Life, accommodated.

My daughter in her support bathing cap

Clearly, I am no blogger with my posts coming at a pitiful rate of once every 8 weeks! But, here is your bi-monthly update:

I did shave my head. It was not as empowering as it looks on tv. I cried and my daughter gave me a lecture about how hair is not actually an important body part (and is certainly nothing to cry over). I was surprised that she didn't have a powerpoint prepared to support her convincing argument.

Though we went back to the basics in many ways (like having to focus on eating, sleeping, and hand washing), we still managed to live our lives. We had an activity-packed summer during each of my off-treatment periods of two weeks. My favourite excursion was a stay at the airport hotel that has a water slide. We changed in our hotel room and wore bathing caps and goggles so that we would seem like an intense swim duo instead of people dealing with cancer. It was during this trip that my daughter coined the term "support bathing cap."

My best update of all is that I just had my last A/C chemotherapy treatment! I honestly can't believe that I made it through. I wanted to quit so many times. I am starting a new treatment that will apparently not make me spend my week camping out on the bathroom floor. Yay!

The Mia

The pixie pioneer

The last two weeks have gone much better than the first week. Thankfully, the vomiting stopped after week 1 and I was able to deal with the exhaustion by napping or watching a show from my growing arsenal (it turns out that the best thing that people can do for me is bring over complete seasons of the shows that they are watching). I have ploughed through Californication, Gossip Girl, Parks and Recreation, The Big C, and I just started Mad Men. I feel less lazy (and like someone who has actual goals) when I watch something from start to finish. In my opinion, you should really watch The Big C, it is a non-saccharine yet touching depiction of cancer and life (http://www.sho.com/site/thebigc/home.sho).

My version of the Mia

I have also lost a lot of hair in the last two weeks; I inherited a ridiculously thick head of hair so it has been a very drawn-out process. I have dealt with my hair loss in stages. I started by buying a really gorgeous wig (what would I do without Etsy?) that was cut to look like my old hair. I went on to get a  really nice pixie hair cut which I managed to keep for a week! And, today, I am going for the full on shave, from Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby to G.I. Jane. I will let you know how it goes!

Stand by Me

I am going to start with an apology (to you and to me). I'm sorry for failing to write for two months. It is true that I have been very busy and tired, but it is also true that I was pretty depressed and was finding it difficult to accomplish any thing that lay outside of my usual daily demands.

But, I think that I managed daily life surprisingly well. In the last two months:

• I have increased my strength and range of motion (I can even carry my sleeping daughter home after an evening with friends and can do most yoga poses).  
• I survived a poorly timed week and a half of chicken pox where my daughter, full of energy, complained incessantly. I am very proud of myself for refraining from saying, "try having cancer" every time she whined (instead, I calmly applied more calamine lotion). 
• I had a birthday and threw my first real party since my surgery; there were many margaritas and tacos served and people stayed well beyond the stated end time. 
• I helped two of my M.A. students submit their theses by the deadline, the most demanding and satisfying of my recent accomplishments.

However, along with these achievements came a pretty big blow. I found out that I needed chemotherapy (as a preventative measure, thankfully). I was prescribed 6 months of two different kinds of chemotherapy (for three months each). This is apparently common protocol but it really came as a shock to me. I was under the pretty naive impression that surgery was sufficient (especially after finding out that my cancer did not spread to nearby lymph nodes).

I actually started chemo on Monday (today is day 6 of 168) and it is pretty much as nightmarish as I had imagined. But, I am thankful for my daughter's grandparents who helped me out at the beginning of the week, for day camp so that I can rest up for the evenings, for my daughter who is resilient and kind, for my friends who are all standing by me, and for french fries (the only food that I seem to be able to eat).

To help you relate (or, maybe to bring you down to my level), here is a link to the best vomit scene in the history of film. It is the first thing that I thought of when my chemotherapy side effects started with a vengeance. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9S7kg1IhZ7M&feature=related

Merci!

Great news, I woke up after surgery! I am happily recovering at home and rediscovering daytime television and naps. Of course, I have many people to thank for the role that they played in getting me to this land of sweatpants and everyday luxury (seriously, I now have 7 pillows on my bed).

Thank you to my doctors for their precision, professionalism, and comforting bedside manner. Thank you to the nurses and staff at the Jewish General Hospital for their kindness, concern, humour, encouragement, and conscientious care. Thank you to my friends and family who texted, emailed, and phoned me to offer love and support. I treasure each of those messages. Thank you to friends who have given me rides, brought over delicious food, taken me for walks, and who have come by to sit and have a cup of tea. Thank you to my cousin who came to stay with me after surgery and to my sister who is coming tomorrow to help me with my daughter when she returns from her stay with her grandparents. Thank you to Tina Fey for writing a book that is so funny that it leaves me reaching for my pain medication every time I have a belly laugh.

Thank you especially to my dear friend S.R. who was with me throughout the entire surgical process, who served as my advocate (I needed one), and who slept on uncomfortable chairs to stay by my side. She held my vomit bucket (which I unfortunately used for two days), brushed my hair because I could not raise my arms, and fetched anything that I could not reach (which was pretty much everything). Amazingly, she managed to do all of this while making me feel like we were having a regular conversation at any Montreal hipster bar. The whining, sighing, and occasional moaning from the other patients really added to the hipster bar feel of my hospital room (in fact, I was astonished to find a lack of lumber jack shirts, bad eyeglasses, and ironic moustaches when I peaked around the curtain at the other patients). I know that S.R. wants no accolades, so I will simply quote one of my favourite Weakerthans songs to express my appreciation. Dear S.R., " I know you might roll your eyes at this, but I'm so glad that you exist."

M-Day

On July 29th, 1981 my mother woke me up at 4:00 am to watch the Royal wedding with her (incidentally, my daughter was born on the same day exactly 23 years later). I will never forget my mother's expression of pure joy and satisfaction when Lady Diana walked down the aisle in her ornate dress that required several handlers.  She collected all sorts of royal-related memorabilia but her most prized possession was a replica of princess Diana's sapphire ring that she bought from the Shopping Network when she was recovering from her mastectomy. I inherited this ring when she died and it is now my most prized possession.

I have to say that I am generally a woman of science but even I can't deny the seemingly ethereal connections at play here. I  am having my mastectomy tomorrow, and I will be recovering during the new Royal wedding. My original (pre-diagnosis) plan for tomorrow was to wear my ring to a friend's place and drink mimosas at 4:00 am. Instead, I will keep my ring safely at home (so that no one steals it when I am a drugged out disaster) and I will watch the wedding on my phone from my hospital bed. I can't imagine any other scenario that could make me feel closer to my mother.

Wish me luck. Or, better yet, wish me good science.

    

Thank you, Mike Seaver...

I am having surgery in three days. I don't think that I have stopped planning since I first received my diagnosis. I have written grant applications, submitted grades, commented on theses, and found back-up plans for my students. I bought a month's worth of supplies, arranged my house so that my things are within arm's reach, and organized my daughter's room so that she can maintain it when I cannot. I also drank, sang, danced on tables, and ate boob-shaped cupcakes.

I keep recalling the episode of Growing Pains where Mike stays home from school and realizes that the world continues on without him (his epiphany is represented by Boner laughing with others while he is left to stare at the scene longingly). I suppose that I should learn a lesson from Mike Seaver. I will try to let go of the things that usually occupy my thoughts and energies, the things that I do for others. I am going to try to focus on myself. Of course, I do realize that this will also entail having to accept that things will move forward without me, at least for a little while.

Boobs do not make a mom...

Over the course of my 6.5 years as a mom I have had two strikingly ambivalent moments where I was simultaneously concerned about and proud of my parenting (incidentally, both occurred during pretty trying times). The first was during a kitchen dance party when my then 18-month old daughter was caught dancing on the table to a Hank Williams Jr. tune, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat. I often joke that this was the moment when I realized I should not be in charge of raising a child, but it is truthfully also when I knew that we were going to be just fine.

The second occurred more recently when I broached the topic of my diagnosis with my daughter. I didn't want to scare her by talking directly about cancer so opted for a frank discussion about my surgery. I told her that I was taking this approach to avoid being in the same situation as my mom, so that I could live a nice long life. She put on a teary-eyed brave face and listened attentively to all the details and asked good questions about the surgery and about our lives in relation to it. I gave her honest answers and I let her have some control over the situation by asking her to decide whether she wanted to tell any of her friends (she didn't) and whether we should keep our nonchalant attitude about nakedness since she may catch a glimpse of my scars (she didn't think so).

And, after a bit more pondering she said, "Boobs do not make a mom"--a statement so sophisticated and astute that it made me question whether I was speaking with a child. It seems that I may have pushed my daughter into some kind of pseudo-adulthood by trying to raise her to be responsible, independent, and a critical thinker. Although I definitely appreciate her maturity (especially right now), I may need to bust out the Hank Williams Jr., host a kitchen dance party, and bring a bit of her childhood back.