Cancer Fabulous Diaries

Rethink Breast Cancer Presents

CANCER FABULO US DIARIES

by Sylvia Soo

Be cancer fabulous Be bruised battered but never broken down fabulous just be carve a space in this world big enough to love yourself in even as they carve through your chest pump through your veins wrap you in gauze wrap yourself in this cloak yourself in this hold it up like a shield against your heart impossible means nothing to you when the odds were one in ten one in a hundred one in a thousand you were that one that one who clung to life when it was easier not to dragged yourself off bathroom floors wiped the tears from your eyes last night’s food from your mouth and did the impossible refused to lay down and give up surrender or retreat this is what beautiful looks like

it is raw and uncovered it is bald and stunning it is twisted and tangled It is a crooked line of scars criss crossing towards a heart big enough to love a nation this is what beautiful looks like it is what exists when we are broken down past ego or understanding when we are faced with a body that sends distress signals in the form of a painless lump when we are forced then to cling to a soul that refuses to give up this is what beautiful looks like so you bare your scars for us to look upon so that we can trace them like maps towards our own understanding remind us that there are no treatments for your smile there is no prescription for laughter there is no cure for love you remind us what beautiful really looks like

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Credits

PUBLISHER RETHINK BREAST CANCER PROJECT DIRECTORS MJ DECOTEAU, SYlvia SOO MANAGING EDITORS DIANE PETERS, RONNILYN PUSTIL ART DIRECTOR CLAYTON BUDD GRAPHIC DESIGNER & PRODUCTION VISHANA LODHIA Illustrator Sabrina Soo PHOTOGRAPERS MACKENZIE JAMES, ADAM COHEN, MELISSA DI PASQUALE, CHRISTINA GAPIC, DONG KIM, DAVID JAY, Gabe McClintock, JENNIFER PAUL, SCOTT RAMSAY, ERICH SAIDE, SEVGKI K PHOTOGRAPHY, SABRINA SOO, GARY SOO PHOTOGRAPHY ASSISTANT ERIK PUTZ MAKEUP ARTISTS, ASSISTANTS & STYLISTS SARAH BOTTOS, TERRI DACQUISTO, THERESA LELO NUTH, MILA VICTORIA

Thank You

This project has allowed me to interview many inspiring women who have selflessly shared their stories with me. It has also allowed me the opportunity to collaborate with gracious photographers and artists who have donated their time and art to this project. I would like to thank my dear sister, Sabrina, for putting up with all my bossy demands, my family for adjusting their lives for me during my darkest days and my dear friend Delasi who was the definition of friend during my cancer journey—you never left my side. Special thanks to Rethink Breast Cancer for all the amazing work you do, and for the opportunity to put my diaries into print. Words cannot express my gratitude. To all the amazing people I have met along the way: thank you for making the world a little more fabulous.

Sylvia Soo

FORWARD I am thrilled that Rethink Breast Cancer has been able to collaborate with a young, dynamic advocate like Sylvia Soo and fund this important project. It’s been so exciting to see firsthand how Sylvia’s original idea for an innovative new resource for young women dealing with breast cancer has gone through various stages of development and is finally being birthed in the form of Cancer Fabulous Diaries.

Sylvia reached out to our organization shortly after her diagnosis via a passionate email request to volunteer for Rethink that effused such energy and enthusiasm that we just knew we had to harness it. We know from years of working with young women with breast cancer that feelings of isolation and not fitting in are common themes. Our hope is that CFD will help young women cope with their diagnosis with practical tips, inspirational musings and hopefully a chance to see a bit of themselves reflected in these pages.

Congratulations to Sylvia for her creative vision, insights and hours of hard work! The funds for this project were raised through Boobyball, a fabulous annual cocktail party fundraiser for Rethink Breast Cancer. We know Boobyball supporters will be proud of helping to make such an important new resource possible.

Sincerely, MJ DeCoteau Founder and Executive Director Rethink Breast Cancer

ABOUT Rethink Breast Cancer is Canada’s leading breast cancer organization exclusively focused on the needs of young women. Rethink burst onto the scene in 2001 with a desire to change the face of breast cancer—to show that breast cancer is not just an older women’s disease; that young women get breast cancer, too. When it comes to young women and breast cancer, the numbers may be small but the needs are very real. Rethink Breast Cancer’s mission is to continuously pioneer cutting-edge breast cancer education, support and advocacy that speak fearlessly to the unique needs of young women.

For more information visit rethinkbreastcancer.com or call 1-866-RETHINK.

What’s a girl like me to do when she’s diagnosed with breast cancer?

I was a fashion-forward 25 year old with a bad case of wanderlust and an enormous shoe collection. I was suddenly stuck between surgery appointments and the chemo ward.

I shaved my head, slipped on my stilettos and pushed through the dark nights and tears—embracing my journey as best as I could.

I started journaling. Between cycle four and five of chemo, I acted in an independent film. I posed for the Pulitzer Prize–nominated The SCAR Project. And I was a subject in two documentaries: I Don’t Have Time for This and Daytime Emmy–awarded Baring It All. I dared cancer to tie down my spirit.

“Cancer Fabulous” is the philosophy that you can be fabulous even with a cancer diagnosis. It is about drawing out strengths that were already there that you may not have realized you had. It’s about growing as a person while refusing to compromise your style—looking good and feeling better. It’s about taking the sour lemons life throws at you and making sweet lemonade.

MJ at Rethink Breast Cancer approached me about turning my diary into a book. With Rethink’s support, we were able to create Cancer Fabulous Diaries. It is a labour of love for me and everyone else who has been involved. I hope it will plant a seed of hope in your darkest hours. I hope that it will inspire you to be fabulous.

Sylvia Soo

1 FINDING OUT 2 SURGERY

Sections

3 CHEMO 4 SIDE EFFECTS 5 BODY IMAGE 6 RECONSTRUCTION 7 MOVING ON

FINDING OUT

I haven’t told The biopsy Date:

March 23

I’m feeling: Physically TRAUMATIZED

My friend Delasi drops me off at the breast clinic. As I sit in the waiting room, I notice I’m the youngest person here. The next youngest person must be at least 40. When it’s my turn to see the doctor, she examines my breasts and feels the lump. I’m a little relieved when she says it’s probably just a knot, common among Asian women.

many people about my mysterious LUMP

The next 20 minutes result in an ultrasound. A warm gel is applied onto my left breast, as a contraption glides over my breast to reveal a picture on the screen. The lump measures over 2 cm. I make a mental note that it has grown from the time I found it last July and from the time I went for a check-up earlier this year.

The sonographer doesn’t sound as optimistic as the doctor. She suggests that I do a biopsy because she’s not sure what to make of the lump. I consent to having the biopsy done right then and there. I’m so nervous. I sign a form and then return to the ultrasound room. I hate needles. The sonographer uses a local anesthetic to freeze my left breast and it numbs instantly. She then informs me of the loud clapping sound that I will hear each time a sample is taken. My left breast is sterilized, and then I hear the awful clapping sound as the hollow needle sucks a sample from the lump. It stings and I clench my hands together into a tight fist. The assistant assures me it’s going to be OK. All I can do is pray that it’ll be over quickly. The second clap seems louder than the first and I wince at the sudden sting. Finally, the last one goes off and I wince again as I feel another sharp sting. I let my breath go and the nurse cleans me off, puts some dressing on the small wound and sends me off with an ice pack.

I hope it’s nothing because I can’t handle anything more than this.

Doctor: “Hello, is this Sylvia Soo?” Me: “Yes it is.”

Doctor: “I have the results from the biopsy. Are you driving?” (I’m in the car with my dad.)

Me: “Um…no, I’m not. Is it bad news?”

Doctor: “We found something.”

I feel like I’ve just been slammed into a brick wall. I can’t talk to the doctor. I ask her to call me back. My heart beats faster but I appear to be calm. I say nothing to my dad and we continue the drive to my brother’s house.

A thousand thoughts race through my mind.

When the doctor calls me back a couple hours later, her words whiz past me. I feel like this isn’t happening to me. Finally, I break when the doctor mentions chemo. The tears flow down my face and all I want is a hug.

BROKEN Date:

APRIL 7

I’m feeling: Like A brokenwinged BIRD It’s two days before my sentinel lymph node biopsy.

I continue to tell my close friends about the new drama in my life. Sometimes it feels like this isn’t happening to me. I’ve spent the last three years of my life free as a bird, traveling and trying to be the best person I can be. And now I’m feeling like a broken-winged bird.

Today I broke down a little. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I was listening to “Angel” by David Archuleta and it made me feel sad. There’s just so much to do. I have to see the fertility doctor tomorrow. I’m not sure if I’m ready for the sentinel lymph node biopsy on Thursday. I haven’t been eating properly and I have to get back into an exercise routine.

Fertility Date:

APRIL 8

I’m feeling: Like IIm running out of Time Today I saw the fertility doctor. Sigh. Another thing to think about. Depending on the chemo cocktail I’ll have to take, it could affect my ovaries, causing me to become infertile. Sadness. So my option—along with all the other options—is to freeze my eggs.

The chance of me becoming pregnant (when I decide to) is 30% with just my eggs, 40% if my eggs are inseminated. This led to the topic of how serious my boyfriend and I are. The doctor almost made me teary-eyed when he said that in a way I was lucky that we are going through the “war” early. Sometimes, he said, Mr. Maybe becomes Mr. Right if he decides to stick around through all the tears, aches and pains.

My boyfriend has been really sweet and supportive, but I don’t think I can ask him to do something so serious, so early on, no matter how much he tells me he loves me. I might go with the egg-only option.

Also, there is a drug available that I can take while doing my chemo—Zoladex. Taking it creates a higher chance that my ovaries will remain operational after chemo. It shuts them down, possibly preventing harm. As a result of all these hormonal changes in my body, I will be like a 50-year-old going through menopause. Early menopause, that sounds scary. But, luckily, I’m young and my body will have no problem bouncing back after I stop taking the medication. The doctor said that having no periods and experiencing hot flashes and sleep disturbances will be the least of my worries compared to chemo. FANTASTIC. After my doctor appointment, my mom took me shopping. As I roamed the produce aisles with my lists of “what to eat” printed off the Internet by my mom, I got a little emotional. Now I’m sitting on my brother’s couch, watching reality TV out of the corner of my eye. I’m tired but waiting for Kelvin to finish his time on the computer so I can see if my boyfriend is online for our last chat before I go under the knife. I can’t believe I’m going tomorrow for my sentinel lymph node biopsy. I’m tired. Somebody called me today and never left a message. I’m confused because I’ve met so many people in the last three weeks and I can’t remember who is who.

I had a bilateral mastectomy while I was pregnant.

The cancer was just on the right, but I got rid of them both.

The week that I got my first chemo done, I cut my hair to my shoulders to get used to the length. After a week it started trickling down, so my boyfriend shaved it. I didn’t want a wig because I felt like I was going to be more paranoid with a wig. I got a lot of stares because of that and because I was pregnant.

Not only because this crazy chick is bald, but she’s pregnant and she looks 14.

didn’t know I was pregnant.

I was getting a biopsy done because Fili, my boyfriend of nine years at the time, told me, “You have a weird lump there. Go get it checked out.” I didn’t pay mind to it because I had many lumps—I have fibrocystic breasts. They were double D’s. Everyone thought they were fake. They were awesome. I loved my boobs.

So I went to get it checked. I did an ultrasound and a mammogram. The breast ultrasound showed seven lumps in total, three in the right and four in the left. The mammogram didn’t pick anything up. The technician kept asking me: “Are you pregnant?” And I was like, “No, I don’t think so.”

I went home with that in my head and thought maybe I should check just in case they can’t do the biopsy or something.

I did a home test and it turns out I was pregnant. The next day, they did the first biopsy on the right side, which was the lump my boyfriend told me about.

Two days later I went for the left side, and while I was lying on the table the doctor tells me that the lump on the right side was positive for cancer. I was just like, yeah, you’re lying. But his eyes were watery because I had been doing biopsies since I was 16. My mom had breast cancer—she died in 2007.

The first thing he tells me is that I need to terminate the pregnancy because it’s going to kill me. The hormones feed the cancer, and the cancer can grow and spread. I said, “I’m not going to do that.” I had to go to four OB doctors before I found my prenatal doctor because none of them wanted to deal with the situation.

“This can’t be happening. I’m only 23 years old.

This is really happening, and I’m pregnant?” I was confused, at a loss for words. I cried when the doctor told me. And I cried when we told my in-laws and I cried when my hair fell out. But that was it, I never cried anymore.

While I was pregnant and getting chemo, I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. People laughed at me and said, “You’re crazy! How can you be happy while you’re going through something like that?”

But I was truly happy. (However, after I had the baby and did chemo, I felt like crap. It really knocked me down.)

I started writing little things here and there because I wanted to do a little scrapbook for the baby of what I went through while I was pregnant with cancer. Believe it or not, I enjoyed being pregnant. I think that’s why I felt like I was meant to be pregnant while being diagnosed with cancer because it really helped me go through it all. I focused on the baby more than the cancer. It was fun getting ultrasounds every week. My pregnancy was awesome.

quick q&A Things I can’t live without: My son, music and Fruity Pebbles.

In 5 years: I will have another addition if I can have more children or adopt. I also hope to be a behaviour specialist for children. I can’t stay away from them. I could help them rise to their full potential Best cure for a chemo hangover: An F-U Cancer Party thrown by your best friends.

Hardest thing about finding out you had cancer: How was I going to get through it all after just finding out I was five weeks pregnant?

Hardest person to tell that you had cancer: Fili, my boyfriend of nine years at the time.

Your greatest support: Fili.

CHRISTINA

1. Will my hair fall out?

2. Will I be able to work when I’m going through chemotherapy?

3. How long will it take until I am finished everything and life can get back to normal?

4. Should I start avoiding certain foods or activities?

5. I can’t afford some of the medications. What are my options?

6. Will this affect my ability to have children?

7. I’m thinking about going the “alternative” route. What are your thoughts?

8. Will I have to have both chemotherapy and radiation?

9. What can I expect over the next few months?

10. Am I going to die?

surgery

Date:

APRIL 9

I’m feeling:

So damn

HUNGRY

My day started bright and early at 6 am with a shower.

Then I received my daily phone call from Delah to tell me everything was going to be all right. She’s such a good friend.

The blue dye wasn’t bad at all. I was so scared it was going hurt like the biopsy, but I didn’t feel anything.

As the nurse injected me, all I could think was “Thailand, Thailand, Kenya, Kenya,” beautiful memories that helped me distract myself.

After I was injected with blue dye, I was free to leave for a couple of hours. When I returned to the hospital, the rest of the day was torture. While I lay on a flat bed, they took four pictures of my lymph nodes with a special machine that I’m assuming was an X-ray. I was already beginning to feel little hunger pains. Fasting before surgery makes no sense to us hungry people. Then I went to see what time I had to check in at day ward for my sentinel lymph node biopsy. Unfortunately, they made me check in early.

This really sucked because it was 11 am and I was bored out of my mind an hour past my surgery time at 3 pm when they finally came to get me.

The only thing that kept me sane was listening to the other patients in the room. A thin curtain separated my bed and that of the patient next to me. I could tell by his voice that he was an elderly gentleman, probably in his sixties. By way of eavesdropping I learned that he had tumours removed. What surprised me about this man was his cheerful attitude—surgery

had not phased him one bit. There was not an ounce of self-pity in his voice. In stark contrast was the patient across the room. I watched and listened as she griped and complained about every single little thing. Note to self: Be more like the cheery man beside me.

Every once in a while the smell of toast wafted by.

I decided that I was definitely having toast after my surgery. With each ticking second, I wondered if I was going to die from dehydration. Finally, it was my turn. My surgeon came to answer any last-minute questions, then the anaesthetist saw me. After a few more minutes of waiting, I was pushed into the operating room.

The room was very sterile. The sad process began.

First, the IV, which the stupid anaesthetist couldn’t get into me, caused blood to run down my hand, then the intravenous needle hurt soooo bad as he pushed it in further. Finally, when the drugs were pumped through, it hurt! I was gasping for air because I could hardly breathe. I glanced over at my hand, which was red with blood, and then I blacked out.

It seemed like two minutes later when I tried to make sense of my surroundings. Through the grog, two nurses exclaimed, “You’re done!” My throat was so dry I could not respond. I could almost feel the indent of the tube they had stuck down my throat. I was wheeled back to the day ward, where I passed out.

Words cannot express the sadness inside me. I am so sad, so very sad. My surgeon told me that the cancer had spread to two of the four lymph nodes they removed. The next three minutes of what she said whizzed by me. Everything has changed. The decisions I’ve already made need to be re-evaluated.

Reconstructive surgery won’t be able to happen for at least a year. If I have a mastectomy, I will have one breast for one whole year.

I tried my hardest not to cry. It was really hard when the surgeon herself started getting teary-eyed as I stared deeply into her eyes. I had to look away.

The tears finally came as I drove away from the hospital with my brother. He gave me a hug. I’ve never truly known the power of a hug until this whole cancer thing.

I went to Tim Hortons with my brother and Delasi. It’s clear that they are against me going to visit my boyfriend in Korea before I have to really deal with all this cancer stuff. This is a hard decision. I went back to the clinic to find out the earliest they could get me in—next Thursday. I feel like two weeks can make a difference, perhaps the tumour could grow even more. The doctor said it was OK for me to travel, but it’s not her body, it’s mine.

Emily called. I know she understands how hard it would be for me to go ahead with the surgery without seeing my boyfriend first. Sunny, from Korea, called too. I have such great, great friends.

The tears really poured out when my boyfriend told me he’d be upset if I came to visit him. He wanted me to take care of it ASAP. I cried and I cried and I cried. I’m so sad at this point. I was really looking forward to the trip.

Date:

APRIL 18

I’m feeling:

FRUSTRATED

Today I was supposed to leave to visit my boyfriend.

I lost $200 for cancelling my flight, but that’s not what makes me sad. What makes me terribly sad is that I don’t feel that I can leave. I can’t even talk to a medical professional because everyone’s closed on the weekend! The doctor said I have up until the day before the surgery to decide on the procedure— lumpectomy or mastectomy. For someone who has a hard time deciding what to order at a restaurant, I suddenly have to decide what to do with my body, my health, my life—in less than a week.

I guess I never thought I could die at an early age, and now it could be a reality. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Last night, as I spent time with my family and talked with friends, I realized how much this is affecting not just me but everyone else.

Death has never been more than a distant thought.

Now it’s different. You always see ill people, you always hear of people dying, you always read of people getting cancer, but you never think it will happen to you. With each day I realize that I’m not

invincible. One day I’m here and the next I could be gone. Just like that. I could die. I’m a person just like everyone else. It’s a weird thought. I’m a human like everyone else, and, yes, death is a possibility.

My actions affect other people. I can’t just gallivant away because I’d have a lot of worried people thinking about me. That being said, I’m young. I can fight this thing. From now on I have to make smart decisions. I know that every second I delay could be a second off my life.

I’m not sure who dealt me my deck of cards, but it’s a bad set. I am always in control, but now I have no control and I don’t know anything anymore. Delasi spent the day with me yesterday. We talked about life. We talked about dying. My perspective has changed. I see a baby and wonder if I’ll ever have a baby. I see a couple and think how nice it would be to get married one day. Thoughts that were very far from my mind are much more closer. I know it’s not good to think negatively, but right now a tomorrow could realistically not be my reality. And all I can do is wait.

Today I switched nurse navigators. My last nurse navigator was causing me too much stress by being non-existent: not calling me, not checking if I was OK, not letting me know what my next step was. My new one is much more helpful and she made sure that I didn’t have to worry about surgical pre-admission procedures by calling and making sure they were in place. The surgeon’s secretary has also been really nice, setting up the necessary appointments, including an additional mammogram, a chest X-ray, bone scan, etc.

I talked to my surgeon again, asked her more questions and requested a different anaesthetist for my upcoming surgery.

My surgeon gave me the phone number of one of her patients who is the same age as me who is a breast cancer survivor. She is in her last stages of reconstructive surgery, and, like me, she loves to travel. It was so nice to talk to someone my age who has gone through what I’m going through.

My brother set up the dresser for me in my new room. Finding out that I had breast cancer one week after returning from an overseas job had left me homeless, living out of suitcases and sleeping in my sister’s bed. My brother and sister-in-law suggested that we all move into a three-bedroom apartment. I guess I can finally put my stuff away and give up hopes of flying away from all my troubles.

Thankfully, things are finally coming together after a whole month, and it is such a huge relief. I know the surgery on Thursday won’t be fun, but having people doing their jobs (aka healthcare workers) takes a huge load off my shoulders. Though I’m still struggling with whether I’m going to have a mastectomy or a lumpectomy, things are looking up.

I wonder if my boyfriend will stick around through all this. I know he’s the kind of guy who likes to take it day by day.

While I’m not a girl who likes to jump into things, at a time like this, I really need someone to be there. Even if he can’t be here physically, I really need him emotionally.

I don’t know how having one breast would make him react, one of the reasons why I don’t want to have the mastectomy.

It’s such a hard thing when you love someone and you wonder if that person who has told you that he loves you so much will be there when all is said and done. It’s not something I can think about right now. If that’s the case, I hope he lies until I’m better and able to handle another loss.

Date: april 24 I’m feeling:

not too shabby

Yesterday morning, after four hours of sleep, I woke up, showered and checked in at the Miseracordia Hospital at 7:15 am. I was feeling great. When the nurses told me that they were ready to bring me to the operating room I got a little teary-eyed, but soon enough I was cracking jokes with the lovely nurse who cracked them back at me all the way down to the operating room. Sabrina followed behind, snapping picture after picture like the paparazzi, except I wasn’t famous, just her big sister.

In the surgery room, the anaesthetist was gentle. I woke up, what felt like two minutes later, in a groggy faze with my whole family standing before me. It was already 9 pm! I experienced a few dizzy spells that were quickly fixed by the drugs my nurse gave me.

Thankfully, mom stayed overnight to make sure I was OK and to help me go to the bathroom.

I woke up feeling fantastic and was discharged at 10 am. Taking a shower that night was interesting. I undressed and looked at my naked body. In the

mirror, a robot stared back at me. Drains and tubes stuck out of my body, and an array of gauze, bandages and dressings lay on the counter before me. The left side of my chest, where my breast was taken, was sunken and bruised, in its place a thunderbolt scar zigzagging across my chest. I had Googled enough pictures of mastectomies to not be weirded out by my own body. Showering took twice as long as normal.

I have to empty the JP drains and I can’t wait to get them out. I don’t find them that disgusting, although I am lugging around miniature cannon balls of my own blood as it is suctioned from tubes extending from my body. It’s more of an inconvenience than anything.

The pain is tolerable. There’s just a slight tightness in my chest and my armpit (where the lymph nodes were taken) looks a bit strange. However, in time I should be good as new. Now I pray for good news when the results from the biopsy come back.

Reflecting Date:

april 25 I’m feeling: A little

more than ALL RIGHT Today when the home care nurse came to my house to see if my drains were doing their job she was completely surprised to see me open the door with a huge smile on my face. As she checked my bandages, she mentioned that she thought this visit would be very hard because of how young I am, but she exclaimed how that wasn’t the fact at all.

The first weeks were hard. However, I feel like the hardest part is over, having to make one of the toughest decisions of my life—whether or not to take off my breast.

I think people are surprised when they see me upbeat and happy. I don’t want to feel handicapped, because I’m not. I’ll continue to be the independent woman I am. I want to hear happy success stories.

I already know about the odds of dying from breast cancer. I know that death waits and reaches its nasty claws out at me, but I am a fighter. I want to surround myself with positive people.

Date:

APRIL 26

I’m feeling:

Claustrophobiic LAST NIGHT WAS A NIGHTMARE. I am completely frustrated. I want to rip these damn drains out of me because they feel so uncomfortable. I want it to be a year from now. I want to be settled and find a new place so I can get back into a routine, so I can stop forgetting everything and remember what is , going on in my friends lives. I want to start my career. I just want some damn sleep.

LAST NIGHT WAS A NIGHTMARE.

It started on Saturday Night. My arm and the length of my wound started tingling. When I emptied my drain, it measured 30 mL rather than the usual 17 mL. I thought it was strange.

When I woke up the next morning, there was a lot of tension in my arm.

I brushed it off as a result of my arm exercises from the night before.

As the day progressed, my body started to feel achy. My muscles and joints started to hurt really badly. Around 3:30 pm, I lay in bed wanting to cry. Then I started to get the chills. Around 5 pm my brother, Kelvin diagnosed me as having the Swine Flu. I called the nurse hotline at the insistence of Kelvin. The nurse told me to go to a doctor. It was Sunday, so I checked in at ER. The doctor was super nice. After realizing I was a chemo patient with a possible infection spreading throughout my body, he got me in pronto! When I went to pee in the cup, I was so focused on my pain that I totally forgot to do it!

I had to get blood work and two IVs because the first IV didn’t work.

I also saw two different doctors and two different nurses because of shift changes! I was extremely sore and could hardly move.

My little sister, Sabrina, watched me tear up as I lay in the skinny hospital bed. She rubbed my head and tried to distract me when I had to get my IV. I had to close my eyes because I didn’t want to watch the look of horror on Sabrina’s face as she watched the IV go in. The first sample of blood that they sent to the lab was clogged when it got there, so they had to draw some more blood. They gave me a urine test, some blood tests and a drain swab. After they gave me antibiotics through the IV, I was done! It had taken three and a half hours, relatively short for an ER. They kept the IV in my arm and asked me to come back the next morning. I took a Tylenol 3 to relieve the pain and when I woke up I was overcome with nausea.

MRS. GRUMPY The fertility doctor told me

that the

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Date: MAY 7 I’m feeling: GRUM

PY

I guess the real reason for my frustration and grump iness is that the infectio n really and truly knocke d me to the floor emotio nally—and my non-existe nt boyfriend doesn’t help.

He broke up with me.

Yes, that’s right. Right before chemo.

I try to push it out of my mind. I feel that he’s sca red of the whole cancer thin g. I don’t understand how he could say I was the bes t thing that ever happen ed to him and he loves me so much…and then wat ch me walk out of his life with out a fight. He says he’ s not happy with his life, so he can’t make me happy.

I thought he’d be there for me. Having to deal with this is hard, but I guess it’s better than having to deal with it during cancer trea tments.

I’m still the same girl—th e same girl who he sha red long walks, long talks and good laughs with. I’m still the same girl, cancer or no cancer. It’s frustrating watching the world race by as I stand alone among st the flurry of colour.

how big it was the surgeon suggested that I remove the breasts first and then do the reconstruction surgery. The less invasive, the better.

My mother had breast cancer when I was five; she was 34 or 35. I remember her always being sick in the bedroom or bathroom. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be — the double mastectomy, the chemo. It was a long six weeks because I had four drains too. And I had the baby to worry about. There was so much. It felt like there was a world war going on and emotionally, physically, everything was crazy.

he baby was about four-and-a-half months old when my husband found the lump in my left breast. I didn’t feel it, but it was almost four centimetres. I had been on cloud nine, just loving every moment of being a mommy. I breastfed for the first two months. Surprisingly, my left side produced more milk.

My husband and baby were there when I got the news. The doctor said that with the ultrasound and mammogram it looked like the lump was cancerous. I wanted more tests and she suggested a biopsy. The next day I had a biopsy at the hospital.

With the ultrasound and mammogram they found four lumps, and they took four samples out of each lump. That was painful.

Within a week the pathology results came back saying that it was cancer.

I met with a surgeon. I didn’t have the option for a lumpectomy because the lump was so big already.

I’m small chested. He said that even if we did the lumpectomy, most of my boob was going to be gone. He suggested removing only the left side and starting chemo. Initially I wanted to do one side. I chose the double because I don’t think I could have looked at myself, symmetry wise, and because my mom had it, so I had a higher chance of getting it on the other side, too. My parents initially were like, “Why would you cut the other one off if there’s nothing wrong with it?” But I felt more comfortable doing a double mastectomy, and my surgeon said OK. I had both breasts removed about one month prior to my 32nd birthday.

It was day surgery—I was in at 8 am and out by 6 pm. With the drains and everything, I had the nurse come to the house to change the dressings. My naturopathic doctor gave me herbs and remedies to take while it was healing. So when the bandages came off after six weeks the nurse was so surprised because there was no bruising or bleeding.

Initially I wanted the reconstruction done at the same time, but because of where the lump was and

The day I found out I had cancer I called my mom.

There was silence after I told her. She was probably thinking, “I went through this, you’re going to go through this now, what about my granddaughter?”

But my parents kept me very positive; they were always very strong. My mom and I are going to both do the genetic testing, because I want to see if my daughter has the gene.

Overall, there have been more ups than downs.

When I’m down, death crosses my mind, but I don’t have too many down moments. There were a handful of times when I’ve broken down. But a friend of mine said: “You just have to get back up and kick it back. Give cancer its 10 or 15 minutes of fame, then just get back up.”

I know I can beat this. Initially it was: “Why me? Why is this happening to me?” But now I think everything happens for a reason. It sounds funny but I’m glad that it happened sooner than later. There are many positive things that have come out of this negative situation. I’m very thankful for where I’m at and for the way I’ve been feeling. I see my daughter every day, I see my parents with her, and I am able to see friends and family. And to see how much my husband cares for me is a real eye-opener.

Quick Q & A Breaking point: I was looking at my calendar one night and just broke down. To see that my calendar was so busy and booked almost every day with something—appointments, etc.—made me cry! I wanted my life back like before.

Hardest thing about finding out you had cancer: I worried that I wouldn’t see my baby grow up, get married and have kids. My mom had breast cancer 26 years ago and she thought the same thing. Today, my mom has seen both my brother and I grow up, get married and have kids. I will too!

In 5 years: I will be back at school teaching special education. Life will be back to normal and even happier than I imagined because I’ll be watching my daughter growing up.

CECILIA

Q: What changes have you seen in approaches to breast cancer surgery over the years?

A: In the late ’80s, when I was a resident, it was about curing the disease—just get it out. Now it’s more about curing the person, so that you try to make sure that they look nice down the road.

Q: What are some of the common types of surgery performed in relation to breast cancer?

A: You divide them into breast and axillary (armpit). In the breast it’s mastectomy or lumpectomy. And in the armpit we start with sentinel lymph node biopsy. We then do axillary node dissection if there’s cancer in the lymph nodes.

Q: What complications can arise from surgery?

A: For immediate complications, the most common ones are bleeding and infections. Bleeding is common after a mastectomy, but less so after a lumpectomy. Because infections are not uncommon with breast surgery, we always give people antibiotics at the time of surgery.

The delayed complications tend to be seromas, which is a collection of liquid near the surgical cut. When you take the drains out from a mastectomy you can get a fluid collection underneath the flap, so we keep the drains in for a long time. (I like to keep them in until they’re draining less than about 30 ccs in 24 hours.)

The major complication that we worry about is lymphedema— swelling of the arm. After a sentinel lymph node biopsy, the risk of getting lymphedema is two to five percent. With axillary node dissection, about 17 percent of women get it. And if you add in radiation and chemotherapy, the risk is higher.

Q: What are some of the issues that a younger woman may bring to you?

A: She worries about what she will look like in clothes. She may worry about finding a partner or that her current partner might not be able to cope with this. A few think about fertility issues, so we try to bring it up early. That way, if the woman wants to consider an egg harvesting or something like that she has more time to think about it.

Q: Have you ever had a patient who has refused surgery?

A: Many. It’s really important for me to actually say, “If you don’t do something, you will die from this.” Because sometimes you just have to hear that.

Q: What are some of the changes in surgery you hope to see in the future?

A: I’d like to see it where you don’t need surgery. We are getting to the point where you get your breast cancer sample and they do a microarray—it splits the fine points of cancer—and it’ll pick your drug based on your biopsy so you’ll get very targeted therapy. You’ll get chemotherapy and you’ll only get surgery if chemo doesn’t work.

chemo

Date: JUNE 2 I’m feeling:

Flustered

So I’m utterly exhausted and nothing seems to go as planned. I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off all day. Now I’m sitting on my chair, waiting for the laundry to finish drying.

I’m still trying to get used to my short hair. It definitely makes me feel different and I’m not loving it yet, but it is what it is, I guess. I’m sure by the time I’m used to it, it’ll be time to shave my head.

Tomorrow I go for chemo. I am a little nervous because I don’t know what to expect. I can only envision myself being very nauseous. However, I took my anti-nausea steroid just a few hours ago.

I also had an injection of Zoladex in the tummy to temporarily shut down my ovaries, and blood work to make sure my white blood cells are armied up for chemo! I feel all drugged up. Tomorrow I have to be up nice and early for my four-hour dose of chemo drugs.

Bring it on.

THREE DAYS AFTER CHEMO Date: JUNE 6 I’m feeling:

Like I’m hang ging g on by a thread

I’m not going to lie.

The last three days were rough—and when I say rough, I mean rough. From the time it began to feel rough, it was like watching an hourglass full of sugar counting down the time. The sugar never seems to fall fast enough, and as I write this I’m still overcome with occasional bursts of nausea. It’s been three days and it sucks.

I was crazy to feel excited for my first day of chemo.

That feeling quickly disappeared when I was overcome with nausea a few hours after completing my chemotherapy. I checked in at 8:45 am on June 3 and was discharged at around 1 pm. Shortly after, I went to fill a prescription and was on my way to IKEA to pick up a table.

I puked

I pukedI

It was all downhill after that. in the car.

I had some soup at my sister’s house, in the car. before I got home, and when I arrived home. When I wasn’t , I felt like . When I didn’t feel like , it was extremely hard to muster enough energy to move, because I didn’t have any energy.

June 3, nicely put, was a very bad hangover.

I puked puked ing puking puking

puk-

The next day was rough as well. I spent most of the day dry heaving, Then I had to drag myself to the Cross Cancer Institute to learn how to inject myself with Neulasta, a drug to help increase my immunity.

At the grocery store I filled my cart with creamsicles, ice-cream sandwiches, chocolate pudding and soup. Strong-tasting foods and solids were hard to think about, and strong wafts of flavourful food suddenly made my stomach cringe. The rest of the day I felt very, very ill and only managed to eat about eight crackers, a bit of apple juice and I can’t remember

what else. I woke up on June 5 and thought, “Oh great, I’m still nauseous.” I felt like a fish whose stomach had been gutted out. The nurse said it would take about 24 to 48 hours for the toxins to flush out of my system but it feels like they’re still in there. My sister in law, Ebby, made me some mushroom soup.

I could hardly move, two days and I’ve had hardly anything to eat. I managed to keep down a chocolate pudding, a few crackers (enough to go with the anti-nausea medication even though it wasn’t working) and some soup. I went back to bed and slept some more.

Dad picked me up and I went to get the Blackberry that Rethink Breast Cancer and Telus had sent me!

I was so excited. The brief glimpse of the Blackberry distracted me for a few minutes from my nausea.

By 4 pm I was feeling better. The evening went well and I had never been more proud of myself for eating pizza. No joke. I managed to keep that down, along with two wings, strawberries and apple juice.

Things were looking up.

But then I woke up today and again my stomach feels gutted, as if someone took a scoop and scooped out all my insides. My head is pounding and I slowly make my way to the kitchen for a popsicle. Yes, it’s been a rough, rough, rough three days, and I only hope it’ll get better. I’m going to ask the nurse to prescribe me a different anti-nausea medication or at least to start me on an anti-nausea drip before I am sent home. My head spins thinking about my next chemo. One down (well, not quite down yet)… five more to go.

Date: I’m feeling:

JUNE 7

Like I’ve fallen into a deep, dark ho hole o

Sleep does not caress me. I feel hollow. An emptiness is rising from the pit of my stomach and it reaches out to my throat.

A wave of nausea rises. I think of many things.

My thoughts overwhelm me. I can barely see four months from now when I will be able to overcome anything, anything at all after this is done.

My ovaries feel as if they have stopped working. Like two sirens, they groan in my belly. Outside my window, birds chirp happily, oblivious to my state of being as I am consumed by physical misfortune. Will relief ever come?

I nod off to sleep around 5 am and awake again around 6:30. I can’t imagine going to physio, although I need it. My chest has started to feel tight once more. I call at 7 am and cancel my 8:15 appointment. Massage therapy will have to wait.

I leave a message for Krista, my nurse practitioner, to call me back. I’m so frustrated at my body for being so annoying. “Come on and get your damn act together,” I spit at my brain. I’m very angry.

Krista calls me back and with sympathy in her voice asks me what I’ve managed to get down these past days. She says I shouldn’t feel this crappy

by Day 5. I told her about the mini hamburger and baked potato and the bite of chicken finger that I had attempted to eat along with the one litre of apple juice over the past two or three days.

I briefly mention the chocolate pudding and crackers but feel no need to add in the popsicles and Jello. She wants me to come to the Cross Cancer Institute at 1 pm.

The greatest tasks for the day involve getting dressed and eating a bowl of Cheerios. I lie down, and at 10 minutes to noon, Ebby knocks at my door.

“I’m not sure if you know, but it’s 10 to 12.” Ten more minutes before my punctual dad shows up. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t take me too long to look fabulous these days. Ten minutes should do.” I laugh and she laughs back. I so did not look fabulous.

In 10 minutes I had run my fingers through my hair,

slipped on my hat, brushed my teeth and threw on some clothes. I was semi-fabulous.

By 1 pm I was at the Cross. I NEVER thought the day would come where I would welcome an IV. NEVER had I thought the day would come where being poked FOUR times with a needle did not make me flinch. Today I wasn’t bothered. My nurse told me that my stomach troubles were probably the result of puking all day on Wednesday and nothing to do with the Zoladex needle. I was given an acid reducer drip, an anti-nausea drip and saline solution. In just over an hour I was done, with new prescriptions in my hand: more anti-nauseas, stomach settlers and sleeping pills. I cut Krista off as she explained the side effects of the sleeping pills: “Trust me, I’ll try anything now, I just want to feel better!” She then explained how instead of the usual white blood count drop between Days 7-14, mine had already dropped. I’ll have to be very careful not to contact any germs.

“Some people whiz through chemo. Unfortunately, you got the raw end of the deal. Don’t worry, there is hope. We’ll try a whole new drug concoction for cycle 2.” Her words fill me with hope. She then asks me about my hair.

“Nope, it hasn’t started falling out yet,” I say with a smile. When she leaves, I notice a handful of hair strands on my pillow. I lovingly and delicately transfer them to my dad’s lap, and he disgustingly flicks them off.

I’m finally done and not feeling much better. By the time evening comes I’m eating much more than in the days past and have gained a bit more energy.

Mom caters to my every need. Thank God for family. Honestly, I can only take things hour by hour right now. If you aren’t feeling physically all there, sometimes all you can do is lie in bed and muster enough strength to sip some juice, even if it’s hard to swallow. What makes this tolerable are the many words of encouragement from friends and the constant help of family. Yes, sometimes it’s great to hear, “You’ve got a shitty deal,” because sometimes that’s just the way it is.

Date:

JUNE 14 I’m feeling: Horrified!

It’s Day 11 after chemo. One word to sum it up: horrific. I knew it would come, but in the back of my mind I had thought I just might be the exception.

Rather than losing my hair, I’d be saying: “I can’t believe it—I cut my hair and it didn’t fall out!”

I’m not sure how to describe the feeling of losing one’s hair—losing one’s hair from chemo, that is. I wonder if the balding man can sympathize, but I think it might be a little different. Maybe the young, balding man can sympathize, but it’s not the same!

Even though I’ve been expecting it, I guess I can express the feeling as a bit terrifying. I’ll run my hands through my hair and it’s as if my little roots have lost

their zest for life and easily detach from my head.

Oh, how easily they have given up!

So I sit on my chair, with a ball of hair beside me from running my hands through my hair. It’s not huge clumps right now, but every time I run my hands through my hair three to five strands come out. I have to keep reminding myself it was expected.

My mind still can’t comprehend what’s going on. It refuses to believe it, and it’s as if my hands are in a fight with my brain, trying to prove that it’s not normal hair loss. I think it’s time for a pixie cut soon, and then I can find out how I look bald.

BALD AS A BABY Date:

JUNE 20 I’m feeling: Relieved This morning, my scraggly reflection stared back at me. Bald spots were more apparent as I ran my hands through my hair. When I tell people that my hair is falling out, I don’t think they grasp the concept until they grab my hair, pull at it and it comes out.

I called my friend Imho. Judging from his usual shaved head I knew he had clippers. “I really need to borrow your clippers now.”

“Ok, call me after your shower.”

If I thought it was bad, it was worse in the shower. I couldn’t wash my hair without feeling like my hands had begun to grow fur. Hair was everywhere. I rinsed off, clogging the bathtub with hair and leaving a trail of fuzz all throughout the bathroom. I stared at my reflection. Real bad.

“Imho, I really need to shave my head!”

“That bad, huh?” Imho couldn’t come until 6 pm, so I’d have to make do until then.

Since I had a lunch appointment with Ini, I decided to go with the wigged look. I pulled out my glossy

jet-black wig with blunt bangs. The strands of real human hair fell just past my shoulders. After a fabulous lunch with Ini, I was back home.

Again I stared at my reflection. I ran my hands through my hair, more hair fell out. I began to pull out my hair. Then I grabbed scissors and started cutting my hair. My niece stared, a little horrified, with her mouth in an “O” as my hair detached itself from my head. Hair was everywhere. I could have kept pulling and pulling until there was nothing left. The bathroom was covered with hair.

Imho picked my sister and I up at 5:30. With a feeling of trepidation on my part, Imho shaved my head, first into a “Maddox” Mohawk and then into a “Natalie Portman” shave. For fear of cutting me, we held off on the Mr. Clean look.

Shaving my head was liberating. Having my hair fall out and gaining the appearance of a freshly born chick was a bit frightening. The air rushes around my head, it’s a lot cooler now. My head is less heavy and doesn’t hurt from carrying all the “dead” hair anymore. My head is really small! I think I like it.

You know what’s nice? Being chemo-fied and watching your VOTES go up, up, up in the Avon Paint it Pink Contest! This is a social media contest where people vote on their favorite “pink” photo submitted by contestants like me. The winning photo wins a wonderful all-inclusive vacation to the Dominican Republic and money is donated to the charity of choice.

I am very touched by the support, encouraging emails and texts from my family, friends and acquaintances. Especially from Sabrina, who texts me at 2 am to tell me how high my votes have gone up! Over $2,000 has been raised by people just clicking “VOTE!” I’ve chosen Rethink Breast Cancer as my non-profit of choice, as it provides wonderful support for young women like myself. What perfect timing it would be if I won the contest and was able to go on a little trip after my chemo is complete!

This morning I had two tablespoons of butter chicken and a piece of taandori naan with apple juice and chocolate milk. All this at 8:30 am, and that’s sleeping in.

I’ve noticed that when I’m on chemo, my taste buds usually change a few days later and then regain their normalcy within a week or so. It’s wonderful having family members who make

me dinner and wash my dishes when I don’t have the energy to do it myself.

Ebby made me soup when she heard me trying to do the daunting task in the kitchen by myself. Actual chain of events: Me: “I need to eat something with my medicine. Perhaps a little bowl of Chicken Ale King Soup?” I walk to the dish rack and pick up the pan. I open the cupboard, pop open the soup can and lean over the counter. I sigh heavily. This task seems complicated. Maybe I’m not so hungry anymore.

I am cautious (after chemo) to utter the words amazing, fabulous or even great.

Each moment is often wiped out with a surge of nausea and tiredness. I started a new drug called EMEND, which Krista informed me would help with the nausea but not necessarily with the vomiting. Fortunately, for me, it helped with both—I did not throw up once! However, I did have a few “gag” reflexes. Ew, I know! Blame it on the chemo. Nausea is definitely not fun, but after my next chemo I’ll be halfway done. I shudder at the thought of EVER having to go through chemo again after I am done and marvel at the strength of the women who have gone down that path.

he first cancer was a lot crazier than the second cancer. I literally knew for less than two weeks that I had cancer and I’d already had my mastectomy. I was sort of reeling. But I made them do it fast because I wanted to move to New York to go to school. Cancer was not stopping me.

If I’m going to fight so hard for my life, I better live the life that I want to live because when it came right down to it, I sure as hell wanted to live. When they told me I might have to do chemo, I was like, “No, I don’t do chemotherapy. I’m not one of those people.” And then you get into it and you realize how far you’ll go. So when I got better, it was like each day—it sounds so cheesy—is kind of like a gift.

When I had the recurrence, it was like, “No, no, no, go away!” It wasn’t as scary as the first time. The first time it was new and I was learning; and this time I knew what I wanted, I knew what I didn’t want and I knew the things that bugged me. It was more of a pain in the ass, as opposed to it being this lifealtering journey.

But it was also devastating because I had been growing my hair back. I felt like my cancer laughed in my face because I didn’t grow my hair back for a while; I kept it really short, because deep down I was afraid that the cancer would come back. Finally a year, two years later, I got over that and started growing it out. And then I had the recurrence.

I think my spirit is stronger. Obviously there are moments when I’m not the happiest girl in the world, but I feel like it’s a choice. It always makes sense to choose the positive. I’m trying to be a little more reality based. I think the first time, there was probably a little bit of shock, so my defense mechanism was I’m fine, I’m good, I’m happy. This time I was trying to allow in more feelings, so it’s OK to cry if you’re sad and it’s OK to be mad. But, for me, it’s not OK to give up or give up hope.

My body handles chemo very well, which I’m very grateful for—I never was sick, I’ve never really thrown up, I run every day. I just feel like I have a bad hangover. My oncologist said to me: “If I didn’t know I was treating you, I wouldn’t think I was.” Except I don’t have any hair.

The second time, I tried to communicate with people more. I think that’s the thing I learned—to try to find ways to help people enter into my experience rather than pretend everything’s fine. I want to include people more rather than feeling alone.

The second time around my concerns became more about lifestyle than totally about survival. The first time it felt like death knocking on the door, like a big smack in the face. And I was like, I’ll do anything. But this time I weighed my options a lot more.

I really did consider not doing chemotherapy again because I was like, it didn’t work, why would I do that to myself again?

fast forward I woke up this morning to my most adorable crying baby. Justin and I had been tag-teaming all night with Asher, who gave us quite a rough time. I walked out into the kitchen where the counter now holds a bottle-drying rack.

While I proceeded to scrub clean one of the bottles and all of its absurd, intricate parts designed for newborns, Asher frantically attempted to suck on my chest and bicep—of course, to no avail. And it broke my heart and pissed me off.

If I could go back I would still chop them off. After all, Asher needs his mom to stay alive and be there for him much more than he needs breast milk and bonding. But my heart aches at this loss.

sarah-charlotte

Q: What are the differences in treatment for young women?

A: Treatment options for breast cancer in young women are similar to those for the older population, but when women are under 35 we also send them for genetic testing. If there is evidence of a gene mutation causing the breast cancer, then recommended treatment may include removing both breasts and eventually, after she’s had children—if she wants a family—both ovaries

Q: What are the factors that determine the course of a patient’s treatment?

A: The stage and type of breast cancer determine the treatment.

If there are many aggressive features of your breast cancer, then chemotherapy is usually offered. Following chemotherapy, a patient may be offered anti-estrogen therapy such as tamoxifen, which usually is a pill a day for five years. Radiation is required if you’ve had a lumpectomy but usually not if you’ve had a mastectomy.

Q: How might chemo affect one’s fertility?

A: It can cause premature menopause. The estimated risk of menopause with chemotherapy is your age converted to a percentage. So if you’re 35 years old, then you have a 35 percent risk of going into menopause.

Q: Is there anything I need to consider taking/doing before I begin chemo?

A: We recommend having a dental check-up to avoid any dental issues during chemo and avoiding any herbal supplements, as these can have a serious effect on your chemotherapy. If a patient is considering children, I would recommend a referral to an obstetrician to talk about fertility.

Q: Do all chemotherapies for breast cancer cause hair loss?

A: Yes. Hair loss usually occurs four to six weeks after starting chemotherapy and starts growing back after you stop.

Q: How long does treatment take?

A: It varies, depending on the type of chemo you are receiving, from 30 minutes to three hours. Treatments occur either every two or three weeks over a period of three to six months.

Q: Should I go on a special diet? Are there certain foods and drinks I should avoid?

A: Avoid spicy foods and alcohol during chemotherapy, as you may experience increased heartburn. Nutritionists are usually available at each cancer centre, and you may want to see one to review your diet.

Q: Are there certain activities that I can’t do?

A: Daily moderate (low-impact) exercise, such as a 15-minute walk every day, is advisable, especially during chemotherapy. Patients tend to tolerate the treatment better. Heavy lifting, especially on the side that had surgery, should be avoided.

Q: What can I expect after my first chemotherapy?

A: You may feel fine or you may feel some nausea. You’ll be given pills for nausea. Depending on the type of chemotherapy, the side effects will vary. Usually, you will feel better after a week. If you continue to feel unwell after a week, contact your oncologist.

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Date: August 24 I’m feeling:

Renewed

I spent the past week in the woods acting in an independent film, The Corrupted. Other than going out to a lake and roasting lightly browned marshmallows that taste like Lucky Charms, I was a complete novice to camping.

LONG

When I first auditioned for the role of the shorthaired femme fatale, I had just that—long hair. About a month later when I was called back, I no longer had the one marking characteristic of my character but proceeded instead with my wig. I was completely shocked when the makeup artist was able to point out my wig. With tears welling up in my eyes, I confirmed that, yes, I was wearing one.

Needless to say I was a little shaken and figured that I might not get the part. Stupid wig. However, a few days later the call came that I had gotten the part! I wrestled with whether or not I should let the secret out, crossing my fingers that the gig wouldn’t interfere with my chemo schedule and wondering how in the world I would manage a week with a wig on at all times.

AMAZI

NG!! !

The week away from the city was great. I had been starting to feel a bit run down after four cycles of chemo, and being in the woods was exactly what I needed. The days were long but sweetened with time spent with a wonderful cast and crew. For one week I was able to detach myself slightly from my life of cancer. I was able to get away from emails, Internet and life in the city (although I am a city girl at heart!). Yes, I did wrestle with having to tell people that I had cancer and I also was nervous that someone I hadn’t told would walk into the makeup trailer and find me bald, but I’m sure by the end of my stay everyone had heard from me or the grapevine what was up. Yes, there were the scenes where I was scared that my wig would fall off and I would be left standing there like a little bald alien (a perfect scene for bloopers!), but of course it didn’t. There was also the time my ankles and feet swelled up like a person twice my size. But, in the end, I came out alive and renewed. What a wonderful, wonderful week it has been!

(due to the drugs, I guess)

WHO SAID LIFE WAS FAIR? Date: October 13 I’m feeling:

A little defeated

I will attest that life is not fair. I also believe no matter how hard life may get, I can get through it.

The other day I glimpsed an elderly lady from the corner of my eye—her back stooped, her pace slow and her face aged. Her body was weathered from life. My body was weathered from my fight with cancer. It was as if I was able to share in whatever that lady may have felt in that moment. As I watched her, I was reminded of my struggle to bounce back. My youth from my past life lingers in the shadow of my body now. The sixth cycle of chemo has taken a toll and my body is tired. At 26, I feel like the old lady who passed me by.

I cannot explain how frustrating it is to have to accept that my body now is not what it used to be. I know it will take time for my body to cleanse itself of the toxins that have been pumped through my veins for three months, actions to preserve my life. I accept it, but it is difficult. By no means do I declare myself an athlete (not even close), but I’m someone who will push herself physically and achieve something if need be. When I gained unnecessary pounds a few years ago, I worked really hard monitoring my diet and exercising at least three times a week to get it off. I’ve hiked four hours on the Great Wall of China and I’ve climbed Mount Kinabalu, the highest mountain in Southeast Asia. This brings me to my physical distress…

About a month ago I went to a Vinyasa (flow) yoga class and after an hour I became dizzy and ended up throwing up in the bathroom. A week and a half ago, I gave it another try. Twenty minutes into the practice my arms could not hold my pose. I felt

defeated and had to leave. My physical turmoil was mounting.

When I found it impossible to climb the spiral staircase at the Art Gallery of Ontario, I was torn. After convincing the guard to let us in after-hours, halfway up I was almost certain I couldn’t make it to the top due to pain from the fluid retention in my legs.

This was a humbling moment. I stood holding onto the rail, out of breath, as my friend Maria climbed upwards at a quick, steady pace. Climbing was extremely painful. With each step my skin felt like it was going to burst. There was no more room in my ankles because they were bulging with fluid. Maria asked if I wanted to stop, but I shook my head no and pushed myself to climb that spiral staircase as if daring chemo treatments to get the better of me. I made it to the top of that spiral staircase.

In Toronto, my feet swelled to enormous proportions. Judging by my feet, one would think I was an obese lady. I called my nurse practitioner and she told me to go see a doctor to make sure that fluid had not spread to my lungs. She assured me that I wouldn’t get stretch marks on my legs. Presently my left arm is bigger than the other, due to the lymphedema. All I can do is hope that it will go down in a few months. My nurse told me that it will take a few months for my body to stop retaining the fluid.

It sucks. BIG time. Not only in an aesthetic way but in a physical way. It is so painful to walk for normal periods of time.

Initial acts like cutting off my hair and losing a breast were not hard. However, as time passes, it’s like a sad memory. I glimpse my reflection in the mirror, I see pictures from months ago and I am momentarily saddened. I wonder if I even know that girl anymore.

I look forward to growing my hair back and reconstruction surgery. I look forward to the new old me— myself with a stronger soul, a stronger spirit. I will not allow cancer to break me. I may be wounded, for now, but I am alive.

Date: NOVEMBER 4 I’m feeling:

PUFFY

The swelling in my arm hasn’t gone down, so two days ago I got it “wrapped.” Putting many layers of gauze and bandages on the affected arm causes the swelling to go down enough to have my arm fitted for a custom compression sleeve. The sleeve is like a super-tight tension band that pushes the fluid back to the other parts of the body.

I’m crossing my fingers and hoping that this fluid retention is a direct cause of the chemotherapy and that the lymphedema won’t be long term. It’s a little difficult to type with my left arm bandaged like the Michelin man!

The good news is that my arm will go down; the bad news is that I have to go to the Cross Cancer Institute every day for two weeks to have my arm re-bandaged!

I went to salsa class with my arm like this. That was pretty funny. At the end of each class we all put our arms in the middle of the circle for a cheer, so everyone had their arms in and in creeps my Michelin arm! As for the swelling in the rest of my body, my legs have gone down considerably (however, I’m not prancing all over Toronto and Montreal so that might have something to do with it). My feet are bruised from retaining all the fluid and there still is pressure. However, the 10 pounds of fluid retention has decreased to five, so it’s something to “yeah!” about! I’m trying to manage the fluid retention by not eating Halloween candy (this has been unsuccessful); trying to get to the gym five days a week—45 minutes of cardio on the bike, anything else is too painful, and a little bit of light weights (I’ve got to work on my consistency on this!); and taking salsa classes once a week. Unfortunately, I’ve had to take a break from yoga.

Being on the beach on my honeymoon I worried about the sun, because I was fresh from radiation. I always thought that when I went to Europe I’d go to a topless beach. Knowing that there’s a restriction is what gets me about having cancer.

How did you get diagnosed?

One night I was watching this movie called Elegy with Penelope Cruz about a woman who gets breast cancer. After the movie ended I went upstairs and took a shower before bed. I don’t know if it’s because I just saw that movie, but I felt my breast and I noticed this little hard thing right on the surface, close to my armpit. The next day I went to the doctor.

My doctor sent me for an ultrasound and a mammogram. When the tests came back inconclusive, my doctor said I could come back in six months or I could go to a specialist for peace of mind.

I went for more tests the next day. The specialist called me in, I thought it was nothing; she said it was something. I didn’t do a mastectomy because an oncologist said to me: “You’re so young, even if it does come back you can deal with it then. If you’re going to cut off your entire breast because you’re worried about it coming back, it can just come back in another body part.” I did more research and ended up doing the lumpectomy and asked for chemotherapy.

Normally with a tumour like mine you do radiation, and you’re done. There was a whole debacle about funding my chemo at first, but I eventually got what I asked for.

How did this affect your life?

My boyfriend Dave proposed in December 2008.

My wedding wasn’t scheduled until April 2010. Then I got diagnosed. Dave blew me away. He was super supportive like that movie character that is perfect— whatever you need emotionally, mentally, physically.

I was deciding: do I keep my wedding on schedule or don’t I? The last thing I need is more stress.

I decided to keep the date.

When I got married, I had finished both of my treatments, but I was freshly on the tamoxifen. I wore a wig at my wedding because my hair hadn’t come in yet. I waited until after the honeymoon to start lupron. Everyone reacts to lupron differently and everyone has a different experience. I wanted to have sex on my honeymoon.

Has it changed your life in other ways?

The social aspect is hard because you’re 24. You think you’re in charge of your life. You’re walking around thinking: “I’m young, I’m good looking, I’m smart.” When your friends are out partying and you want to participate it’s boring and you’re just like: “Oh, this water is so good!” I’ve always been into how I look, and feeling unattractive has been hard.

You know what’s really hard? Sex. Now that I’m in menopause I don’t have that drive. I feel so bad because I don’t want to spend my first three years of my marriage not getting it on. We have no kids, I want to do it all the time! I always said you should want to do your husband every day, every moment of every day. And now I’m like, “Oh my God! I’m one of those women.”

You have this idea of what your life’s going to be.

I feel like it sucks and I wish things were different, but I don’t spend time being upset or waste energy being upset. Do I think that God does everything for a reason? No. I just feel grateful we have good medical coverage, I have a supportive family, and finances were there. I focus on that, because it’s so easy to crawl in a hole and stay there.

How did treatment affect your self image?

When I went out I put on makeup and fake lashes.

I had a great wig. I did my best to look like myself.

I just wanted to keep a sense of normalcy. I wanted to still feel like myself. The times that I saw myself in the mirror, I was like: “It’ll be over soon, so keep on trucking.” I didn’t like that I got so soft because I didn’t move. I thought I was going to lose weight because I thought I was going to be sick, but I ate so much. When I started noticing I was getting so flabby I started working out.

What have you learned about yourself?

Feel bad for yourself once in awhile and eat that bowl of ice cream and cry. Whatever you have to do to allow yourself that but you also have to realize that things aren’t always as bad as they seem. I’ve had a great life, cancer included.

I hope I’m 50 one day.

I’m going to love it.

Claudia

Q: How can I keep myself healthy during chemotherapy?

A: Things in your control include eating a well-balanced diet (including more protein, which helps with tissue repair), a balanced activity and rest schedule, and taking medications as directed by your health care provider.

Often with chemotherapy your diet can be a quiet causality when you feel nauseated and are craving something to ease the gnawing in your stomach. Plus, your taste buds are telling you that your favourite fruit tastes like metal. Try this: 80 percent of the time follow Canada’s Food Guide but give yourself permission 20 percent of the time to indulge.

We have increasing evidence that being active during chemotherapy eases fatigue and improves your tolerance to the treatment. But this isn’t the time to take up marathon training! Try moderate gentle exercises such as walking and yoga.

Don’t neglect your mental health. Many cancer centres have psychologists or social workers on staff to help you during this challenging time.

Q: What are the most common side effects of chemotherapy?

A: Chemotherapy can have an impact on our healthy fast-dividing cells (which exist all over your body), as well as cancerous cells, which is how you get side effects. Learn about the chemotherapy drugs you will be given and ask your health care provider about their side effects so you can prepare to prevent problems or manage them as best as possible.

Q: How long does it take chemotherapy to leave my system and for my body to “get back to normal”?

A: Within about 48 hours the chemotherapy has mostly been excreted from your body. But the drugs leave a fingerprint on your cells that can take weeks or months to be erased. About three months after the last dose of chemotherapy, most people are feeling physically quite a bit better, but still not fully recovered. Some say they did not feel fully recovered for close to a year.

Q: What are some common side effects of radiation?

A: The skin on the area receiving treatment may become dry or itchy and may peel or become burnt like a sunburn. Treated skin is more sensitive to the sun. So if you are off to a topless beach after breast cancer treatment you might want to reconsider!

Fatigue is also common—not at first but after a few treatments people can feel worn out. These side effects usually go away two to three months after radiation is completed.

Q: What are the drugs taken for the prevention of a recurrence of breast cancer?

A: Most of these drugs are some type of anti-estrogen therapy. Side effects can include menopausal symptoms such as hot flashes and night sweats. You may feel aches and pains and changes to your sexuality, like vaginal dryness, vaginal discharge and changes to your libido. Changes to your menstrual cycle can happen: but even if it becomes absent or infrequent, you can still get pregnant. At first, you can experience nausea and headaches. Discuss your side effects with your health care provider to see what can be done to minimize the impact on your life.

Body Image

Date: JUNE 14

like a FORCE to be RECKONED WITH

I’m feeling:

I put on some sexy panties today. No, there wasn’t anyone waiting to rip them off. I wore them because I wanted to. I decided I was going to look sexy for me. I slipped on a tight black sweater, nice jeans and, of course, my black stiletto pumps. Yes, my drains protruded from beneath my shirt but I could care less. I refuse to look grubby. Who says I have to look grubby?

Cancer what? Cancer WHO? My mind is churning with ways to spend my time productively; that is, when I won’t be barfing according to CHEMO 101.

Tomorrow I’m going to try out the cancer support group at the hospital. I’m sure they’ll all be older than me, but I’m bored and have nothing to do. Plus, it’ll be good for mom, who’s coming with me. She probably has tons of questions for the dieticians who will be there. Hopefully she’ll stop sending me thousands of health-related emails and websites.

exercising bald in a room full of strangers

Date:

JUly 8 I’m feeling: I’m not sure how to explain the mixed emotions one feels when going to the gym bald, but that is exactly what I did today. Was I asking for people to know that I have cancer? Isn’t that the first thing people think when they see a bald girl? I guess it would be worse if I had no eyebrows or eyelashes, but at least I still have them…for now.

Perhaps they think I have cancer, or perhaps they think I’m some weird chick who decided to shave off all her hair. No matter what, I can’t help but think of what they think as I break a sweat on the elliptical.

So why did I go to the gym bald? Because I really wasn’t thinking that much when I left my house, and by the time I thought about what I was doing I was halfway there and couldn’t be bothered to go back home. I guess I was so happy that I was finally going back to the gym after the disorderly chaos that has been pursuing me these past months.

Why didn’t I wear my wig? Because, truth of the matter is, my head is so small and hats no longer fit me properly, never mind wigs. I’m not about to pay $300 plus for one wig just so I can get it sized to fit my head properly. To add to matters, a wig is super hot. So, despite how fabulous wigs look on me, they just don’t fit me like my hair used to.

Why not a scarf then? Let’s face it…who is a little piece of material fooling?

So, if one day I happen to be exercising beside a girl who is completely bald, I will smile at her and silently give her a thumbs up for the amount of guts it takes to exercise bald in a room full of strangers.

chemo and radiation. They want it to just happen.

For some people it works, and for others it doesn’t.

Some people need to know what could happen.

I’m one of those people. Because when all these things started happening to me, I was like, what’s going wrong?

had my son in 2002. Shortly after I stopped breastfeeding him, when he was two, I noticed I was leaking brown fluid from my breasts and I had a lump. I went to a doctor, who told me I had fibroadenoma (a benign lump).

For two years they told me it was just fibroadenoma.

Then they did a biopsy and on January 2008 I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

My Body I finally accepted my curves when JLo wore that Versace green dress. I finally accepted my big old booty, because at that point big butts were coming back, they were on the rise, and I was like, yup I got one and it’s real.

And then suddenly I had nothing. It was really hard.

And it’s still hard. Some days I would put on a dress and I looked like a boy, and that was still sexy. Other days I wanted that joujou back.

I just wanted to look sexy. I needed to look into a mirror and be happy with who I was and how I felt. I didn’t feel good with what I saw underneath.

In clothes, nobody could tell, but it was a constant reminder when I got into the shower.

I was working on myself on the inside. I wanted to feel normal, I wanted to feel like a woman again, the sensuality of having breasts and curves. Without this major part of my sexuality, of my womanhood, it just felt like something was missing and I would do anything to put it back together.

I think going through something like this throws these issues in your face. Who are you? Before, I could say I’m a quirky don’t-give-a-shit type of girl, and now—after I got diagnosed—not so quirky and I give a shit. It made me confront who I am.

When I started chemo and radiation, they didn’t mention how much weight you’re going to gain.

That freaked me the hell out. As soon as I started chemo, I was like, OMG I can’t fit into my jeans.

They don’t want to give you the play-by-play of what’s going to happen to your body when you start

I think that disease is really horrible because you don’t see what everybody else sees, you just see the figment of your imagination, and what I saw was this big huge girl in the mirror and everybody was like, oh you look great. I know they were lying because you’re going through chemo, you’re bald, you’ve lost your eyelashes, your eyebrows, everything, and they’re like, “You look great!” I have these large, dark circles under my eyes and they’re telling me I look great. I’m like, “You liars!”

Boobs are a big part of our culture, but women don’t take care of them the way they should. For me, it’s been about self-discovery. I haven’t figured out all the answers yet but having a little bit of joujou is definitely important.

My Journey I decided not to do tamoxifen. During chemo when I went through menopause it was really difficult for me. Reeeeeally difficult. And I couldn’t do it again. So I’m seeing a naturopath and I’m on natural hormone replacements. I really want to have another baby, although my doctor says it’s a bad idea. Having children is still possible, I don’t want to give up on that.

I just want people to continue to fight. I don’t like that word surviving—it’s so soft and cancer is not soft. It’s horrible, it’s hard. So I want a word that is just as defiant as how cancer can be, so I’m fighting.

These days I am in awe of what I came through, where I am, and who I am now. I think it’s a work in progress. I have finally decided to look at myself and not have any expectations.

Before I was angry and hated to go shopping. I would buy two sizes too big to hide everything. Now I’m showing off every nook and cranny, I’m not walking the streets looking like a hooker, I’m no Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, but I’m excited to see my new curves. Before I was very timid about them, I was very shy to let anyone see my breasts, and now they can look. I’m proud that I’ve made these baby steps about how I feel about myself. I’m happy to be here now. I don’t care about what I don’t have and what everyone’s got, I’m just happy to be me.

MONIQUE

Q: It’s hard for me to look at the new me in the mirror. What should I do?

A: For many, a significant part of the experience of breast cancer is related to how they think and feel about their bodies. You may be comparing your current body to your remembered image of yourself. What you now see in the mirror may be distorted by your feelings of loss, pain and fear. Allow yourself some time to feel loss and acknowledge your fears. Reflect on the benefits of the surgery and treatment and on your courage in doing those treatments to care for yourself.

Q: Because of the changes in my body, I find sex painful and I’m losing interest.

A: There are physical changes that happen to your body from treatment, such as vaginal and vulva tissue dryness from a lack of hormones. Your doctor can help treat these.

The second aspect is psychological. Experiencing pain with penetration can lead to anticipation of pain and your muscles may tense up, leading to more pain. Using relaxation strategies can be helpful and you may also wish to meet with a therapist who specializes in sexual issues.

These issues can also impact your libido. Keep in mind that you don’t have to “be in the mood” before you begin engaging in sexual activity. Desire can follow from taking smaller steps, such as touching and kissing.

Q: How can I tell someone I’ve just met that I’ve had cancer?

A: If you are worried about someone else’s reaction, you might want to acknowledge this by stating that what you have to tell them may be awkward for them.

If an intimate relationship is developing, you need to share this information. This can be scary, and rejection is a possibility, but it is better that this person know the truth and react, rather than you wondering what their reaction might be.

Q: I feel like I just want to forget about this whole cancer thing, but is that really the healthiest thing to do?

A: You don’t need to “stay in cancerland” all the time. As you start feeling better and have time and energy for the rest of your life, go for it. Though you will be changed in ways by your experience, it’s important to honour who you are becoming. Some reflection and sadness and anger are likely part of that process.

Q: I’m constantly fearful that I will get cancer again. How do I not live in fear every day?

A: Basically you have to accept that the cancer may return. Then you put that thought away and bring as much of your focus and energy to each day, to doing what you love, and to achieving your short- and long-term goals. And when you have a bad day or week, give yourself a break. Life requires that you give yourself a break!

reconstruction

Date:

MAY 13

I’m feeling:

like a FREAK SHOW!

Today was my sixth and last saline injection. Having my temporary implant filled with saline is such a weird experience.

I would describe the experience as extremely uncomfortable. I tried to endure the maximum fill so I would have less visits with Dr. Mehling. Now that my implant has been filled to match my other breast, it is rock hard and looks like a jellybean. I guess I’d rather have a jellybean-shaped boob rather than no boob at all.

Date:

November 30

I’m feeling:

Pleased

When I woke up from my implant exchange surgery and looked down at my chest I was so happy that I had two boobies! I couldn’t see them because they were all bandaged up, but they were definitely underneath all that gauze! It was hard to get up and out of bed after my surgery because I had to use my chest muscles. I would end up rolling onto my side and trying to get up or calling my sister to help me.

Lying down was even harder—I had to ask Sabrina to place her hand behind my back and help lower me down. When I finally took off my bandages my boobs were GINORMOUS! Good thing I wasn’t in a relationship because Dr. Mehling gave me this granny bra that I had to wear to provide support to my new boobs! Now it’s been a little over two months since my reconstructive surgery, and a year and a half since my mastectomy (I didn’t undergo radiation). Other than a slight dimpling at the top of my left breast (due to the thinness of the skin) and noticeable firmer breasts, I am very pleased with my results!

as big as PS. My boobs aren’t ter surthey were right af st swollen! gery, they were ju

in the background on his iPod. Just as promised, I didn’t feel a thing. I asked if anybody ever watches him while he’s operating. His response: “Yes, but I wouldn’t.”

I was nervous walking into the plastic surgeon’s office today. Getting a nipple reconstructed was my simplest surgery but it had me feeling a little antsy.

I knew I’d be given local anesthetic and, unlike past operations, I’d be awake during the entire procedure—YIKES! When I arrived, the nurse had me take off my top and bra and change into a hospital gown, open to the front. Afterwards I was ushered into the typical surgery room—stark white, sterile smelling, bright lights. After I plopped myself onto the steel bed, my plastic surgeon (who is totally awesome, by the way) injected my left breast with general anaesthetic.

Ouch! My breast had regained feeling. Then I spent the next 45 minutes with my head turned to the side, listening to him “snip, snip,” and “snap, snap” and feeling him tug, tug all the while as blues played

When he was done, I was scared to look. When I did look down I found it all rather interesting/scary looking. Basically it’s a nub that’s a little larger than my other nipple, created from the skin at the centre of my left breast. In about two months it’s supposed to “shrink” and it will end up being just a tad lower in height than my other nipple. In about three months I will get it tattooed. Apparently it takes about two tattoo sessions for the nipple to look “right.”

Precautions include: wearing a nipple shield if my clothes are going to press against me, antibiotics for five days, Tylenol if needed, a bandage for one day, cleaning the incision with hydrogen peroxide and dressing it with Polysporin twice a day. I’m allowed to shower tomorrow. The worst part is I won’t be able to run or go to my fitness classes for at least a week, maybe even a month.

Overall, it was a scary but quick procedure with no complications. Who knew that reconstructing a breast with all its frills takes so much time and patience!

Who knew that a nipple is as much a part of a woman’s identity as a shade of lipstick is to a woman’s outfit? Despite my love/hate relationship with nipples, losing my left nipple was not an easy decision. The aftermath was not any more tolerable.

There I was in my mid-twenties, with the left side of my chest caving inwards and rising with every beat of my heart, causing me to regress into that incomplete awkward feeling one relates with puberty.

Fortunately, reconstruction had produced a skin coloured “nub” that would serve as my new nipple— an effort to bring me a step closer to feeling “normal” again. But somehow, I still felt disconnected to my new breasts. My plastic surgeon assured me that I might feel different about my breasts after my reconstructed nipple was tattooed. Following numerous tattoo sessions for my nipple (August through November), I am thrilled with the results.

The tattoo artist did an amazing job and having my reconstructed nipple coloured to match my other nipple has helped me to feel that my breast is more than a silicone mound—it’s a part of me!

a comfortable position to sleep in, I had to sleep sitting up in a chair and it was slow healing. Some people say it’s a little bit like a C-section.

I walked hunched over for close to a month, and still now, more than two years later, I have very little feeling in the area between my newly formed belly button and just under my arms. It’s hard to describe, I sometimes will have an itch in that area, but when I scratch, I get no relief because I still have almost no feeling there. The doctors say that I will never have full feeling there. It’s all very weird.

quick q&A fter deciding to have the tram flap surgery along with my bilateral mastectomy, I waited a few weeks for the medical surgeon and the plastic surgeon to find a date when they could both perform the surgery. In the meantime, I was trying hard not to think too much about what was going to happen. I tried to block out the bad stuff and focus more on the good.

(Thanks to the nature of the surgery, I would essentially be getting a tummy tuck and my stomach that carried two children would be back to my pre-pregnancy look. I was quite happy about that.)

I didn’t focus on the fact that they were going to take both my breasts, which quite honestly I wasn’t too attached to anyways. They had served their purpose and nursed two healthy, happy children. I didn’t know how much I would miss them and that they would never look the same again.

I didn’t realize how I would mourn their loss and how they would forever be changed in look, touch and feel. After my surgery, I didn’t know what to expect, nor did I ever really bother to ask my surgeons. In some ways, ignorance is bliss.

The day of the surgery was terrifying; I have never been so scared in all my life. I didn’t know all that was going to happen to me, I didn’t know how long it would take for me to recover, and I didn’t know how it would affect my life. If I had known what was ahead of me, I might not have made the decision to have the tram flap.

After surgery, I stayed in the hospital for six days. The front of my body from the newly created belly button up to my armpits was wrapped like a mummy. The first night was fine, and it wasn’t until the second day that I truly felt the magnitude of the surgery. I could barely sit up and because my body was under so much anaesthetic, my bladder stopped working. I was in so much pain and not having a working bladder was twice as hard.

In the end, I went home with a catheter, and my bladder seemed to remember what to do eight days after surgery. While at home, I could not find

Your bio in one sentence: Jet-setting, selfproclaimed shoe junkie. Total foodie, handbag obsessed, mommy of two.

Favorite shoe: My dark red patent leather kneehighs: comfortable, sassy, and sexy. I wear them with skirts and pants, day and night. They are always in my travel bag. I wore them to chemo a couple of times because they made me feel like a superhero.

Secret to warding off negativity: Good friends.

3 things to never say to a cancer patient: 1. Be positive! 2. My (neighbour, uncle, coworker), had cancer and… 3. I had a friend/ coworker who had what you had and she was back to work after three months. What’s taking you so long?

Your chemo experience: Some people have no appetite and lose weight; I ate very well, had super cravings and gained 25 pounds.

Hardest thing about finding out you had cancer: The thought that I may not see my children grow up.

Hardest person to tell that you had cancer: My father, because I knew that he would worry so much without ever telling me.

Your greatest support: My husband and siblings.

SANDY

Q: What are the options for breast reconstruction?

A: In general, a breast can be reconstructed with either a person’s own tissue or with a breast implant, or a combination of the two approaches. When using a person’s own tissue, the most common donor area is the skin and fat of the lower abdomen. Other options can include the upper back or the buttock. When using a breast implant, the procedure can be done in either a single stage or in a two-stage procedure. In the two-stage procedure, a temporary tissue expander is inserted to allow a period of skin stretching followed by insertion of the final implant.

Q: When is a woman a candidate for immediate breast reconstruction?

A: Breast reconstruction can be performed at the same time as a mastectomy (immediate reconstruction) or any time after a mastectomy (delayed reconstruction). Immediate reconstruction is an excellent approach for women who are having prophylactic or preventative mastectomies and for early-stage disease or pre-invasive disease. For women with more advanced disease, it is often better to have the mastectomy and adjuvant therapy such as chemotherapy and/or radiation and then follow with the reconstruction.

Q: When is a woman not a candidate for breast reconstruction?

A: Although most women are excellent candidates, it is an elective procedure. Many women are comfortable living with their mastectomy defect and/or using an external breast prosthesis. All surgical procedures have potential risks and complications. Any woman considering breast reconstruction requires a thorough consultation with a surgeon specializing in breast reconstructive surgery.

Q: With delayed reconstruction, how soon should you expect to have your new breasts?

A: Surgery can be performed at any time following the initial mastectomy. However, in most cases we request that a patient wait until one year following the completion of all of their adjuvant therapy. This allows the body (and mind) a chance to recover.

Q: How soon after surgery can I return to work or exercise?

A: The recovery time following reconstruction depends on the reconstructive procedure that is being used and the patient and the type of work that she performs. Most women are returned to normal, nonphysical activities within two weeks and full physical activity in six to eight weeks.

Q: What are the most common complications after breast reconstruction?

A: General complications include infection, bleeding, scarring and delayed healing. Other possible complications, such as loss of tissue and failure to adequately restore a normal breast shape, are more specific to the actual procedure that is being performed.

Q: What are your hopes long term for breast reconstruction?

A: As we focus more on prevention, I hope that in the future we will no longer need to offer breast reconstruction. Until then, it is important to have easy access to reconstruction across Canada. Our best results from 10 years ago are our average results today. With advances in implant technology—fat grafting, the use of skin substitutes and tissue engineering—the future of all post-cancer reconstructive surgery looks very bright.

moving on

Date:

May 13

I’m feeling: So

Relieved

Today I almost had a heart attack.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

Not literally of course, but I had a really big scare.

Yesterday I went for a CT scan, ordered by my GP. She wanted to make sure everything in my body was tip-top. If it wasn’t scary enough going in for the CT scan—the five-minute warning video, the IV, the smell of the plastic band they tie around your arm— my doctor’s office called me this morning. I was surprised to get a call so soon. My doctor wanted to see me to discuss the results but didn’t have room for me until Monday. After hanging up, and a few minutes of contemplating what my weekend would be like having to ponder the results of the CT scan, I called back and insisted they squeeze me in today.

“Yes,” I replied, half sob, half coherent response.

I envisioned what life would be like if the news was not happy. I tried to think positively, but I wondered why else would my doctor call me, and so soon? My summer plans began to flash before me like paper thrown into a fire, wilting within seconds and disappearing as ash into the night sky. If it was bad news, I could kiss goodbye the upcoming films I had parts in, I could forget about my meeting with the modeling agency, I would give up hope of growing out my hair, maybe I’d have to write a sequel to my book… I couldn’t bare it. I was very, very scared of having my world shaken once more. I brought my best friend with me to the appointment.

I didn’t want to go alone to the appointment. Four months of chemotherapy flooded back to me—the appointments, the needles, the drugs, the nausea, no hair. My life on hold. When my friend Danah called me, I couldn’t speak and instead let out a couple sobs.

It turned out I have an ovarian cyst. I don’t think anyone could have been happier to hear that they have an ovarian cyst. Here’s to another reality check…

Final Entry Date:

November 10

I’m feeling: Content A little over three years ago, I wrote my first journal entry for Cancer Fabulous Diaries. I had no idea that March 23, 2009, would mark the beginning of an incredible journey. Yes, it has been incredible. I can remember feeling so frustrated at night, tears running down my face, feeling like life had come to a complete stop. Now I look back and can hardly believe all that has happened to me.

I’m glad I kept this diary. It reminds me of what I’ve been through and how blessed I am.

After my diagnosis with cancer, my best friend lost her mother to cancer, and I lost the very friend who shaved my head during chemo to cancer as well. Standing in survivor shoes, I am very grateful and fortunate to be alive.

As I write this, there is still an upcoming reconstruction revision surgery in my calendar, and God knows what else. Sometimes I feel like I was born under a lemon tree, but I’ve learned that lemons are a part of life. There’s also that lurking fear that cancer could revisit me, but with each day that thought becomes more removed. I continually try to appreciate the health that I have and the wonderful family and friends that frequent my life. I continue living the best life that I can and focus on doing what makes me happy.

In the words of Ernestine Ulmer, “Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.”

xo

gone from a beer-slugging meat-eater to a juicing queen! I’m more physically fit than I’ve ever been.

I learned how to chill the f*** out. I’m trying to meditate more, and I practice visualization regularly.

I use only natural products on my body and in my home.

What are your thoughts on dying?

I’m not afraid to die, but I simply don’t want to. I’m not ready yet. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll go until I’m ready to, no matter what happens. I know some people who have cheated death, and I think I’m one of those people.

When were you first diagnosed?

I was diagnosed in July 2008 at age 27. My hubby—who was my boyfriend at the time—noticed that my breast was sort of hard, and I went to have it checked out by a GP a couple of days later. He said, “This is not dangerous,” and sent me to a specialist to have what he thought was a cyst drained.

When I saw the specialist, she couldn’t drain it. The next day she sent me for an ultrasound. She, a surgeon and a radiologist, looked at the results and agreed that it was “not suspicious.” When we returned from a trip to France, I saw my doctor, who had tested the cells while I was gone. Her words ring in my head: “C’est malin.” After several weeks of further testing, we discovered that not only did I have breast cancer, but it had spread to my liver.

You had two recurrences, tell me how you felt for each one.

The first one, I was very disappointed but not surprised. I had returned to work, my physical self was coming alive again, and my hubby and I felt like we were becoming a normal couple again. There we were right back at square one.

With the second recurrence, I’d only been out of chemo for the first recurrence about a month. Everything seemed to be stable, and I was trying hormone therapy, which looked promising. Instead, I was back in chemo before I even had the chance to bounce back. That period was rock bottom, the low of all lows. I felt totally utterly depleted and hopeless. I spent about a week or two saying to everyone to leave me the hell alone while I drank on the couch watching movies.

How did you get out of that rock-bottom phase?

I started running. A dear friend of mine who runs marathons suggested that I give it a try. She got me on a program and I was hooked. I felt like it gave me a bit more control when I thought I’d lost it all.

Have you made any other lifestyle changes?

I’ve become vegan-like. I completely relearned how to eat real food, and what to avoid and cut out.

I’m very excited about juicing and blending. I’ve

Do you feel the support needed for women with metastasis is different?

People say that the experience is the same no matter what stage the cancer is, but I call that bullsh**t. When you have mets, there is no endpoint. You live with it forever. Other women who have breast cancer get to move on, to a certain extent. Women who have mets can go into remission for a long time, but it’s rare that it goes away forever. If the experience of a woman without mets can be represented by a bell-curve, the experience of a woman with mets can be represented by an ongoing pattern of bell curves!

How do you stay so positive?

It’s quite simple—I’m thrilled to be alive! I love everything about my life, except the cancer, and to date, I’m beating the hell out of it. I’m madly in love, I have an amazing family, and I have the best friends. I want for nothing and while it sounds cheesy, I love the woman I have become. A little bit of cancer can’t beat all that.

What is the hardest and easiest thing about cancer?

The hardest thing has been the uncertainty. I am sure of nothing. My doctors are sure of nothing.

The whole thing is a big guessing game. It’s also been quite hard seeing my friends and family be so upset. More than anything, I think facing the fact that I would have to deal with this for a long, long time was hard to do, but I’m there now.

The easiest thing and probably one of the most helpful was keeping a good healthy sense of humour. It can be quite dark from time to time. Weeks after I was diagnosed I would respond to simple requests, like taking the dog out, with a “leave me alone, I have cancer!” Then I would giggle at the shock I caused.

What is on your bucket list?

I don’t believe in bucket lists. I live each day, every day, for what it is, right then and there. I would love to start speaking to young women in university and college about how breast cancer is not just a disease of older women. I also want to write more, and be a rock star, of course.

DAWn

Q: Are there certain foods that women with breast cancer should avoid?

A: Yes. Alcohol, especially during cancer treatment. Alcohol tends to make the body very acidic and adds an additional burden to the body. The focus should be to lessen the work for our body so it can heal and regenerate.

As well, reduce your intake of coffee, dairy and non-organic meats. If you eat meat, choose lean cuts of chicken or turkey as well as fish. Avoid refined grains such as white breads, pastas and boxed sugar-laden cereals. And certainly omit pop, including diet pop.

Q: Are there any foods that are cancer fighting?

A: Many foods can help fight cancer. The list is quite long, but the most important things you can do to help your body fight cancer are to follow the following ideas: Alkalize by eating more green leafy veggies—try making green smoothies.

Increase your fibre intake to 40 grams per day. Increase the consumption of superfoods such as berries, spirulina, matcha green tea, mushrooms and raw organic cacao.

Q: Should I switch to organic products?

A: Most definitely. Organic products are produced without pesticides, herbicides, antibiotics or growth hormones. Organic products are third-party certified to ensure that the products were grown, raised or manufactured under strict guidelines.

Q: How can I maintain a balanced,healthy lifestyle?

A: There are three key ingredients that will help in successfully living a healthy, nutritionally balanced lifestyle: Planning ahead, consistency and determination.

Planning meals ahead of time and having a meal plan and shopping list will not only help you stay on track to eat healthy, but it will help alleviate stress by taking the last-minute guesswork out of what to cook.

Consistency is important. Human beings are creatures of habit and it takes about 21 days for us to form a new habit. Clients who have been consistent with their new eating habits and schedule start seeing results at around 21 days.

Because of those improvements they are determined to stay on track and are able to maintain a balanced, healthy lifestyle.

Q: What are some vegetarian options for protein other than soy?

A: The average person requires about 50 grams of protein daily, taken consistently throughout the day, to sustain health.

There are many great proteins from plant-based sources, including: nuts; sprouted seeds; grains such as amaranth and quinoa; beans and legumes; sea vegetables such as nori, kelp, chlorella and dulse; dark green leafy vegetables such as kale, spinach, peas, arugula, mustard greens, Swiss chard and collards. Protein should be consumed with every meal.

Q: Should I be taking any nutritional supplements?

A: It is always a good idea to supplement with a really good multivitamin. I recommend purchasing the Comparative Guide to Nutritional Supplements by Lyle MacWilliam. It will help you figure out which multivitamin brands are the best on the market so you don’t waste your money on poor-quality products that are full of fillers.

Give us the rundown of your diagnosis and treatment.

I was diagnosed with stage 1, grade 3 invasive ductal carcinoma of the right breast. I was told I had breast cancer three weeks before my 30th birthday. I was treated with a lumpectomy, six rounds of chemotherapy, 30 rounds of radiation and three years of tamoxifen.

What kind of follow-up treatment and tests do you now have?

Mammo and MRI once a year.

How long after the final round of treatment did it take before you felt like you’d recovered?

For me, the end of treatment was a very hard time.

I counted the days on a calendar until the end of treatment—marking each passing day with a red “x.” When I finally got to the end, I didn’t have the thrilling feeling I was expecting (like how you feel when you complete a big project). Instead, I felt fear. I had come to the end of a scary road but my life was so different. People always talk about a “new normal”. It’s taken a few years being out of treatment to find my new normal. I think about and worry about cancer less than I ever have since my diagnosis—but it still is something that I carry with me and still something that enters my mind (even if for a brief moment) every day. I am still recovering.

What were some of the things you treasured more after treatment was over?

During treatment I was often too tired to do the things I wanted to. I remember one night just after my fifth chemo treatment, being at home in bed on a Saturday night. I had slept all day, hoping to have enough energy to go to my best friend’s James Bond–themed 30th birthday party. But when I started getting ready for the party, I realized I couldn’t do it, I was just too tired. I remember being sad and frustrated that my body wouldn’t allow me to do what I wanted it to. Now sometimes when I am out having fun, I stop and think for a minute about how I felt that night and how lucky I am to be alive, healthy and living my life.

You got married after treatment. How did your relationship change because of what you’ve been through?

I got engaged three weeks after my last chemo treatment. I figured if Karim wanted to marry me with no hair then he was probably asking me for the right reasons. It is an amazing feeling knowing that someone will be there for you no matter what.

I think our relationship was really tested going through cancer together. It wasn’t always easy, but I never felt alone and knew that no matter what happened I had a partner to lean on—someone who truly loved me. My husband never showed his fear (although I am sure he was scared too).

He was strong, had patience and gave me a big push when I needed it. I feel very blessed. We tested our vows long before we said them on our wedding day, that’s for sure!

How does the breast cancer world fit into your life now that you’re a few years out of treatment?

I continue to work as a peer support volunteer. I talk to other young women who are going through breast cancer. I think this helps me to give back and makes me feel that what I went through can be transformed into something good.

How has cancer affected your past relationships and the relationships you make now?

When you have cancer, some people step forward and others step back. You never forget which direction people choose. I cherish the special people in my life who supported me in my battle and stuck by me when it got rough. I realize how lucky I am to be so loved. I hope this experience has made me a more compassionate person. I hope I will always be the one to step forward when I am needed.

In what ways has your experience with breast cancer changed you?

I am now aware of my own mortality—that really does put everything in perspective. I think I am more aware of what is important in life. For me, that’s the people I love. It sounds cliché, but it is so easy to become focused on things that really aren’t that important in life. I think I am also more sympathetic toward others. It has made me realize that other people are dealing with things too, struggling and facing their own hardships. I listen more and judge less. I also spend more time doing things I want to do and less time doing things I don’t care for, because life is too short not to be happy.

Looking back, is there anything that you would have done differently?

I would have talked more to my doctor about preserving my fertility.

janelle

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