It's Always Something

I spent the day today in a series of doctor's appointments. I attended the first appointment this morning with my sister, Christine. We are initiating genetic testing for the breast cancer gene in our family. Before having a routine blood test, we had to meet with a genetic counsellor. My genes are feeling much better now, thank you.

After reviewing our family tree, the counsellor deemed that my father's side of the family was "suspicious." Chris and I started laughing hysterically. Maybe it's those dark, shifty eyes, or perhaps his swarthy complexion. This explains why he always liked Pink Panther movies and Tom Clancy thriller novels.

It turns out today's Toronto Star story was prophetic:

Breast cancer gene often passed down 'silently'
Jun 19, 2007 04:07 PM
Carla K. Johnson
Associated Press

CHICAGO – A deadly gene's path can hide in a family tree when a woman has few aunts and older sisters, making it appear that her breast cancer struck out of nowhere when it really came from Dad." Click here to read the full story.

After our appointment in Mississauga, I went to the local hospital to see my specialist. It has been four weeks since I was discharged from the hospital and sent home with the Freedom Vac. For the past 28 days twenty-four hours a day, I have carted this wonder machine with me everywhere. It was like having a long umbilical cord that caught on EVERYTHING: kitchen cupboards, door knobs, lawn furniture, the bottom of the bathroom door (almost fainted from the pain). I was extremely grateful to have the machine and was very proud of my cleverness in rigging it up as a fanny pack so that I had much more mobility.

The good news is that my doctor today ordered the vacuum removed. The wound has healed enough to now be managed the good, old-fashioned way. Nurses will still come to the house every second day to dress the wound and ensure that it continues healing.

The bad news? I was shocked to be treated as if I had the plague. The attending nurse came in practically wearing body armour, equipped with a pile of tools for collecting samples. She ordered the doctor to put on gloves if he was treating me. He looked alarmed. "She's been tagged VSE," the nurse barked. They started medical speak about VSE. "Excuse me, isn't VSE an antibiotic resistant bacteria?" I asked.

After much yelling by the attending nurse, my surgeon and his head of nursing, combined with a number of phone calls to the infectious disease control (IDC) department, I learned that a patient in the room with me during my hospital stay was VSE positive. That means that I could be exposed and a carrier, too.

I lifted my head off the hospital bed and looked at my doctor. "So, what you're telling me is that I have cooties?" I asked. It helped diffuse some of the stress.

Why wasn't I notified? According to the very busy administrator in IDC, they're too busy. "Do you know how many faxes we receive every day?" she snarled at the second nurse.

If I am a carrier, I've infected hundreds of people in the past four weeks, including 32 people in the outpatient lab services at Credit Valley Hospital in Mississauga today alone. Then there's the risk to my sister Christine, who already has a compromised immune system and is recovering from her own surgery last week. (Please read about Christine's adventures here.) My own wound is at great risk, too.

I have to wait ten days for the test results. From the research I did on-line, it appears that honey is an effective antidote to VSE infections. Let's hope I don't need to know that.

Today I've thought frequently about Rosanna Rosannadanna, aka Gilda Radner. Gilda, who died of ovarian cancer far too early, entitled her autobiography, It's Always Something, which is exactly what her character always told Jane Curtin on the original Saturday Night Live.

It's Always Something.

On the other hand, my sister Roni recently told me "90% of Everything Turns Out to Be Nothing."

I have a feeling both are true.

With Breast Cancer, a Week is a Very Long Time*

Just home from a couple days in the hospital. I hate to admit it, but it was a very good thing for me. Almost 72 hours doing absolutely NOTHING but healing. Obviously my body needed it. I have a wound that, with traditional packing and closing, the doctor anticipates would take two months to heal. Instead, they have hooked me up with a Freedom Vac that should heal the wound in one-to-two weeks!

Our cat is more than a little freaked out! She sure missed me the past couple days. Now she's most curious about this little black shoulder pack that accompanies me everywhere. It purrs like a male cat in heat. The Freedom Vac is supposed to give you the freedom to carry on with life -- I'm not sure I'll be making a visit to the grocery store. If you didn't know it was the machine, you'd think I had uncontrolled flatulence! We sure won't be going to the movie theatre anytime soon, either.

The Freedom Vac is just slightly bigger than a portable DVD player and weighs about the same as a laptop computer (their website says 3 pounds, but I must have the older model). It's new and takes a little getting used to remembering to bring it everywhere with me. After we got home from the hospital this morning, my father asked, "What happens if you forget to take it with you?"

It's like that scene in the movie 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding' when Toula is working at the travel agency with the headset on and Ian comes in to see her. (Click the link to watch the movie clip!)

*Today's blog title was inspired by Harold Wilson, former prime minister of the United Kingdom, who said "In politics, a week is a very long time." Courtesy of The Book of Origins by Trevor Homer.

No Wonder You're Tired All the Time!

"Women constitute 53% of the earth’s population. They perform two-thirds of the world’s work for which they earn 10% of the income. They own 1% of the property and they have 100% of the children. Given these statistics, women should hold the majority of the political power in the world. -– Helen Caldicott, M.D., pediatrician, anti-nuclear activist, author of If You Love This Planet

We don’t because we are too tired from looking after our families, jobs and homes." -- Lorna Vanderhaeghe

Lorna Vanderhaeghe, a researcher and journalist in nutritional medicine, offers a valuable website on women's health and nutrition, including free access to the online book, "An A-Z Woman's Guide to Vibrant Health." I highly recommend spending some time at her site. While much of her focus is on women's health, she does research and review topics of general interest and has a few vitamin/supplement formulations designed especially for men, too. Click here sign up to receive her free enewsletter.

Yeah, I know I said I wasn't going to blog about my battle with breast cancer. It has consumed my life; I guess I've changed my mind.

Why I Haven't Called or Written

These past two weeks have been very difficult. Forgive me if I haven't written or returned your call. Sitting at the computer takes more muscles than I have right now. You might not think it, but talking on the phone takes a tremendous amount of energy. I am lacking in both muscles and energy right now.

My days are measured in increments between pain pills. The accomplishments have been few -- two trips to see the doctors, my first shower after surgery, washing my hair on my own, sleeping through the night.

I've had a few set backs in the past couple of days so the pain has been extreme. Friday night I took to bed and, since then, have ventured no further than the bathroom. My husband has been promising that every day can only get better. It's a good thing I am an optimist; I believe him.

It seems cancer is a major theme in our family's life.


My mother's father, my Uncle Dave, died of lung cancer almost nine years ago. My cousin, Cathy, one of Uncle Dave's daughters, is the chair of the Allen Park, Michigan Relay for Life event to benefit the American Cancer Society May 19-20, 2007.

Cathy has asked my sister, Roni, and me to be the poster children of this year's event. I am honoured.

Cancer runs up both sides of our family tree. On my mother's side, her brother, Dave, and sister, Rosemary, both died from lung cancer. Breast cancer seems to come from my father's side of the tree, including my father's sister, Pat, then Roni, now me.

During this battle with breast cancer, I am already grateful to the American Cancer Society for their on-line resources and support. If you would like to support Cathy's Relay efforts, I'd be grateful, too. After all, I'm one of the poster children for cancer this year.

Smelling the Spring Flowers

Today is day 5 post-double-mastectomy-breast-cancer surgery. It is difficult to remind myself that life is good. This is a horrible disease, a painful antidote, a life-changing event over which I have very, very little control. Not easy to accept for a self-admitted control freak.

I have been so tempted to name this post "Tits and Pussy." I figured it would likely generate a lot of readers, many of whom would have been so disappointed by the content. The tits part, I think, is self-explanatory. For almost two months now my breasts have been the centre of my universe. For five days now, the centre of my entire being. The pussy part might be a little surprising to some. It seems that our cat, Chia, cannot forget that I have saved her life twice in the past couple months. Since I came home from surgery last Wednesday, she has not left my side. If I dare leave my bed without an attendant, she follows me, tattling at the top of her lungs to anyone who'll listen. In telling a story to my mother yesterday, I pretended to cry. The poor cat started to panic. It took hours of petting her with my one good hand to convince her that I was not in any danger. Most people have a guardian angel - I have a guardian cat!

Believe it or not, it has been wonderful having her here for comfort and love. Most of the burden of caring for me has been on the strong shoulders of my wonderful husband, Ljuban. After all, he's been my primary care-giver, drain-emptier, pee-assister, hair-washer, tea-maker, up-and-down-the-stairs-runner, with much-appreciated assistance from my Mom and daughter, Shannon. But it's been the cat who's been there to make sure that I've adjusted my pillow properly, have my left arm elevated, am covered and warm even though the windows have been open on these beautiful summer-like spring days. She's the only one who knows if I've been crying, hurting, grimacing, shifting position by degrees.

She's been my loyal companion through countless episodes of The Munsters. Yes, The Munsters has (have?) been my escape through this recovery. My brother, Joe, lent us the box set some time ago where it sat largely ignored on the DVD pile. What better way to not think than to immerse yourself in the antics of America's first ghoulishly funny family? Once I am well, I probably won't watch another episode again as long as I live (I hope), and I'm sure I shall quickly forget them all, but these past few days and very long nights, they are my refuge. It takes far less commitment than watching TV. If I fall asleep I can quickly rewind to my last conscious memory. It generates only a few belly laughs, a few more chuckles and is incredibly well-written, well-acted and wholesomely entertaining. I have enjoyed watching the evolution of the writing and production teams, the characters, costumes, budgets over time. Since there are credit courses in university on shows like Seinfeld (I don't get it) and The Simpsons (ditto), there should certainly be critical analysis courses on The Cultural Evolution of The Munsters.

I'm sorry if you haven't heard from me. I have written very few emails since it takes a lot of energy to sit up and type at my computer. My left arm is very numb, and seemingly feeling numb-er the more the medication wears off. It is even more difficult to find the energy to talk on the phone.

I have a lot of thoughts although very few are coherent. Far fewer are interesting at this time to anyone other than me.

I have been blessed with an abundance of spring flowers, thank you dear Friends! Our bedroom is quite colourful and lively, so much so, that we have started spreading the bouquets and arrangements throughout the house.

Today I ventured out for a "walk" -- it was my first time downstairs and a few steps beyond our front porch -- to enjoy the spring flowers now blooming in our gardens.

Instead of focusing on my pain, misery, feelings of despair, today's post is entitled "Smelling the Spring Flowers" because it is positive, optimistic and hopeful. And probably more family-appropriate than "Tits and Pussy."

Kicking Cancer Ass

My sister Roni is beating cancer with a combination of courage, fortitude and 17 pair of kick-ass “cancer boots.” I think her wonderful husband, Wayne, bought her a pair of boots for every chemotherapy treatment plus a few extras on those really tough, really low days. She’s been a strong, brave soldier – even when she didn’t want to be. Having completed chemo, Roni is now undergoing five weeks of radiation. Every day she reports which pair of boots she's worn for that day's treatment: purple with fur, black patent leather, brown suede... I think she's most looking forward to getting a few new pairs as she nears the end of her treatment regimen.

Now, I guess it's my turn. Just over a month ago, I learned I have breast cancer. Same as Roni. Same as my Aunt Pat. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. It's my turn to join the club. Statistics say 1 in 9, I'm thinking it's a lot more pervasive that that. After all, I have three sisters; this makes it two in four.

If you're a regular or deep reader of this blog, you may know that I had a mammogram and breast ultrasound last September. Turns out the doctors missed it then. (BTW, I take back every nice thing I said about that mammo machine.)

Since "the boot thing" has already been done, Roni and Wayne sent me my very own pair of kick cancer ass shoes to wear to my first appointment with the breast surgeon.

These are definitely kick ass shoes. In fact, they remind me of the shoes worn by Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz.

Surgery is scheduled for April 18. I don't quite know what to expect after that. Some of my recovery will be different than Roni's, some of it may be similar. It's a good thing I've taken these last six months to get healthy. I've lost 25+ pounds and have been working out to tone and strengthen my body. I didn't know it then, but I suppose it has all been so I'd be healthy enough - emotionally and physically - to kick cancer ass.

Although I may update from time to time, I don't plan to blog about my cancer experience. It's far too personal.... I mean, it's not exactly the same as confessing that I watch American Idol. (More on AI later.)

And besides, right now, I'm still worried about our cat!