brown). I do find the wigs to be uncomfortable for longer-term wearing. After a couple of hours they cause my head to become extremely itchy and uncomfortable. I wear something to cover my scalp beneath the wig, but this only helps minimally. Because of this, I usually only wear the wigs if I want to be dressed up or if I know I won't be somewhere for an extended amount of time.

I feel that losing my hair gave me an opportunity to experiment with my looks and take my appearance to the limit. I now know what my hair looks like long, shoulder length, Sienna Miller short, Halle Berry short, dark brown, light brown, dark blonde, platinum blonde, buzzed, and bald. Although sometimes I do long to have my own hair, being temporarily bald is not all that bad. I again rerturn to my favorite philosophy on life, which is that you need to take positives from everything in life, see the opportunities in things, and realize that everything happens for a reason.

If you've done or are doing AC treatments, please tell me if and when you lost your eyebrows/lashes ... also feel free to post any questions.

The Many Faces of Mel

2007-01-18T13:30:00.000-08:00

Since we're on the topic of hairloss, I thought I'd throw in some pictures. Here is the chronological order 'photo style' of the stages of my hairloss ...

When I barely knew the meaning of "Cancer" ...

March, 2006

July, 2006

August, 2006

My first short haircut in preparation for chemo ...

Early November, 2006

The first buzz cut (week 3) ...

Early December, 2006

2007-01-18T11:16:00.000-08:00

Bald and sporting my favorite hat ...

Dec./'06

As bald as can be ...

Jan./'07

Showing off the wigs ...

Nov./'06 ... Layla

Jan./'06 (and lookin almost as I did a few months ago!)

Dec./'06 (Blonde bombshell)

Jan./'07 (Auburn Style)

Oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure ...

2007-01-13T18:31:00.000-08:00

Besides my inevitable anxieties, the holidays brought with them plenty of other stresses. As I mentioned a while ago, chemo can put a damper on one's social life. Because Christmas is usually a time to spend with family and friends, the dampened social life became one hundred times more noticeable. There were gatherings I couldn't attend and I had to stay away from most public places due to the higher traffic during the holidays (i.e. malls, movie theatres, restaurants, etc.). I spent most of my time cooped up inside wishing I could have a normal holiday season. This was all magnified especially because many of my friends as well as my brother and his family weren't home for the holidays this year. I felt like I needed them more than ever this year, but sometimes the necessities of life get in the way things I suppose. All I can say is thank goodness I have a wonderful boyfriend with whom I got to spend my time.

Which brings me to yet another stress ... although I realize we are in this together, I couldn't help but feel that I was putting a damper on Mike's holidays too. Sometimes I feel I have the weight of the world on my shoulders--I feel sometimes like Mike's holidays were also not the best because of me. Afterall, I'm the one who's sick, right? He reassures me that we are in this together, that he wants to be here for me, and that there will be plenty of other Christmases where everything will be normal. But even with that said, I couldn't help but feel guilty sometimes that Mike's social life was also put on the "back burner" over the holidays because of me. I must say, though, that I am blessed to have such an awesome guy to help me get through all this.

The final stress of the holidays? Well, here is where I was hesitant. I sometimes wonder how much is too much to reveal to whomever wishes to read this. I do not want to overstep my boundaries and involve other people's personal lives in my blog. But, at the same time, I wanted this blog to cover all the things that one must face when fighting cancer. I want this to be a place that people can go to relate (especially people who are facing cancer). I also want this to be a place where people can learn exactly what it is like to look cancer in the eye. I don't want to just include some things. I don't want to just write about what people want to hear, what sounds good, or what people already know about. I want to be honest and I want to be true to both myself and others. So I have decided to meet somewhere in the middle on this next issue and talk in general terms about it.

Cancer not only affects the person who is diagnosed with it. The loved ones of those diagnosed can also be majorly affected. This certainly became evident with one of my loved ones over the holidays. Life's stresses in combination with the stress of my cancer diagnoses and fight through chemotherapy got the better of this person, who was left extremely depressed during the entire Christmas holiday. We all have our own ways with dealing with stress--this person withdrew, became extremely irritable, and was not at all enjoyable to be around. As you can well imagine, this left me feeling horrible. First of all, I was trying my best to make the most out of a pretty tough Christmas. This only made things harder. Second, I could not help but wonder whether this was all my fault. Am I driving people into depressions? And finally, I felt that I did not have the energy left to deal with anything else. I am already dealing with so much, how could I possibly have something else added to my plate?

I found myself dwelling on this person's state and driving myself into my own mini-depression. I felt horrible and began feeling sorry for myself. I was looking at things from my own perspective (how things were affecting me and how other people should be more sensitive to my feelings right now), rather than realizing that I am not the only one going through this. When I came to this realization, I had a talk to this person about how I was feeling and I felt much better. Unfortunately, the person has yet to come around themselves completely. I feel very sorry for this person, but I also feel that I need to be focused on getting myself better right now. And so, an already difficult situation becomes even more difficult.

I guess these are all just the realities one must face in times like these. No one said it would be an easy battle. Sometimes I worry that all of this is going to take its toll on my nerves, but then I also think that if I can battle my way through all of this, I can make it through anything. I do feel that I was thrown a hardball, but I also think that it will only make me a stronger and more courageous person. Always remember to try your best to look at everything in life as an opportunity ... a chance to grow. I do believe that there is something positive to be taken from everything life throws at you. Use things to your advantage, to learn and develop as a person. Everything happens for a reason.

I do apologize for spilling all my stresses when I have managed to be so positive thus far. As I said before, I want to be honest, to give you something to relate to or to learn from. Giving you half the story wouldn't do much for you or I. No one said this would be an easy battle, but I am definitely still up for the fight.

"Fear can, though it is not God, create something from nothing" ~Caspar De Aguilar

2007-01-11T11:44:00.000-08:00

The next two weeks would pose similar challenges physically as the first treatment posed: nothing I couldn't bear. The biggest challenge would again be the psychological side of things--this time a few more things were added to my plate.

As you can well imagine, having undergone two rare "reactions," I was not feeling the strongest mentally. I found myself constantly worried that something was going to happen to me. I had always had friends talking about having anxiety, but I never clearly understood the significance of it until now. For those of you that go through anxiety or depression, I definitely feel for you--it is not at all pretty and an awful way to have to "live" your life. The anxiety that has been caused by my fear of something else happening to me (healthwise) has been interfering with my life quite significantly. One evening I found myself unable sleep because my throat felt as if it were closing over. Am I taking a reaction? What is happening to me? The feelings in my throat caused my mind to wander and my heart to race. Pure panic. The mind is such a powerful thing. I believe it has the power to cause physical changes in your body--like the throat swelling I experienced. My mother convinced me to take a Gravol that night which assisted in knocking me out so that I could finally sleep (and, by the way, it took her hours of convincing me to take a Gravol, since I am so fearful of putting any meds into my body now).

This "throat swelling" seemed to continue after this night. I would find myself worried to go anywhere strange or too far away from home because I feared another "spell" happening. What if something happened to me here? Am I close enough to the hospital? The throat would swell up once again and force me to make my way back home. I have found some small ways of coping with this anxiety, but nothing that has completely cured me as of yet: deep breathing, drinking water, and trying to convince myself that the feelings are being produced by my own thoughts have helped a little. The most significant help, though, is simply being somewhere where I feel comfortable. Although this sounds easy, it is not. This is what makes the feelings interfere with my daily life. I need to be able to go places without worrying about something happening to me. RIght now, I am hanging on to the fact that chemotherapy is only temporary and that in another month's time, I will be off all medications. That way, I will not have to worry about the effects of all these crazy medications on my body. Hopefully, then, this anxiety will only be short-lived-- a kind of "situational" anxiety.

Until then ... I am asking you to give back to The Pink Diaries and tell me if you've ever experienced anxiety, how it felt, and what you did to cope with it.
Once again: "He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from fear."

And the conclusion to all this mess?

2007-01-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

I went home feeling exhausted and drained. I couldn't believe what happened to me the night before. As soon as I got home I headed straight for bed-- I couldn't bear to sit around and wonder what happened to me and if it would happen again. I needed to kill time until I went to see Dr. MacCormick.

I welcomed 3pm and hurried in to the hospital when it neared. We were taken right in to the chemo room, where all the chemo nurses greeted me and showed their concern about the previous night's events. What happened? Are you okay? I tried to keep a smile on, but it was too difficult. I couldn't hide the fear I felt. I burst into tears in the middle of the chemo room and soon enough they were drawing a curtain around me to give me some privacy.

At this point I felt overwhelmed. I felt like so much had happened to me--I was being thrown too many things at one time. I felt helpless. I felt afraid. All I could think about was that I didn't want to put another ounce of chemo drugs into my poor body. What am I doing to myself? Is all this trauma on my body even necessary? All these thoughts haunted me ... you can imagine why I eventually broke down. The nurses talked to me and made me feel better, although they admitted that they'd never seen something like this happen to anyone before.

They gave me my daily dose of Neupogen and we waited an hour--nothing happened. It obviously wasn't the Neupogen that caused the crash of my poor body. So what now? I asked if Dr. MacCormick was going to come and meet with me. No one even seemed to know. I figured this would be urgent, but I guess he didn't consider it to be so. I, thus, had to request to see him and the nurses agreed that he should definitely at least try to come to some sort of conclusion as to what happened. One of the nurses ran off to fetch him--he was soon going home for the day.

At about 4:30, as the nurses tidied up the chemo room to close for the day, Dr. MacCormick showed up to speak with me. He basically told me absolutely nothing and the faith I once had in him as my doctor quickly began to fade. Not only did he barely attempt to figure out what happened to me, but he barely showed any care or sympathy for me whatsoever. His biggest conclusion was that they "aren't used to dealing with 'kids'" my age and so I am throwing them all for a loop. Okay, I realize that I'm not your average cancer patient, but does that make my health and concerns any less valid or any different from anyone else's? I could feel a sense of urgency as he tried to shoo me off and get back to whatever I took him from--or go home for the the day. I couldn't believe how lightly people seemed to be taking this.

The conclusion to all this mess? Absolutely nothing. No one has a clue what happened to me. And I am sent on my merry way to go home and live in fear of what will happen next.

An answer anyone?

2007-01-10T08:43:00.000-08:00

The doctor later returned with what I had hoped would be some answers. No such luck. She said that all my bloodwork came back normal, my vitals were all normal (besides a slightly low blood pressure reading, which they say is normal for someone my age and size), and my bloodcell counts were all good. She could not figure out what could have caused the "spell," besides a possible reaction to the Neupogen shot (and there are no known reactions as such to Neupogen) or a reaction to one of the other medications I was on.

The doctor said she would feel more comfortable if I stayed in the hospital overnight so they could keep a close eye on me and then contact Dr. MacCormick in the morning, since he would have a better idea of the medications I am on and what possibly could have caused the weird occurence. She also decided to feed me some fluids through an IV to get my pressure up and to replace any of the fluids I lost through the crazy vomiting that had recently occured.

I lay in the hospital bed all night wondering what happened to me. Why me? As if chemotherapy isn't hard enough! I was able to sleep for a few hours and was interrupted at around 7am by the doctor, who was now on her way home. She said that she was shocked that I had not yet peed, since I had been receiving high rates of fluids through IV for the past 6 hours. She said this told her that my body was "dry to the bone." She would not be satisfied with letting me go from the hospital until I peed (and got in touch with Dr. MacCormick).

By 8am I finally felt the urge to use the washroom. The nurses all celebrated (I guess they had been waiting for me to pee all night) and began calling Dr. MacCormick to arrange a time for me to see him. After another two hours, they finally got in touch with him-- he told them to have me come into the hospital in Sydney at 3pm to have my Neupogen shot. He wanted a chemo nurse to give it to me and then monitor me to see if it could possibly have been a reaction to the shot I had taken just a half hour before the "spell." Although I really did not believe that this is what happened, I agreed to come into the hospital, mainly because I wanted to know what was going on and that it wouldn't happen again.

Darkness Falls

2007-01-03T22:20:00.000-08:00

Having the needle over with, Mike and I headed to my room to cuddle up with some hot chocolate and a movie (a regular past time of ours these days!). We had only been watching the movie for about a half hour when suddenly my head began to feel tight. It felt as though a load of pressure filled the entire inside of my head-- even my nose seemed to fill up. This feels bizarre. Is something happening to me? Maybe I am overreacting. I decided to change positions and instead of sitting upright, I lay down. The bizarre feeling in my head remained. Instead of alarming Michael, I decided to go to the washroom and try to calm down.

When I went to the washroom I looked in the mirror and was completely shocked at the image that peered back at me. My eyeballs were buldging and were engulfed in what appeared to be a blanket of redness. The appearance reminded me of being under water with my nose plugged and eyes wide open--that eery look that eyes take on. I was completely startled and bolted downstairs, where I yelled for my father to come QUICK! My father came running to me and immediately noticed how strange my eyes looked. He says now that he tried to stay calm to keep me from panicking, but he said when he saw my eyes he was "scared to death." He said: "It looks like your pressure might be up ... we should go the hospital right away."

I looked at my eyes inthe mirror once again and realized that we were not overreacting-- something was seriously wrong. What could be happening to me? Am I taking another crazy reaction? Am I going to die? I literally ran to my room, ripped off my pajamas, and threw on the first thing I could find to wear. Mike had no idea what was going on, but realized it was something serious as he followed me quickly back downstairs and toward the door. Everyone was in a panic. The house was a complete frenzy. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly. I was overwhelmed. Suddenly I was overcome with an extreme sense of weakness. My stomach began to churn. I fell to the floor and began projectile vomiting. It seemed uncontrollable-- no gagging occured and no strain or effort was required-- the vomit, which seemed to be mainly all liquid, powered freely from my mouth. When I felt that I could finally stand up, I headed immediately out the back door and towards the car. Everything turned grey. The world began closing in on me. As I went to sit in the car, the greyness turned to black and I could no longer see a thing.

I could hear everyone frantically getting into the car. I said: "I can't see anything." I didn't scream or yell or cry. I just simply said: "I can't see anything. We need to get to the hospital as soon as possible." I can't describe to you the feeling of not being able to seeing while feeling so increbidly weak and helpless. I wondered if I was going to die. Am I taking a seizure? I felt so very overwhelmed and completely helpless that I allowed my body to fall back into my seat. An overwhelming calm overcame me. It was almost as if I had let go.

Next thing you know, I heard: "Melanie! Are you okay? I am Doctor MacMillan (I think this was her name)." At this point I felt completely drained and could still see absolutely nothing. I had passed out in the car. "I can't see you," I replied. I felt a number of arms holding me and pulling me out of the car. "Get a wheelchair!" They sat me in a wheelchair and began wheeling me into the hospital. My feet dragged on the ground. They asked if I could hold my feet up since there were no foot rests on the chair, but I simply did not have the energy. Mom said one nurse wheeled, while the other two nurses held my feet off the ground. It was a complete mess.

The next thing I remember was being held in an upright position on a stretcher while what felt to be 4 or 5 people ripped my clothes off frantically. What is happening to me? My thoughts moved in slow motion and I was still extremely calm. I remember thinking that I could have made it on one of those ER reality shows this time ...

After removing my clothes and placing me in a jonny shirt, they lay me back down and my vision slowly began to return. The room looked gray and I could only see shadows and shapes of objects. I could see the shapes of many bodies lingering around the bed, as they placed EKG stickers all over me and hooked me up to machines. A nurse began to talk to me and I remember that suddenly, as I forced myself to look at her, I began to be able to make out her face, which was now an eery white color, almost like the "saturated" color you can apply to pictures when you edit them on a computer. The longer I stared at her, the clearer her white face became. White. Dark Grey. Light Grey. Almost normal. Suddenly I could see everyone around me.

I felt extemely weak and my body trembled. I looked around at the many faces that peered down at me, the many machines I was hooked up to. Needles were being stuck into my arms. The doctor, who was quite young but, nonetheless, very professional, ask me a number of questions as she tried to piece together exactly what happened to me. As I began to come around, I was curious myself to know what this bizarre episode was all about. I told them all about how the night's events unfolded, and asked them what happened during the "blackout" period of the episode. Mom said that while in the car, my head dropped down and I started making gurgling sounds. Mike told her to clear my airways and she placed her fingers in my mouth. They thought I may have been taking a seizure. The doctor told me that I was white as a ghost when I arrived to the hospital-- she said I looked like "Powder" the hollywood character (haha). She also said my pupils were so large that the blue in my eyes was non-existent and almost my entire eyeballs were filled with black.

We all talked while we waited for my bloodwork to be returned from the lab and while the doctor checked my vitals and did some work to figure out what was going on. I told all the nurses my entire story about breast cancer and everything that had happened to me since September. They commented on how positive they thought I was and how rare it was to have someone in the resussitation room smiling and gabbing to everyone. It was the only way to kill time until we were able to find some answers ...

Chemo 2, Day 3&4

2007-01-02T21:53:00.000-08:00

The steroid proved to be successful. Monday evening brought with it much more comfort than the weekend. I finally began feeling somewhat normal -- normal enough to eat dinner and enjoy snacks and a movie later in the evening.

Tuesday, however, presented a whole new set of challenges. I woke up with a throbbing headache rooted in the backs of my eyes. It hurt so bad that I felt the need to constantly have my eyes closed. I took Tylenol (which is the only pain medication I am permitted to take), but it gave me no relief from the pain. By the afternoon, the atrocious headache was accompanied by an extreme sense of weakness. I had so little energy that I felt I could barely move my eyeballs. Every expression I made me feel as though I were in slow motion. My body, mind, and spirit felt heavy and drained.

I fought my way through the day hoping that the awful side effects would soon pass-- they were lasting longer this time than they did during the last treatment. Last time I had started feeling better by Day 4, and it was already Day 5 with no break from the symptoms. To my pleasant surprise, I finally began to come around in the evening. My appetite became fully revived and I ate a full supper (a delicious pasta dish), followed by a tuna melt later in the evening. I was very excited that I was beginning to come around and my spirits began to lift.

I was advised my the chemo nurse that the best time to take the Neupogen injection would be before bedtime. This was because one of the major side effects of Neupogen is bone pain caused by the stimulation of the bone marrow to produce white blood cells. Taking it at bedtime would lessen the chances of me noticing any side effects, since I would then most likely be asleep. Because of this, Mike and I held of until around 10:30 to give me the shot. It was quite nerve wracking, but we followed all the directions as given by the nurse and Mike did a great job playing the role of 'doctor.' The injection causes brief pain, but I definitely feel it is worth it to have a healthy level of white blood cells and to be able to receive chemo on time, rather than dragging it out any longer than I have to.

A lesson in subcutaneous injections

2007-01-01T17:40:00.000-08:00

By Monday I was feeling somewhat better. When I woke up, I felt well enough to cook breakfast for Mike and I, so I knew that things were looking up. However, in the middle of my cooking ordeal, I began to feel extremely weak and my stomach suddenly began to churn once again. I sat on the floor and attempted to regain my strength--but it didn't appear to help. Mike took over and finished cooking the meal, which I no longer felt I could eat. I forced down half of the omellette and was able to drink a glass of apple juice. This was still an accomplishment in comparison to the previous day.

It was now approx. 72 hours following the second treatment, which meant that I was soon scheduled for my very first shot of Neupogen. If you've been reading all along, you will probably remember that my first round of chemo had to be extended due to my low white blood cell count (white blood cells are essential for immune function). The white blood cells need to be at a certain level the day before each chemo treatment, otherwise the treatment must be extended to give the cells a chance to replenish themsleves. Because mine were not at the required level last time, the doctor decided that I should be taking shots of Neupogen from now on to ensure that I will recieve the remaining treatments on time. Neupogen is a drug administered through subcutaneous injection (or injection into tissue) that stimulates the production of white blood cells.

Mike and I headed to the cancer unit at 3pm, where we were to meet with a nurse at the cancer unit to receive a lesson in administering the Neupogen at home. This time, I arrived at the hospital looking and feeling UNwell, unlike three days previous. I wore only my funky little hat and joggers and still felt faintly nauseated and very tired. As soon as I arrived, I was taken into the chemo room and was again mauled by the chemo nurses, who were wondering how I was handling the second treatment. I told them about my awful weekend and they immediately wanted to help. I must add here that the nurses in the chemotherapy room at the CBR hospital are amazing. They are extremely compassionate and helpful and have created a kind of family-like atmosphere within the cancer unit. You always feel cared for and "looked after" when you arrive and all the nurses act as though they've known you for years. It really eases the pain associated with visits to the chemotherapy room.

So, being the kind women they are, the chemo nurses immediately ran off to fetch Dr. MacCormick and see what kind of medication they may be able to give me to ease the nausea and provide me with some comfort. The result was an IV full of steroids, which was supposedly a great cure for nausea. Soon enough I was being poked once again with needles and fed once again with drugs (did I mention that I HATE drugs?).

While I was being fed steroids, one of the nurses gave us the lesson in injecting Neupogen. She first gave me a fancy zippered pouch in which she placed needles, alcohol swabs and an ice pack, which was meant to keep the medication cool. She then taught us how to draw the 1ml of fluid from the vile and into the needle (puncture the top of the vile with the needle, pull out the liquid, push the tip of the needle in until a tiny bit of liquid seeps out the end, then tap to rid of any air bubbles). We were then told that we should administer the needle in either the top of the legs, in the stomach, or in the back of the arm. We were to pull up a piece of tissue, quickly stick the needle into the tissue at a 45 degree angle, release the tissue from the grip, and then very slowly inject the fluid into the tissue.

The very thought of all of this made me want to cringe. How did I get into all this mess??? I never minded needles in the past, but this experience has made me come to hate them. Although I thought that the more needles I got, the easier it would be become, it actually seems to have become more difficult with each needle. This is likely because I have had some rather painful needles of different varieties throughout this experience and have come to fear them.

The next step in the lesson was a demonstration. Eeeeek! The nurse would administer the first needle at the hospital and I would wait an hour to ensure no reactions would take place. When the needle was overwith, Michael and I were left to practise drawing fluid from viles with needles for an hour ... a wonderful way to spend Mike's first day of Christmas vacation!

When our hour's wait was up, were sent off with our little blue bag of needles and drugs in hopes that the steroids would give me a more comfortable evening.

The Epitome of Awfulness

2007-01-01T17:07:00.000-08:00

Friday night brought with it a lingering sensation of nausea, which could not be shaken. I took theOndansetron (aka "Zofran")--the same drug I took previously for nausea, which was to be taken twice a day for 4 days. It did the same thing it did for me before, which seemed to be nothing. Although I felt unwell, the nausea was bearable at best and no vomiting had occured. I could tell, however, that the weekend would not be fun.

I woke up Saturday and said goodbye to Michael, who was heading away to Halifax for the night to attend his uncle's 50th birthday party. Although I knew I would miss him, I also knew my company would probably not be overly enjoyable this weekend. I would likely be bed-ridden anyhow. And boy was I correct.

As soon as Michael left I felt incredibly unwell. I felt as though I had just stepped off of the craziest rollercoaster of a lifetime. Is my face green? My body felt hot, my head felt heavy, and my stomach felt like some sort of toxic soup. I headed straight for bed, where I lay helpless with my hand draped over my stomach. I tossed and turned, moaned and groaned, cried -- nothing helped. This was the epitome of awfulness.

My parents soon awoke and were startled by my distress. They offered me water, sandwiches, soup, hot cloths, and back rubs-- but nothing helped. I could barely chew food or get a sip of liquid down without gagging. I could just lay there think about how horrible I felt all day ... and night. I was sick during my last treatment, but I remember thinking to myself that it was much more intense this time around. I hoped and wished and prayed that it would not last any longer this time than it had the last. I think that may be one of the worst things about chemo-- the unknown. One never knows what will happen next, how long anything will last, or what will come or go. It is like walking through an unfamiliar tunnel of darkness alone.

By Saturday evening I was vomiting every hour. The worst thing was that I had no food in my stomach so it was more like gagging or dry heaving, which I find to be exhausting on the stomach muscles. It also does no cure for the feelings of nausea, which vomiting sometimes does. Sunday was almost an exact replica of Saturday. Awfulness. I could only hold on to the hope that things would eventually get better.

2007-01-01T07:09:00.000-08:00

Chemo 2, Day 1

2006-12-30T19:18:00.000-08:00

The second round of chemo seemed to be linear to the first. Everything seemed to happen in the same sequence as the last session, only this time everything was intensified.

Friday (Dec.15th) I got all ready and went in to my second bout of chemo looking and feeling great. I wore my brown wig to the session and was mauled by all the chemo nurses as I arrived. Everyone thought it was a great change for me and they could not believe how real it looked. It was one of the first times I wore the wig out in public so it was reassuring to hear how realistic people thought it appeared.

The biggest worry in my mind at this point was whether or not this round of chemo would be worse than the last ... and whether or not anything crazy would happen this time, as it had the last. I figured I would take a big breath and face the inevitable and I watched blindly as they poked me with needles and ran those familiar drugs through my veins once again. During this treatment I was spoiled by a few visits-- first Dad, then Enzo, then Michael. The changes in scenery helped to take my mind off of what I was currently going through. During Michael's visit, we were also shown a video on how to administer a subcutaneous injection of Neupogen (the drug that is meant to stimulate the production of white blood cells in the bone marrow), which Michael and I would be giving to me at home once a day for 7 days, 72 hours following each treatment.

The second treatment seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and before I knew it I was heading home to fight another battle. If this battle was to be similar to the last I could handle it (minus the crazy reaction), but I was completely unsure of what was in store for me. Will it be the same? Will it be worse? Will I experience any new symptoms, like fatigue or south mouth? Will I take any more crazy reactions? All I could do was go home and wait for each symptom to appear. All I could do was deal with each individual battle as I was faced with it ...

2006-12-30T00:33:00.000-08:00

So many Gods, So many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, When just the art of being kind, Is all the sad world needs.

2006-12-26T10:59:00.000-08:00

It's been a while ... I apologize for keeping you waiting! The stress of the second round of chemo and the business of the Christmas holiday left me with little time and energy to write. Let's get the show on the road once again ...

When Michael and I first went to South Korea everything was great. The people we were working for seemed overly generous-they went out of their way to make sure everything was arranged for us and that we were treated like top-of-the-line employees. When we arrived, we were immediately met by staff of the company who escorted us to a hotel in the largest city in South Korea, Seoul, where we were to be completing a one-week training session. The hotel was fully paid for, as was the bus they arranged to take us from Seoul to Busan, the city we were to be living and working in, which was about a 5 hour drive away.

When we arrived in Busan, we were met by our school director, who took us to our apartment. The apartment wasn't as grand as we suspected-it was like a small-sized bachelor apartment in a Canadian city, unlike the 2-bedroom apartment we were promised. But it took nothing but a quick discussion with our school director to get what we were promised. He said it was a mistake and quickly found us a massive, beautiful apartment five minutes walk from our school. We were taken out for fancy dinners weekly, given furniture for our apartment, and had our very own high-tech classrooms equipped with flat-screened computers and all the supplies we needed. Within the first week of being there we were each given an equivalent of 500 Canadian dollars for moving allowance, and were to be paid at the end of each month, meaning that we would recieve the equivalent of approx. $3000 CAD within a few more weeks. In addition, the school was being sent cheques from the head office in Seoul to reimburse our $2000 plane tickets, which we had to buy ourselves and were to have refunded upon arriving in Seoul and completing our training.

Everything seemed to be going excellent. The wheels were in motion and the money was about to coming rolling in. However, when we were suddenly hit with the crazy boulder of shock that was thrown at us, the attitude of the company for which we were working quickly changed. When I first mentioned that I thought it would be best for me to go home (which was about 8 hours after learning of my diagnoses), a look of sheer panic hit their faces. I assume that through the night they had a big discussion about what they were going to do to keep me from leaving, because first thing the next morning they were at our door asking if they could take us out to eat.

As we gathered around the table to eat (at an amazing fine-dining restaurant with international cuisine, I must add), a look of seriousness plastered the faces of all three managers who escorted me. They got right down to business before we even ordered our food, and wanted to know exactly what we planned to do. Through the night I decided that it was definitely best for me to go home and be with my family and have this disease taken care of in a place where I could at least understand the doctors. So, I had no problem telling them how I felt and exactly what my plans were-- no use beating around the bush. When I told them that I planned to go home and that Mike planned to come with me, there was an awful feeling of discomfort around the table. The lady who spoke the best English told me, without hesitation, that I signed a contract. And on that contract I made an agreement that I would stay in South Korea with CDI for one year. If I did not fulfill this contract, I would not be reimbursed for my flights and I would have to pay the equivalent of $1000 USD for them to recruit another English teacher.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I had just been diagnosed with breast cancer at 25 and these people could think of nothing but money. I looked at the lady in the face and told her that this had to be the least compassionate thing I had ever heard. I told her that I was not choosing to leave CDI-- I had a malignant disease and it was urgent that I get it looked after. If they make me pay them $1000 this won't be pretty. Silence. Everyone looked at their menus. A few minutes later they began speaking in Korean to eachother. I guess they had come up with some new proposition.

This time they asked if I would wait a couple of weeks before going home. Again I explained that this was a malignant disease and that every day would count. How could I sit around in a foreign country for a couple of weeks knowing that I had cancer in my breast and it could be spreading through my body? Impossible. They came up with yet another proposition: Mike stay for a couple of weeks or until they could find replacement teachers and I go home by myself. This was more reasonable, but we felt that I needed the support (especially for the 2 day flight home) and it would be painstaking for Mike to stay in Korea by himself as I underwent the most gruelling battle of a lifetime in a different country. We had to leave and that was the bottomline.

Let's cut to the chase. When they realized that our decision was set in stone, they decided that they would not give us anything for our plane tickets and they would withhold our pays instead of having us pay them the $1000 USD to recruit someone new. This meant that we would now be $7500 in debt from plane tickets and would not get the approx. $2000 that we earned from the two weeks work that we put in. This meant that the company took approx. $10,000 CAD from a couple of young people who were just hit with a cancer diagnoses.

I could not believe this. I was shocked. But at the time all I truely cared about was getting home and doing what I had to do-- money was the last thing I needed to worry about.

When I began to settle at home, however, I realized how hard this extra debt would be on me. Afterall, I was in South Korea to pay off the $40,000+ in student loans that I had accumulated after 7 years of university. Now, I had suddenly added another lump of money to that heap. The worst thing is that I would have to take an absense from work as I underwent surgery and chemotherapy and would have absolutely no means of paying on anything.

My family and friends recognized this problem immediately and like the good Canadian folks they are, they decided to get together and raise some money for me to help lift the burden of debt that was caused by my cancer diagnoses. They made 550 tickets for a spaghetti dinner and sold every last one, then spent days getting all the food and supplies ready for the sale. It was amazing how much work they put in to this and it was great to see everyone coming together with such kindness and care to help someone they care about.

Thanks so much to everyone who put in so many hours of hard work to help me. Also thanks to all of you who bought a dinner or made a donation -- every one of you made a huge difference for me. Grand total = $4000.00!!!! Amazing.

Special Thanks to:
Mom
Cathy McMullin
All the staff at Jewels and Gems
Aunts Gladys, Valerie, Cindy
Mike and Debbie Walsh

I will leave you all with a warning: NEVER work for CDI (Chung Dam Institute) in South Korea!!!

Look Good, Feel Better

2006-12-14T20:32:00.000-08:00

Monday afternoon I got a phonecall from a lady from the "Look Good Feel Better" program who said she received my name from the cancer centre. "Look Good Feel Better" is a non-profit program available to cancer patients undergoing treatment across the world. There are Look Good Feel Better programs across Canada, the United States, and the UK. The program is designed to provide people undergoing cancer treatment with tips on how to "look good and feel better" and gain confidence during treatment. The first half of the program deals with applying make-up, zeroing in on the special concerns of cancer patients, and the second half deals with wigs and head coverings. Not only does the program provide tips from professionals (the program is led by groups of volunteer estheticians), but it also provides each participant with a box of cosmetic goodies, which are all generously donated by various companies.

At first I thought that something like this may not be necessary for me, as I am very used to choosing and applying my own make-up and because I had already chose and ordered my wigs, hats, and head covers. But, then I thought it could be fun and would give me a chance to get out there and mingle with some other people who are going through similar battles as myself-- it couldn't hurt me to go. I also strongly believe that looking great can make you feel 100 times better, both psychologically and physically and I know that something like this could really provide a turn around from many women. Thus, I wanted to be supportive of the cause.

So, Tuesday morning I got myself ready and brought myself to the third floor of the CBR hospital (my second home) and searched for the Look Good Feel Better room. I saw a group of ladies gathered around a door and headed their way. I needed to look no further, as I was immediately approached by an older lady who said "You must be Melanie" and led me into the room that was scantily clad with middle-aged women. There were four other cancer patients and six volunteers present. The volunteers all introduced themselves and told of their training (each of them had some sort of training in cosmetology). There was one volunteer to sit with and assist each participant, and there was one volunteer who stood at the front of the room and facilitated the whole ordeal.

We began by removing make-up we had previously put on that day and I knew this would require me to remove my funky little hat and go bald. I felt a little reluctant because everyone else in the room seemed to have hair and it would be the first time I went completely bald in front of a group of strangers. I looked at myself in the little makeup mirror that sat facing me on the table, took a long, deep breath, and took the hat off. Once it was off, I didn't feel so strange. The ladies sitting near me commented on how beautiful my skin was and how well my head suited the bald look . This gave me a little confidence and I soon completely forgot that I had it off. Soon after, I noticed that another lady took her wig off and went bald as well (I thought she had hair the whole time!). The room immediately became a comfort zone and the atmosphere was definitely loosened.

For the first hour we went over how to apply our make-up properly. In particular, they demonstrated how to apply eyebrows if they fall out, how to care for skin problems associated with some chemo, and how to avoid losing eyelashes (i.e. don't use waterproof mascara!). The awesome thing was that all of the makeup we needed to use was provided for us to practise with and then keep!

Ending the first hour, we had tea, coffee and sweets homemade by the volunteers. It's a wonderful thing to want to help other people so much and to put so much of your heart into doing it. I noticed a few ladies whispering at tea time "What a shame" and other such remarks. I assumed they were whispering about me. It made me feel a little awkward, but they spoke nothing but the truth. It is a shame. But, I have learned to deal with it and accept it so its no longer a shock to myself as it once was. This is why it catches me off guard when I hear comments like that now.

For the second hour, they talked about wigs--how to choose them and how to care for them. They even had a number of wigs for us to try on. For some reason, I became the guiea pig, as all the ladies came running to me to try on a little short-cut auburn wig. They put it on me, styled it up, and showed it off to everyone in the room. Having so much fun with this, they decided to try a short dark wig and a shoulder-length strawberry blonde wig on me for fun. It was a laugh-- who'd have ever thought I would be hanging out with a pile of middle-aged and up women trying on wigs in my 25th year!? Ah ... nonetheless, it was fun and I appreciated all their help. I even got up and told everyone about my wig-shopping escapades and how much fun I was having with trying different colours and cuts. It's a great chance to experiment with your looks and it doesn't have to cost a lot (I have a feeling that the lady I order from on Ebay is going to be getting some increased sales soon!).

To end the session, they brought out a table full of hats and scarves--all free to take. I tried on a few different things and decided to choose a pretty, long, colorful scarf and a knitted beanie.

I thought that although Ididn't learn a great deal about applying makeup (mainly just because I've been doing it for so long), it was still a nice way to get out and enjoy myself with people going through similar experiences. The box of goodies was extremely generous and has been lots of fun to use--I never owned this many products in my entire life, and all of them are quality--makeup removers, facial toners, refreshers, face exfoliators, amazing creams, and the beautiful cosmetics we used during the session. I have EVERYTHING I need to look and feel great during chemo.

If you or someone you know is going through chemotherapy I would highly recommend taking part in the Look Good Feel Better program. If you want more information about LGFB, contact a nurse in the cancer unit at your hospital or visit the following website:

http://www.lgfb.ca/eng/

"In every man's heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibrations of beauty." ~Christopher Morley

Happy Birthday Michael!

2006-12-11T10:51:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to Michael, who has been there for me since day one. You are my rock -- you give me courage, hope, confidence, and treat me with so much respect. I have all the support and love I need with you, baby. Thanks so much ...

The Quarter Mark

2006-12-11T10:08:00.000-08:00

Well folks ... I have now reached the quarter mark in my chemotherapy experience. It seems like just days ago that I was writing about my anticipation concerning what Dr. MacCormick's decision would be. Over three weeks have already gone by ... wow. I guess that if I have to say anything about this bout of chemo, I would say that it definitely wasn't so bad overall. Chemo is one of those things where you can't always listen to what you're told. Everyone reacts differently to medications and treatments. Everyone has a different make-up, different tolerances to things, different attitudes about things ... no two people are going to react exctly the same way. Chemo is also one of those things that has a hugely awful reputation--everyone everywhere knows of it as a horrific treatement and the very thought of it is enough to automatically make most people cringe. Truth is that chemo is definitely no picnic, but I can tell you that so far for me it has not been as horrific as I had expected it would. I was expecting to be bed-ridden for months on end, not being able to do ANYTHING I normally would have. But this was not the case.

This is not to say, however, that there were not some terrible experiences to be had. Looking back on this round of chemo, I would say that the worst things yet was the reaction I took to the anti-nausea medication. The experience itself was enough to scar me for life and I have already self-diagnosed myself with post-traumatic stress disorder! As I mentioned in a previous post, ever since that dreadful experience I have been plagued with anxiety about it. I had never really experienced anxiety in the past, but now I am beginning to thing I am being introduced to it. Every now and again, I will experience difficulty swallowing, a racing heart, anxiousness, and a sort of feeling of helplessness, as I imagine something happening to me again. I don't try to think about it, but it seems to pop into my mind out of nowhere and I'm left to deal with the effects. Lately I have been able to deal with it much better, but I must say that the experience will likely remain with me for good.

Other than the allergic reaction and its after-effects, the 2-3 days of nausea were pretty awful, but were shortlived-- I expected to be sick much longer than I was. I didn't experience the fatigue or sore mouth and dryness that most people report on.

The only other major thing that caused me any distress was having to cut out a number of my routine activities. As a 25 year old, partying is usually something I enjoyed on weekends, but can no longer enjoy as I would have. I went to a couple of gatherings since chemo, but was only able to have one drink (drinking is not recommended on chemo). I can also only attend parties or gatherings when my cell counts aren't low and when I'm not sick. This only leaves me with about one week out of every three where I can be around large groups of people. In addition, I have had to schedule all sorts of normal things around my cell counts, like shopping, going to the gym, and doing other social things (like going to concerts, out to eat, or to the movies). I didn't see this being a problem, but it gets annoying and frusturating after a while. Its awful seeing friends going out and having fun doing things normal people my age do when I have to sit in the house. I definitely feel left out at times. But then I remind myself that soon enough I will able to get my life back on track and begin enjoying myself once again.

These minor setbacks were all to be expected, however. I am 100% thankful of how great I was able to deal with the first round of chemo overall ... the first 25% of it has definitely not been too bad. I am now wondering what kind of experiences the second round will bring-- Will I be more nauseous? Will the fatigue begin? Will the sore mouth begin? Will there be anymore crazy reactions to medication? Only time will tell.

Expect the unexpected

2006-12-10T09:08:00.000-08:00

As I explained a little while back, each round of chemotherapy has a pattern. It involves the following:

Day 1- Get chemo

Day 10- Get bloodwork to check cell counts. If cell counts are too low, medications may have to be given to raise them. For instance, if white blood cells are too low, a shot of 'Neupogen' may be administered, which boosts white blood cell counts. If platelets are too low, a blood transfusion may have to be given.

Day 21(The day before the next round of chemo)- Get more bloodwork to again check cell counts. At this point, the cells must be at a certain level in order to recieve chemo the next day. If the cells are not at the required level, then chemo has to be delayed by one week.
Following blood work, there is an appointment with the doctor to review how everything went over the last round of chemo and to answer any questions that may have come up.

Thursday (Dec. 7th) was Day 21 for me, which meant I needed to get bloodwork and have my appointment with Dr. MacCormick. The bloodwork, which is now becoming like a part of my daily life, was done and I was informed that they would have the results in about an hour and would call me at home only if the cell counts were too low to have chemo the following day.
I then went in to wait for Dr. MacCormick, who showed up fashionably late (about an hour), which seems to be the norm with doctors (another thing I am learning about the medical system).

Dr. MacCormick immediately brought up the reaction I took to Stemitil (see the post "Never Rule Out The Rare") and wanted to know all about it. He informed me that the reaction was not an allergy, but a sensitivity in my central nervous system. He said that this sort of reaction is not common among the normal population of people taking this drug, but it is actually quite common in young people who take it. This is because young people have stronger and more keen nervous systems, and an ingredient in many of these anti-nausea meds effects the nervous system (it works with a neurotransmitter called dopamine, which controls movement). Thus, the jerky movements, tightened mouth and jaw muscles, clenching teeth and other such symptoms I was experiencing, had to do with a lowered level of dopamine which my nervous system was paticularly sensitive to.

We then discussed the nausea, which was almost non-existent except for the one day of vomiting and the two following days of upset stomach. I guess this was not enough to convince the doctor that a prescription for medical marijuana was necessary, as he simply advised me to take Zofran (my regular anti-nausea med), Gravol and Ativan for nausea from now on. Ativan is a sedative used to relax patients. It is often given to people who are nervous of certain medical procedures (i.e. if you are chlaustrophobic and need to have an MRI they will often give you an Ativan under the tongue). He said that Ativan helps with nausea and would prevent any reactions like I had to Stemitil by relaxing the muscles. In addition, I can take Ativan to relax me if I have any feelings of anxiety (as I mentioned in a previous post, I have been extremely anxious and nervous since taking the reaction to Stemitil ... see the post from Sun. Nov.26).

We discussed a few other minor issues and were about to go our seperate ways, when the results of the bloodwork came in. Dr. MacCormick sat me back down and informed me that my white blood cell counts (the immune cells) were too low to recieve chemo tomorrow! I was actually extremely shocked because it was something I was not at all expecting. I felt completely healthy and normal, so I assumed that my body was ready for another bout of chemo. But the tricky thing is that there are no symtoms of low white blood cells. The only way to know is through blood work. I asked the doctor why this was happening--did I do something wrong? He informed me that this was merely an effect of the chemotherapy and was a sign that the drugs are doing what they are supposed to. He said that this tells him that the dose he gave me was the perfect dose for me.

I was then informed of 2 major downfalls of low white blood cell counts. The first downfall is that I have to wait an extra week to get my next session of chemo. This is awful because it just delays my whole chemotherapy experience. I just wanted to get it all overwith. Instead of being on chemo for about 10 weeks, now it will be 11 (this does make a difference!). The second downfall is that in order to prevent this delay from happening again, I will now have to give myself shots of Neupogen (a shot that feeds you white blood cells) following every chemotherapy session. I will have to give myself the shots 72 hours (3 days) after each chemo session everyday for 5-7 days. I will be taught to give myself the shots in either the inner thighs or the stomach. OUCH! Just another thing for me to worry about.

So as of now, I am living my life as normal (well, as normal as it can be right now), waiting to get the next chemo session over with. The faster that happens, the faster I can get on the road to recovery and begin living my life once again. I definitely dread giving myself daily shots in the stomach, but if that means I can get this all over with faster, then that is what I will have to do. For now, I will take advantage of feeling fine and being able to spend Michael's 24th birthday with him without feeling sick. Yay for that!

Snip Snip

2006-12-09T08:42:00.000-08:00

I gave myself the short short cut on Day 17 of Chemo 1. I found that for the first couple of days this offered great relief from the annoyance I was caused from hair loss with longer hair. It seemed that less hair was falling out, the scalp tenderness disappeared, and the itchiness was almost non-existent. I was very happy that I decided to take the clippers to it. By day 19, however, I woke up with a pillow coated in little half-inch hairs. It was amazing how much hair was coming out. I would pinch out a fingerfull of hair on the top of my head and the whole little bunch would very easily jump into my grip ... not even a tug was necessary. I found this fascinating, as did everyone else around me that tested it out. The funny thing was that I still looked like I had a full head of hair, even after coating my pillow with it and tugging on it out of mere fascination.

By the 20th day I was noticing small little patches about the size of a dime showing up on my head. They weren't complete bald spots, but were definitely thinner than the rest of my head. I decided not to wash my hair for the next couple of days, for fear that every hair on my head would come out with the water. I thought to myself that if I were to towel my hair every last one would probably come rushing out. I wanted to hold on to my hair as long as I could.

By day 22 (Friday) it seemed impossible to hold on any longer. The patchiness was already becoming more visible, and the itchiness was now returning. The little hairs were trickling down my neck and back and my whole body seemed to tickle and itch. It was definitely time to remove the hair. Once again, Mike got out his clippers, this time on a different setting (a setting that created the next best thing to completely bald), and shaved off what was left of my precious hair.

He was shocked at how easy it was for me to take, but I again give credit to my being prepared. I thought about this long and hard, did everything I needed to do to make the transition more comfortable for myself (i.e. purchased wigs and head covers), and convinced myself to embrace the change which would only be shortlived. It also helped to be surrounded by such amazing people, who convinced me that I would look beautiful bald and that my little head and face would be perfect for the look. My wonderful boyfriend made me 100% comfortable with shaving it all off--ensuring me that he thought I would look beautiful and that he couldn't wait to see the new look. I was amazed at how awesome he handled this and how much better he was able to make me feel about it all.

With all of this, becoming bald was not so bad. I will now begin wearing my wigs and hats and having fun with all my new looks (and bald will be one of those looks!). Before long, chemo will be done and a whole new head of healthier, revived hair will be covering my now bald head.

The second time around ...

2006-12-09T08:30:00.000-08:00

When we decided to buzz me for the second time, we thought it would be fun to see what I would look like with a mohawk .... may as well try it out since I have the opportunity! Here are some pics of my hair in transition between the first and second buzz cuts ... hilarious or no? (Got the punk rocker look happening in the first shot ... haha!)

Wherever you go, go with all your heart.

2006-12-08T08:13:00.000-08:00

The aftermath of the new 'do' took a little getting used to. I decided that I enjoyed the extreme change in looks and wanted to take advantage of it while I could. Afterall, the little locks that now laid atop my head would soon be trickling out (or more like pouring out) and I would soon be left with none at all. May as well enjoy having hair while I can, even if it is only about a half an inch long.

With that in mind, I decided to go about my normal life sporting the new do. I went shopping, visited with friends, and went to an appointment at the hospital showing off the buzz cut. The more I looked at it, the more I like it. On the other hand, the more I went out in public with it, the more I didn't want to! I felt people's eyes glued to me everywhere I went. Sometimes I was able to go about my business and ignore it. One day this was not so. I guess I wasn't in the best of moods this day, and I decided to go out shopping. The stares were becoming unbearable to me. I just wanted to do my own thing and let other people do the same. I found that people's interest in my looks was very frusturating and I was forced to pack it up and head home.

I was ensured by my family and friends that people were not staring because they thought I had cancer. They ensured me that I did not look like I had cancer-- I look completely healthy and beautiful. People just weren't used to seeing women with hair that short. My dad ensured me that I am just being sensitive and people probably aren't looking at me any more than they usually do-- I am just thinking about it more. And, of course, I have to remind myself that I am living in Cape Breton-- home of the nosey. I am not used to being in a small town anymore. I was getting very used to living in cities where no one cares what you look like. People do their own things and let you do yours. It's not like that here, however, and it is taking some major adjusting for me.

After that day, I took some time to reflect on the situation and it became an important learning experience for me. The major thing I realized was that if I am comfortable with the way I look (which I certainly am ... and was when I went out shopping that day) that is all that should matter. Why should I spend any effort worrying if other people like the way I look? When you consider all the effort we put into caring what other people think, you really come to the realization that it is nothing but a waste. If you are comfortable with yourself and confident in yourself, that is all you need to shine.

With those thoughts, I decided to continue with my life as I had. I continued shopping, going out with friends, and attending my appointments with my cute little 'buzz cut.'

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~Dr. Seuss

Bye Bye, Goldilocks

2006-12-05T19:38:00.000-08:00

I spoke too soon. Friday evening my scalp began to hurt. I immediately remembered everything I was told and everything I read about the hair loss that accompanies chemotherapy-- one of the first symptoms is often a painful scalp. I remembered hearing about it and I also remembered not understanding what people meant when they said their scalp hurt. Now I knew. It began around the crown of my head-- it was a very tender sensation, almost difficult to touch. It almost felt as though my scalp was bruised and any movement in certain spots really bothered it. It was nothing I couldn't live with, however. I went about my business, knowing in the back of my mind that the time was nearing.

Saturday, new sore spots formed and I now noticed that my hair seemed extremely dry. It almost looked like straw and no longer had an ounce of life left in it. It went every which way--no products, straightening, scrunching, or brushing could make it change its mind. It now had a mind of its own. More memories came back to me-- I remembered reading that when the hair follicles finally begin to die it would be like the hair was ON the head, but not actually IN the head. This is because the hair follicles from which the hair was once rooted would now be dead and unable to support the hair that once thrived in it.

All the signs were showing up-- and they were showing up quickly. By Saturday evening my curiosity was peaked and I once again began tugging at the hair, as I had been doing all week. This time something different happened, however-- the hair I tugged very simply came out in my hand. It came out easier in some spots-- especially at the hairline around the face and ears. In other places it still seemed to be securely rooted.

At first, the new hairloss seemed more fascinating to me than anything. It was shocking to tug at the hair and it all come out in the hand so easily. I found it shocking how quickly it began coming out-- there seemed to be no warning signs! Sunday morning I awoke to find my brown satin pillow decorated with little blonde hairs. It is happening. The moment I was waiting for and preparing for for weeks now is finally happening.

As the day progressed, I began to find the hairloss more annoying than fascinating. The tenderness in the scalp continued and my head now seemed extremely itchy. I wore a black shirt and found myself brushing the blonde hairs off myself every half hour. Styling my hair was now absolutely impossible. It took a mere hour just to make it look presentable enough to wear in a black headband. I refused to shower in fear that I would have to watch my hair come out in clumps. Mike and I, thus, decided to head to the mall and hunt for some funky hats and head covers so I didn't have to worry about styling the matted mess on my head for the time being. We managed to find a few pretty scarves, a tight black toque, and a funky little girly hat with a comfy satin interior (which I immediately put on my head after leaving the mall).

By the time we were leaving the mall, my hair became so annoying to me that I decided I was definitely better off buzzing it. Mike thought it was a great idea too, so we made our way to his house to pick up his clippers. That evening, I took a big gulp and followed it by the plunge I was completely prepared for. Mike buzzed all my hair off (and, I must say, he did a fine job). We used a setting that allowed my hair to be rather thick over the scalp.

I must say that when he finished buzzing my hair, I felt free. The dead hair had become so annoying that it felt very nice to have it gone. And, the appearance of a buzzed head was much less dreadful than I imagined it to be. Actually, I thought it was a neat change. Losing my hair was much less devastating than I anticipated. I believe this is because I was able to prepare myself mentally so that when it happened it was no shock. I was expecting it and I had already trained myself in how to deal with it. The situation I once dreaded the most about chemotherapy was now very bearable to me.

Many people had previously told me that I should go to a hairdresser and have my hair buzzed in a room with no mirrors. Then, I should go home, wearing a hat or wig, and look at it in the bathroom alone before showing someone. This would give me a chance to absorb the hairloss and the emotional effects of it before showing it to my family and friends. This may work for some people, but for me I thought it would be better to have someone there for support. I thought it would be easier to have someone I trust and love buzz my hair and experience the moment with me, rather than someone I didn't know at all. I really felt that support was what I needed, rather than to do it alone. And, I found this method really worked for me. I think, then, that although advise is great, you should decide for yourself what you are most comfortable with and decide based on your own feelings, rather than what other people tell you.

Once the buzzing was done I took a good look in the mirror. Not so bad. Mike seemed pleasantly surprised and was very supportive of the new look. My parents also seemed to be very surprised at how the new "buzz look" turned out. Their support and encouragement really made me feel confident and made the new move much easier to deal with.

Bald is beautiful :-)

2006-12-05T18:28:00.000-08:00

A new arrival

2006-12-01T19:51:00.000-08:00

I am now into Day 15 of my first round of chemo, but my hair has yet to begin falling out. The longer I am able to have hair on my head, the better! Everyday I find myself running my fingers through my hair and giving the odd strand a little tug to see if the hair loss has begun, but there have been no signs thus far.

I did, however, recieve one of my new wigs in the mail today! It turned out to be the dark brown "second choice" wig that so many of you voted on a couple of weeks ago. I was very excited to see how I would look as a brunette, after living my entire life nearly platinum. The bad thing was that the wig came first thing in the morning-- before I had a chance to shower and apply my makeup. Being so excited, I immediately tore the box open, ripped the packaging off the wig, and threw it on my head. DISGUISTING! I instantly thought that I was crazy to think I could ever go dark. I showed my father, who has always been good for an honest opinion, and his first reaction was: "Sell it! It looks awful!"

Being the determined person I am however, I thought that I would at least give it a chance. I got showered, applied my make-up (including a little extra bronzer, since I figured it couldn't hurt with the dark hair), and got dressed. I then adjusted the wig and put it on with care, finally toying with it a little until I felt it looked presentable and as natural as possible. WOW! Was I ever happy that I gave the wig a chance. That little extra time made a world of difference, and I suddenly became 100% satisfied with the choice. Thanks everyone!

Remember my motto: There is ALWAYS something positive to take from everything life throws at you. Since I have begun choosing to see the positive in things (even things that seem comepletely BAD), I have been much happier and content with life. This is a true example of this. Hairloss can be a completely devastating event for most people (and I know it likely will be for me when it happens as well). But some good things can come from it! You get to experiment with many different looks that you otherwise would not have a chance to, for one!

Being so excited with my new look, I immediately went to the bathroom mirror to snap some photos to send to my closest friends. I added a few of them here for you to see. Warning! Seeing Melanie as a brunette may be shocking ...

P.S. Keeping with the fun side of things, I decided to name the new wig "Layla," meaning "dark beauty."

Meet Layla

2006-12-01T07:32:00.000-08:00

Twins or Sisters?

2006-11-30T15:18:00.000-08:00

Wednesday I had my first date with the plastic surgeon, Dr. Atiyah. Being in his office felt bizarre-- there were pamphlets all over the place for Botox and breast augmentation. Never in a million years would I have imagined myself sitting in the office of a plastic surgeon. But, here I was. Remember- nothing is impossible.

He called me into his office quite quickly, and there Mike and I were met by the surgeon and a female colleague of his. Dr. Atiyah was much younger than I imagined-- but nonetheless, he seemed very professional, knowledgable, and down to earth. I immediately felt comfortable with him. He immediately expressed his shock at my age and my diagnosis of breast cancer. He said the youngest person he has ever seen with the disease was 28. He kept repeating: "You are not supposed to have breast cancer. What a shame." After measuring and weighing me, asking me some general questions about my health, and examing my chest area, he went into some details about the procedure of breast reconstruction and what he thought was best for me.

First of all, he discussed my "good" breast and expressed his concerns with it. He said that because I am so young and therefore not at all fitting of the norm for breast cancer, he believes it would not be unreasonable to remove the second breast as well. This would not only give me peace of mind, but would lessen my chances of a new cancer forming in the right breast. He said that this is something I would need to discuss with my oncologist, but he thinks that it would likely be recommended down the road. Not only would this give me both psychological and health benefits, but it would likely be more favorable aesthetically. He said that with one real and one fake breast, my breasts would no longer be twins, but more like sisters. This is because it is nearly impossible to match a fake breast exactly to a real breast. However, if he were to reconstruct 2 new breasts for me, it would be much easier to make them look identical. The drawback would be that I would never again have natural breasts (there seems to be something consoling about having your own "stuff" on your body).

He then went into the procedure, which turns out to be much more complicated than I suspected. Normally, in order to reconstruct the breast, a surgeon would first consider removing fat/ tissue from the stomach or back and constructing breasts using that tissue. Because I am a thin girl and have virtually no excess fat in either of those locations, the only possible avenue for me is an implant, in my case a silicone implant.

Post-mastectomy, recieving silicone implants becomes much more complicated. This is because the skin where the breast once was is now tightly sewn over, resembling a normal chest wall. Because of this, the skin must be stretched in order to make room for the implant. The first step, then, involves a small incision under the arm, through which something like a bag or an empty implant called a "tissue expander" is placed under the pectoral (chest) muscle. A tube and valve are connected to this implant through which the implant is pumped with a small amount of saline. It is then left for a few weeks while the skin has time to slowly stretch in small amounts. Then, more saline is pumped into the tube. It is again left for a few more weeks for the skin to stretch some more. This is repeated over and over again until the skin is stretched little by little and a desirable breast size is reached. This process can take up to a 3-4 months to complete.

If I were to have the right breast removed, I would obviously first need another mastectomy and would then need to leave time for the incision to heal. Then, the reconstruction would take place. In some places it is possible to have a mastectomy and immediate reconstruction all in one sitting, but the resources for this type of procedure are not availble in the area in which I live.
If I were to leave the right breast in tact, the doctor has informed me that in order to best match the two breasts, he would still need to give me a silicone implant in the right breast as well. This way, the fuller, rounder shape breasts resulting from the silicone in the reconstructed breast would be matched in the natural breast (although the result would still not be as accurate as having both breasts reconstructed).

As for the nipples. The nipples are contructed from tissue and the areola is then tattooed on, resulting in a quite natural looking breast. Before this can be done, 1-2 months of healing is required. The healing process and the nipple construction procedure then adds yet another 2-3 months to the entire ordeal. The result ... anywhere from 5-8 months of off and on procedures, some discomfort from the stretching skin AND 2 lovely breasts :-)

I will likely begin the process of breast reconstruction in the spring/summer, but until then
I am left with yet another important and potentially life-altering decison ... sisters or twins? Now, THIS could be a tough one.

A bug

2006-11-30T14:57:00.000-08:00

When I was first starting chemo, Mike began to develop a cold. Now that I gave you chemo 101, you probably now know that me being around people with colds is an absolute no-no. This became a huge drawback, as most of my weeknights are spent cuddled up with Mike, my best buddy and my rock. This meant that Mike and I had to cut off our visits for a couple of days and, when we did decide to be around one another, we had to wear surgeon's masks around our faces, for fear of me catching his cold.

Last Wednesday, we finally thought he was over the cold and I happily made my way to his house, where I visited for the evening. As it turns out, the cold must have been in hibernation-mode, because the next day he was back to being sick once again. Sure enough, by Thursday evening I was feeling a little bit of a dry, scratchy throat. Oh no! Don't tell me I caught a cold already!!! Just my luck. I tried to pass it off as my imagination, but over the weekend every now and again I would feel that faint scratchiness lingering in the back of my throat.

My imagination began running wild. What will happen if I get a cold? Will I die? Will I become deathly ill? I began looking on the internet and discovered sites that warned of death in chemo patients who catch colds. As soon as Monday arrived, I made my way into the cancer unit at the hospital to tell them what was up.

I met with the nurse and explained that I had a very minor scratch in the back of my throat for the past 4 days, and I feared it may turn into a cold. She informed me that a cold is actually not as life-threatening as the internet portrayed-- it is just harder for me to fight it off with low white blood cell counts. She said it may stay longer and feel worse than normal, and may possibly delay my second treatment until I got better. Nonetheless, she contacted Dr. MacCormick and he directed her to order bloodwork from me (which was scheduled for that day anyway) to test my white blood cell count (these are the cells responsible for immune function and are supposed to be lowest from day 10-14 ... it was now day 11). He told her that if my blood counts were low, he would order me an antibiotic, but if not he would have me just watch it and come in if it got any worse.

I had the bloodwork done and, as it turns out, my bloodcounts were "not particularly low," but low enough that Dr. MacCormick would feel more comfortable if I were on an antibiotic. The antibiotic was ordered and is to be taken for one week.

This is one of the many trials and tribulations one must go through on chemotherapy. However, if you or someone you know is on chemo and you suspect they may have caught a cold, don't panic. The biggest thing you need to worry about is a fever, which is a sure sign of a bad infection. Anything else can be cured with a simple antibiotic or even less!

Chemotherapy 101

2006-11-28T08:09:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to educating you about chemotherapy. I know I've been mentioning a lot about some of my own recent experiences with it, but I think I may have failed to inform you fully about the therapy, what it is intended to do, and why it causes the crazy things it does. So, what exactly is chemotherapy anyway?

Chemotherapy is a type of treatment for many types of cancers that is used for a number of reasons:
1) To shrink a large tumor before surgery
2) To shrink tumors as a method of controlling pain
3) To kill cancer cells that are known to have spread or metastesized to other areas of the body
4) As a precaution to kill cancer cells that may have "leaked out" from the initial primary tumor site, thereby preventing a recurrence of the cancer. (**as in my case)

The word 'chemotherapy' actually refers to the use of ANY drug or medication to treat disease. Antibiotics, for example, are types of chemotherapy. It has just become a common way these days to refer to the cell-killing drugs we use to treat cancer.

As you have probably figured out thus far, cancer happens when cells divide uncontrollably. Normal cells in the body grow, divide, and then die in an orderly fashion. But malignant cells continue to grow and divide. They outlive normal cells and continue to produce more and more abnormal cells. This is when tumors form. Normal cells are also confined to one area of the body--the area where they belong (i.e. breast cells stay in the breast, liver cells stay in the liver). But cancer cells have the ability to spread to distant areas of the body through the lymphatic or vascular (blood) systems, and this is when they may become lethal.

The idea of chemotherapy is to kill rapidly dividing cells. Because cancer cells, as mentioned above, are rapidly growing and more aggressive than normal cells, it is hoped that in the process of killing these rapidly dividing cells, the cancer cells will be killed. The biggest problem with chemotherapy is that it does not discriminate between normal, healthy cells and cancer cells. It just simply attacks rapidly dividing cells. Because of this, both cancer cells and normal cells get killed in the process.

The main reason why most side effects are noticed during chemotherapy, is because the normal cells in the body that are in the process of diving are killed. For example, the hair, skin, and nails grow quickly because they are the sites of rapidly dividing cells. When these cells are killed, the hair, skin, and nails are also killed in the process. This is why many people experience hair loss, darkened or dry skin, and brittle, dark nails (in more aggressive chemo treatments some people even lose their nails). Moist membranes (like the mouth and nose) are also the sites of rapidly dividing cells. Again, because these cells are now being damaged, these once moist areas may now become dry. This is why many chemotherapy patients develop dry mouth and mouth sores during chemo treatments.

The most crucial cells that are killed in the process of chemotherapy are the white and red blood cells, which are produced by the bone marrow. These cells are extremely important to our health, so killing them poses a great deal of risks. The white blood cells are part of your immune system, and help to fight infection. When they are killed, you are, therefore, more susceptible to infections and less able to fight them off. After each treatment, the white blood cells are reduced more and more. The 10th day of after each treatment they are thought to be at their lowest, then they gradually begin to rejuvenate around the 14th day.
The red blood cells, or 'haemoglobin,' are responsible for circulating oxygen throughout the body. When the red blood cells are killed, something called "anemeia" can be caused. This causes fatigue and breathlessness and may need to be treated with a blood transfusion.

The final area of the body affected by the killing of dividing cells that I would like to mention is the digestive system. This is another site for rapidly dividing cells, which becomes heavily affected by chemotherapy. When the cells of the digestive system are killed symptoms like nausea, vomiting, acid indigestion, diarrhea, and other such symptoms are caused.

Chemotherapy may be preceded, followed, or accompanied by surgery, radiation, hormonal therapy, gene therapy, and/or bone marrow or blood stem cell transplantation. This all depends on the type and stage of the cancer. There are also various alternative forms of treatment (i.e. diet, exercise, herbal remedies, etc.) and new forms of treatment (i.e. vaccines) on the rise. In my case, I recieved surgery, followed by chemotherapy, which will finally be followed by hormonal therapy.

I hope this helps you to better understand chemotherapy, as I know I have been and will be discussing it heavily in this blog. I know I had no idea about chemotherapy (or cancer for that matter) before I was diagnosed. But, even if you do not have cancer or don't have anyone close to you with cancer, it is likely that someday in the future you or someone you love will be touched by it. I know that doesn't sound the most positive, but we need to face the facts. 1 in 2 people will now be diagnosed with some sort of cancer in their lifetime. That can't be ignored. So why not be informed about it, right?

If you'd like to know more about chemotherapy, you can visit the following sites:

Canadian Cancer Society- Chemotherapy

Cancer Backup- Chemotherapy

Chemotherapy.com

Chemocare.com

He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from fear

2006-11-26T17:40:00.000-08:00

After Wednesday, the effects of the dreaded 'first round of chemo' gradually lifted. Each day, I found myself feeling better and better. The feeling of bloatedness drifted away bit by bit and by Thursday I could eat just about anything I wanted without feeling any different than I would on a normal day. A few times I found myself saying: "I can't even believe I'm on chemo."

Of all the side effects I experienced thus far, I would have to say that the allergic reaction to the anti-emetics was the worst experience. The nausea was quite bad, as you can well imagine, but it only lasted a couple of days. I thought the mere choking and suffocation for an hour and a half was far more torturous than the stomach sickness. In fact, it was so torturous that I think I've become traumatized over it.

This trauma seems to present itself in my recent experiences of overwhelming paranoia that it will happen again. This paranoia seems to have been hanging over my head almost constantly since it happened. I worry in the morning, evening, night, and even wake up during sleep worrying about it. Lately I have been experiencing a little bit of dryness in the throat (which may or may not be a minor side effect of chemo). This slight dryness can send my imagination running off in a million directions if I allow it. Is it happening again? What if it wasn't the Stemitil that caused the reaction? What if I'm allergic to the chemo meds?

The paranoia mentioned above can be awful because it, in turn, causes me to become panicky. My heart races, my mind wanders, I get shaky. All because I'm scared of this terrible occurence presenting itself once again. The awful thing is that it is not only the allergic reaction I fear. It is the quality of care I will recieve when taking a reaction as such that concerns me.

You see, when I first went to the hospital in Glace Bay Monday night, as you may or may not remember me mentioning in previous posts, there was no doctor on call. I cannot explain to you how awful it felt to be suffocating and arrive to a hospital to find that no one there could help me. After then rushing from the Glace Bay hospital to the Sydney hospital (a 25 minute drive away), I was looked at like I had 1000 eyeballs by the triage nurse. Clearly, when you cannot breathe you will panic. There is no time for small talk. The nurse made me sit down while she asked me 1000 questions and urged me to "calm down" as I sat there suffering. Was this really necessary? After going through a 15 minute ordeal that I felt was completely unnecessary, I was sent to sit and wait in a room for at least another 40 minutes (again, it was a CHORE to breathe or swallow) for a doctor to come and give me a simple shot of benadyl and steroid. Do I need to be out cold or dying in order for anyone to take me serious?

So, I think my recent overwhelming paranoia and sense of panic stems not only from the allergic reaction itself, but moreso from the fear that I will not be cared for properly, as I feel I was not last Monday night. I am extremely fearful that something will happen to me and I will go to the hospital to find no doctor there again. I am fearful of waiting "patiently" while I suffer. I am fearful that something worse may happen if I have to wait again. It would be nice to know that if you are on chemotherapy and are taking an allergic reaction (or feeling anything that awful, as this IS a dangerous medication) that someone will at least come and make sure you are not dying when you come in.

The bad thing is that this happens to people all the time at these hospitals. So, please, take my word. If something like this happens to you and you are 'miffed' (as you have probably guessed that I am), please call the hospital and complain! I plan to do this first thing tomorrow morning. I didn't realize how traumatizing this experience would be to me until I experienced a week of complete uneasiness over it. If this hadn't happened, I feel that I would be feeling MUCH more content with my overall chemotherapy experience thus far.

Now ... I need to somehow find a way of dealing with this newly developed paranoia and sense of panic. So far, convincing myself that I am overreacting, taking a chance to do some deep breathing, trying my best to think rationally, and going to a comfortable, quiet spot have helped me deal with feelings of panic for the most part. I think that in order to move on from this experience, put it in the past, and stop myself from thinking about it, however, I need to somehow be reassured that I will be taken care of if anything happens to me. The first step in doing this will be to call the hospital tomorrow to complain. The second step will be to talk to Dr. MacCormick about the reaction to try to discover the root of it and how I can best avoid it happening again. The third step will be to get a list of emergency hours for all the surrounding hospitals so that I am sure not to go to one without a doctor (even though, in my opinion, all the hospitals should always have a doctor on call).

Any other ideas?

Marijuana

2006-11-22T08:06:00.000-08:00

After the "rare" occurence that happened Monday night, I have been feeling quite well. Tuesday I was back to the faint nausea I noticed on Friday (day 1). It has since then changed to a bloated feeling in the stomach, which feels kind of like I ate a little too much. But, otherwise, I am coping quite well and feeling good. Yesterday I had a very busy day, which almost resembled a normal day before chemo. So I am quite happy right now. Thanks for the messages, comments, and calls everyone ... your thoughts and concerns are much appreciated!

On to a new topic. I need to hit the rewind button here for a moment ... back to that fateful day when Dr. Maccormick first suggested chemo to me. We were discussing side-effects, namely nausea, when the doctor told me he would prescribe me 2 pills to assist with the nausea. He said the first (Ondansetron or "Zolfran") would be taken twice a day every 6-8 hours for four days following each treatment. The second ("Stemitil") could be taken "as needed" for nausea and vomiting. He told me that nausea is often worse in younger people taking chemo, so if the pills didn't work, he would suggest alternatives. Hold on to your seat. He said: "Melanie, I hate to say this in front of your mother, but do you ever smoke marijuana?" I was sort of shocked and not expecting this. My reply was simply "No." In return, he said: "Well, if these pills don't work, marijuana is likely what I will be prescribing to you."

As you can well conjur, the pills are not working. I vomited while taking them and have still been experiencing nausea, for one. And second, I took an allergic reaction to one of them. One of the cancer nurses called me yesterday to check up on me, and I explained everything that had been going on. She said that this week I will have a follow-up appointment with Dr. MacCormick and I should tell him about all of this then. She said he would likely suggest "something else" (you and I both know what that something will likely be).

Never would I EVER have thought that marijuana would be prescribed to me by a doctor. I did some reading on it and found out that marijuana for medicinal use is perfectly legal in Canada. It is grown in the Prairies and turned into various forms for use in people with terminal illnesses, chronic pain from diseases like MS, and other ailments from serious illnesses (i.e. nausea from chemo). It is even legal to be shipped through Canada Post! I saw an application form online for it, and, if accepted, you can choose whether you want it delivered to your door in dried form or seed form so you can grow it on your own. You then recieve a lisense to possess and grow marijuana. It is prescribed in one-month batches and you need to reapply each month for a new dose. The amount given is decided upon by the amount needed or the illness. There are also various ways of taking the marijuana: pill form (called Marinol), liquid form (called Sativex), or dried form (which can then me smoked in a joint or bong, or baked in foods like brownies).

One thing is for sure, if marijuana was legalized for medical purposes, it took a lot of work. This could only have resulted from an actual need for and benefit from the drug. More simply, it must work if it was legalized for medical purposes. Thus, if it is suggested to me, I will definitely consider trying it out. Who knows, it may just be the cure to my temporary ailments.

To read more about medicinal uses of marijuana, follow these links:

Health Canada: Medicinal Uses of Marihuana

Health Canada: Marihuana for Medical Purposes

Medical Marijuana: User's Guide

Marijuana ProCon. Org

Hits and Misses: The Best Way to Take Medical Marijuana?

Answers.Com: Medical Marijuana

10 Pros and Cons of Medical Marijuana

LA Times: Canada Approves Cannabis Spray

Tell me your opinions on this highly-debated issue!!!

NEVER rule out the rare

2006-11-21T08:20:00.000-08:00

Monday I felt much more like myself. I managed to have lunch with my grandmother, take a quick run into Walmart, take a short walk with my father, and eat all my meals. I even managed to sit long enough to complete an entire blog! Because everything was going so well, Mike and I decided to go out for a tea and a drive in the evening. While we were out, something completely unexpected happened.

It started with my lips puckering. I thought, ‘This is kind of annoying.’ But after about 10 minutes it became worse. Now, it felt as though I was having muscle spasms in my jaw and tongue, and my teeth were clenching together. The first thing I thought was that maybe I was taking a panick attack. I had heard people say that you feel as though you can’t breathe and are going to die when a bad attack hits. Was this a panick attack? After allowing another 10 minutes or so to pass while I tried to calm myself down, I decided that this symptom did not seem normal. I told Mike to take me to the ER right away.

We drove to the Glace Bay ER and found it to be closed (don’t even get me started on this)! My mother, who was at the hospital waiting when we arrived, then drove us out to the ER in Sydney—at the hospital where I had mostly everything done thus far. After a painstaking 30 minute drive to the second hospital, I barged through the emergency doors and demanded to see a doctor. By this time, I was very panicky—I felt shaky, restless, and nervous. I was panicky for a good reason, however. I couldn’t breathe! As every minute went by I felt my throat closing over more, my teeth were now grinding together. It felt exactly as if someone was choking me. I even wondered if I might be taking some sort of seizure at this point.

The nurse made me go through the regular registration stuff, which took another 15 minutes or so, and then she led me into a room to wait for a doctor. A nurse came in and gave me oxygen, but she said that my oxygen levels appeared to be normal. She then administered an IV in my arm because she said the doctor would likely want to give me something for whatever was causing me the distress. I waited another 30-40 minutes by the time a doctor came.

After explaining everything to him, the doctor concluded that one of the anti-nausea medications (likely Stemetil) was causing this effect. He said it is a rare side effect, but does happen—people feel their mouth and jaw muscles pulling and the throat swells out, making it hard to breathe. He said he would give me a dose of Benadryl for the allergic reaction and some anti-swelling steroids through the intravenous, and he gave me an Adavan to calm me down.

After about 5 minutes, I was finally able to breathe, but my body was full of tremors, likely due to the stress it had gone through. They laid a warm blanket over me and after about 20 minutes I was feeling back to normal. When I arrived back home I read the pamphlet given to me about Stemetil. It recorded 3 categories of side-effects: more common, less common, and rare. This is what I read under the ‘Rare Side Effects’ category:
Jaw, neck, and back muscle spasms; constant uncontrolled movement of the tongue, face, mouth, or jaw; sore throat, fever, weakness; trouble swallowing; tremors, drooling; slow jerky movements. STOP taking this medication and contact your doctor IMMEDIATELY if you have any of these symptoms.

Looks like I again made the category of “rare.” I would never want to go through this again and, as you can probably guess, a new form of anti-nausea medication is most definitely needed to be prescribed.

Chemotherapy is NOT for Wusses

2006-11-20T00:34:00.000-08:00

When I arrived home Friday afternoon I was feeling fine, aside from some mild drowsiness brought on by the anti-nausea medication and the Benadryl. I got my prescriptions filled at the pharmacy for nausea-- Zolfran and Stemitil. They seemed to be working from what I could tell. I had a relaxed night just to be on the safe side, and Mike and I just watched movies and cuddled up for the evening.

Saturday afternoon was just about the same and I was becoming surprised-- am I ever going to feel the effects of this? I told my family that if this was what chemo is like, than I will do fine with it-- piece of cake. My father and I went for a long walk through the woods with our dog and I actually felt like turning it into a run, which goes to show how much energy I had. I ate all my meals all day without a problem and was able to do most normal things.

When Saturday evening hit, however, things would change. Later in the afternoon, I began having faint feelings of nausea that were sort of lingering in the background. I ignored them, but they eventually became worse. I had a big feed of spaghetti and meatballs, which I requested from my mother for dinner, and Mike and I headed out to get tea at Tim's afterwards. What was to happen was not a pretty sight. As we were driving down the street I was overcome with an overwhleming sensation of nausea. It was like the faint nausea I was feeling throughout the day had suddenly multiplied itself by 100. "Pull over!" I said. Mike pulled into a parking lot and I began throwing up heavily all over the ground. He quickly got me back home and I knew that I was now in for it. The feeling was exactly like this: you have just drank WAY too much alcohol and are throwing up violently. The only difference is that when you throw up, the nausea dosn't go away. It lingers and lingers, making you feel absolutely horrible.
That evening I vomited three times and wound up with a massive headache, which I blame the anti-emetics (anti-nausea) medication for. My mom stayed with me in my bed all night as I tossed and turned and remained in and out of sleep until the morning.

Sunday I felt relatively the same--I was nauseated all day but didn't throw up. I felt as though I had gone through war the previous night so it was now time to recouperate. For the most part, I remained in bed not only for recovery purposes, but because I feared that if I stood up, I may throw up. Laying down seemed to ease the nausea for short periods of time. We decided that the spaghetti dinner may not have helped the nausea, after reading that I should avoid spicy, sweet, and greasy foods to cut down on nausea. So we are now blaming the food I ate in part for causing my violent illness. Sunday, my Mom made me homemade turkey soup--we figured this may be better tolerated and would give me the fluids my body needed.

I remember all weekend imagining myself going through this for the next few months and the thought alone made me sick to my stomach. How will I ever get through this? I would need to discuss alternatives to the anti-nausea medication that was currently prescribed to me with Dr. MacCormick. There was no way I could go on feeling as miserable as I had this weekend. On the bright side, I read some people's stories about taking "AC" chemo meds and found out that the nausea usually only lasts up to 5 days after each treatment in most people. So I gained hope that I would possibly be getting over this soon. I also decided to be proactive and start eating foods that are easy on the stomach and generally well tolerated-- foods that are rich, spicy, or greasy would have to go for a while and lighter more bland foods would have to take their places. I also decided to eat smaller meals throughout the day and continue to keep myself as hydrated as possible. I am very worried that if I continue to vomit, I will lose much needed weight. I am 114 lbs and 5'8ish now, so any thinner could not possibly be healthy.

Through all this, I continue to remember a chapter title in Dr. Marla Shapiro's Book "Life in the Balance: My Journey with Breast Cancer." The chapter is entitled 'Chemotherapy is not for Wusses." Now I understand exactly what she means.

Chemo 1 pics

2006-11-19T13:31:00.000-08:00

Round One

2006-11-19T08:29:00.000-08:00

Friday came quickly. That morning, I had enough time to get up, eat breakfast, get ready, and drive in to Sydney for the appointment. I was somewhat nervous, but still feeling strong and ready for the challenge.

When we arrived at the hospital, my parents and I were met by a 'chemo nurse' who escorted us down into the chemo room. There were about 10 other cancer patients recieving treatments in this room, some looking sicker than others. I felt them eye me as I walked through the room and down to the back. The nurse pointed to a chair where I was to sit and recieve treatment. It was a very comfortable recliner, which I knew would make this easier for me. The nurse did the 'usual stuff' they do to me now-- blood pressure, temperature, pulse. Everything was fine. Then she told me I was to lay my hand in a bucket of hot water (this wasn't so usual). She said this was a common procedure here used because the warm water makes the veins in the hands more visible. I lay my hand in the hot water for about five minutes and soon enough, the nurse was back with the needles she was about to poke in my hand.

Before she went digging, she offered me an Adavan to slip under my tongue (this is a drug used to relax patients). I took it, although I didn't really feel I needed it. I then felt the now-familiar feeling of the needle prick penetrating my hand. I turned my head and clenched my opposite hand. Somehow I wasn't getting better at this. And ... wait ... it didn't work. "Uh oh, dear. It went in easily but it doesn't seem to want to go through the whole way. We'll have to try a new one. Sorry." Just my luck. Don't I have enough to worry about? She held her finger on the now stinging-like-crazy needle hole in my hand. She explained that it stung because some saline from the IV got inside it. This was like pouring salt on an open wound. Ouch. She quickly moved on to another vein in the hand. This one was a success. We could now get on with what was important-- chemo.

The nurse first gave me a small bag of anti-nausea medication through the IV before she started the chemo drugs. She told me that I would need to take the pill form of this drug (Ondanesetron) at home, twice a day every 6-8 hours. The solution felt cold going in the vein, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. When this was completed, I saw the nurse coming with a new bag to hook onto the IV-- it was a bag of red colored solution that I was expecting all along. This is often called the "Red Devil" by chemo patients. I knew (by the name alone) that this was going to make my life a living hell. She hooked it up and I sat and waited for it to pump. It stung like crazy going in. Suddenly, I felt an itch going up my arm. I looked and saw blotchy red marks on the underside of my arm. Great ... more complications. I told the nurse and she said it appeared that I had sensitive skin and was probably reacting to the alcohol. She said she would haveto run some more saline solution and then give me some benadryl to ease the allergic reaction. This added yet another 30 minutes or so onto my already painful ordeal. When this was completed, she finished the red devil for a few minutes and followed it by the dose of Cytoxin for 40 minutes. As time went by, the stinging eased and I became groggy from the benadryl. Soon it was time to head home.

I had no idea what to expect.

A Lesson and a New 'Do

2006-11-18T06:05:00.000-08:00

Thursday kept me busy with things to do. At 2pm, my Dad and I headed into the hospital for what they call a "teaching" on chemotherapy. This is simply an hour-long session where the chemo patient and a family member are taught all about the various side effects of chemotherapy, how to control these side effects, who to contact in emergencies, programs available, etc. etc. I found out nothing that I hadn't already learned through reading and asking questions over the past little while. Basically, the major side effects would be nausea and vomiting, sore mouth, fatigue, and hair loss. Longer term effects could be leukemia, infertility, and osteoperosis. She also touched on what is called "chemobrain," which refers to slower cognitive functioning in chemo patients. This means that for a short time I may experience inattention, irritability, and trouble concentrating.
She stressed the idea of avoiding infection, because between approx. the 10th and 14th days after each treatment, my white bloodcell count would be extremely low. This means I will have very little "fighter" cells available for fighting infection. She warned me to wash my hands FREQUENTLY and to avoid high-traffic areas and people who are sick. If I was to have a fever over 38, I would need to go to the ER immediately for an antibiotic.
I was to avoid becoming pregnant, although ovarian function would probably STOP half way through the treatments, (hopefully temporarily). This also means no periods during chemo (which I can't complain about)!
She warned me to drink lots of fluids for a number of reasons: a) to avoid and/or help dry, sore mouth; b) incase of diarrhea or constipation; c) because one of the chemo drugs collects in the bladder, causing bladder infection-like symptoms.
Finally, she suggested getting lots f rest, but also trying to maintain a normal life. She suggested not staying in bed (as some people will stay there for a month at a time) and trying to move around and be with people as much as possible.

After our meeting, I met Mom and Mike at the salon, where I was to get my FIRST EVER short haircut. Kim (my hairdresser) was confident it would look great and I was feeling pretty excited about the new change. I had always wanted a cut like this but found it hard to be adventurous and break out of the routine ... now I had no other choice! So it was a good way for me to experience a needed change in looks.

I was actually extremely satisfied with the end result, which may make it even harder to go bald!!! This kept me distracted for the remainder of the night and boosted my spirits. Thanks Kim for the wonderful job!

Check out the pics below and let me know what you think :-)

My last day in the world of "normal"

2006-11-16T07:07:00.000-08:00

It is now the day before my first round of chemo, and I'm feeling fine. I am feeling somewhat nervous of the unknown (as anyone would be), but this experience has rendered me used to the unknown and all the feelings that come with it.

Other than some mild nervousness, I feel extremely strong. I never fully understood what people meant when they said "you will beat this," "you have to fight," and other such phrases. I wondered, how can you really fight something that you can't see and that you know little about? It just seemed like a very subjective concept that I was having trouble grasping. But nonetheless, I now understand just what this concept is all about to the fullest.

I told Mike last night that I am experiencing a sensation that almost exactly matches the phrase: "Take the bull by its horns." I honestly feel as though that is what I am doing. I feel that if I put enough energy and effort into fighting for my life and being well, that I will be a tough one to beat.

I realize 100% that I have no idea what I'm in for. I think that chemotherapy is one of those things that can barely be described with words ... you can't fully understand it until you experience it. But I also feel that I have prepared myself mentally for it as much as is possible, and I think that because of this, I will be much more able to deal with it when it comes. I look at it this way: I could choose to not think about it until the time comes and then let it take over my life when it hits because I had no idea what to expect and had no mental energy and strength to deal with it OR I could choose to be mentally and physically prepared for a huge battle up ahead so when it hits me, I am expecting it more and have already gained the strength I need to fight.
We'll have to see how the battle presents itself. I am fully prepared to be hit with a 'tonne of bricks' and to be 'on my ass' for quite some time, but I am not prepared to let it do this without a fight.

Tonight I will go and get my hair cut short to ease the transition from having long hair to having none. I am thinking of either an extremely short bob like Sienna Miller's or an even shorter 'boycut' like Halle Berry. Another decision to be made....
I'll take pictures of the new cut and post them soon.

Next time I write I will probably have already taken the hours dose of chemo. I'm in for one hell of a ride ...

And Britney Takes the Lead :-)

2006-11-15T15:09:00.000-08:00

Okay ... I think I've decided on a couple of wigs after endless emails, messages, and posts! Thanks for your help guys :-)

The most popular were .....

#5 (Britney) and #2 (from Ebay) for blonde ones

#1 (brown from Ebay) for a fun/ different one

I think I'm going to go with #5 for the blonde, because it is a monofilament wig, which means it has a special cap designed for comfort and natural look. The cap is nearly transparent, which means the scalp almost exactly matches the natural scalp colour. Also, the cap material is soft and made for comfort. Each piece of hair is sewn in by hand too, so that the wig is easier to style and flows and moves naturally. So #5 it is.

Thanks again everyone! Time to order ... I'll be sure to post pics when I finally recieve them!

Mel XO

Temporary Post: Help me!!!

2006-11-14T15:09:00.000-08:00

Help! I am going to order my wig first thing tomorrow morning and I'm having a rough time deciding which ones to get. I plan to get a blonde one for everyday use and a different coloured one as a second wig for fun. I have already narrowed this list down to at least 1/4!!! There are 7 left on the list. Help me pick one!!! Post a comment just telling your 1st and 2nd choice for a blonde wig AND your only choice for an 'other' coloured wig. Keep in mind that I want the blonde one to look as natural as possible, so try to imagine it on MY head!!!

Here goes:

#1
#2
#3
#4
#5
#7

Thanks ... your opinions will help tons!!! :-)

Live, Love, Laugh

2006-11-14T14:17:00.000-08:00

When I finally sucked up the emotional flow that this new turn created, I gathered myself and did all the things I needed to do to make the most informed and sound decision I possibly could. I researched, thought about everything all the doctors had told me and suggested to me, weighed my options, and talked with my closest family and friends. After all this, the decision still was not an easy or a clear one. Both avenues seemed to have equal benefits and risks. Which is the right decision? Unfortunately, the reality of life is that we can never learn which was the best decision until we see the outcome. If the answers were always there for us, life would be without challenges to overcome. You can decide for yourself whether or not this would be ideal.

I decided that I could not play with my life. A 5% overall benefit in the risk of getting cancer again is a significant one in the overall scheme of things. Afterall, there was only a .1% risk of me getting cancer in the first place, and I got it. So when you consider this, 5% seems to be a big number. Also, i know that Dr. MacCormick is not the type to just hand out chemotherapy medication freely--I know this because he was not going to give it to me in the first place. Obviously, he felt that it was beneficial for me to take it, or he would not have suggested it. He also had a few other doctors to back up his decision. Something in my gut was telling me that I should not take risks. Call me a coward for not going against a doctor's recommendation about a relatively "grey" matter, but this is what I felt was the right decision.

With this decision made, I actually felt at ease. The decision eased the uncertainty associated with waiting for doctor's decisions. At least I now know what bridge I will cross, although I really do not know exactly how stable this bridge will be.

Now that I knew the direction my life would take, I once again entered "prep" mode. This first involvd me taking whatever measures were necessary to ease the pain associated with hair loss. I spent a whole evening looking at wigs online and got some second opinions from friends. I went out and bought a couple of new hats and scarfs for head covers.

I also came to the realization that soon I would be unable to enjoy public places, especially during the busy Christmas season. This meant no malls, bars, concerts, or other high-traffic places. This would help me avoid getting infections, which are less likely to be faught off when immune cells are killed during chemotherapy. But, it definitely would not help my social life and would not be easy during the Christmas season when shopping has to get done. Because of this, I decided to spend my last weekend before chemo shopping for Christmas gifts. Mike and I had previously arranged to do a lot of our shopping in Halifax at the end of November, but this would no longer be possible. Thus, we decided to make this weekend extra special by taking our trip a little earlier. This way, I could get my shopping done and also let loose a little before taking the bull by the horns. So, in a matter of 1 day we make the quick decision to pack up and leave. (I need to thank Mike for cancelling his football tournament so that he could be with me during this important time.)

The weekend was good and I managed to forget about everything that was going on for a few days. I have learned that there are definite cures (at least short-term) for stress and life's crazy turns: living (keeping busy doing the things you love to do), loving (realizing how wonderful love is and making the most of it ... in my case Mike and my family come to mind), and laughing (laughter has a weird way of making you feel fuzzy inside ... friends are often a good route here).

In a way, this week has become a week to cherish everything I have in life and to live life to the fullest. Soon enough, life will take yet another crazy twist that I will have to deal with. For now, I am living life in the now and enjoying every minute of it. I will try my best to do the same no matter what life brings ... even during chemo.

A fork in the road ... which way should I go?

2006-11-14T11:38:00.000-08:00

Soon after the appointment, I was met by Dr. MacCormick's nurse, who escorted me into a cozy room complete with couches to discuss a not-so-cozy topic: treatment. She went through the basics of 'AC,' the chemotherapy treatment I was to undergo. This, and everything from the moment when Dr. MacC recommended chemotherapy, seemed surreal. It was almost as though I was dreaming and was waiting to wake up. It was more than disbelief. It was not even being able to feel anything emotionally or to react to anything mentally. Everything the nurse said went into one ear and out the other. Could this really be happening?

After reviewing the medications they were assuming would soon be administered to me, the nurse took me to the 'chemo room' to show me where treatment takes place. I followed her into a large open-spaced room, where hospital beds and chairs lined the walls. In each hospital bed lied someone hooked up to an IV that pumped out chemotherapy drugs. Some of the people looked sick, while others looked rather normal. Most were bald and 'looked' like they had cancer. Beside each hospital bed there sat a chair and in most of these chairs sat a loved one: "This is where you will recieve your treatment. You're allowed one visitor in the room with you." Surrealism was still the case, however, I was able to conjur that the place didn't look as bad as i would have expected. It was quiet and had a friendly, cozy atmosphere. One thing I noticed was that some of the loved ones sat and read or sewed. They looked like they had been there for quite some time. I asked the nurse how long most people come in and she replied that it really depends--mine would be a small dose of an hour every three weeks for a couple of months, while some people had treatment anywhere from three hours to half a day (!) and anywhere from a couple times a week to once a day! My stomach sank as I tried to imagine what some of these people must be going through. I actually feel LUCKY when I consider how much worse I could have it.

The whole day was completely surreal. I went home and cried for a while as I tried to imagine what my life would be like on chemo. The once-imagined was becoming much more real-- sickness in every sense of the world, not being able to go out in public places for fear of infection, NO HAIR ... and all the things that could go wrong during treatment (i.e. death) or down the road (i.e. infertility). I've heard people in the past say that the treatment can sometimes be worse than the disease. The thought of that makes me cringe. It is completely true that right now I feel nothing but healthy. I don't feel or look like I have cancer. But if I am to take treatment this will all change.

I started suddenly realizing the extent of the lives we live--we are all human ... we don't have the answers for everything. NO ONE has the answers for everything. And there are still some major issues that we still know very little about. Cancer is one of them. And this was proven throughout this whole ordeal. These doctors know some things about cancer, but they do not know everything about it. I was coming to the realization that there was no known completely correct answer about my case. Dr. MacCormick, all the other doctors, and I are all only human and we are all dealing with one of those crazy things life throws at us. So ... now the decision-making is ultimately left up to myself. Although I was booked in for chemo beginning on November 17th, we were all under the understanding that I was still not 100% sure if I wanted to go through with it. I could back out at any time.

So now it was time for me to decide what avenue I wanted to take. This involved me weighing the options in my mind and on paper, considering all the things I had gathered from the doctors over the past number of weeks, researching AC and medical opinions about young women and chemotherapy, and talking to the people who meant most to me. The doctor did his job, now I had to do mine.