Kancer kronicles: What a difference one year makes

My new do. ©kittelberg writes

One year ago, I started the #kancerkronicles. I had just had my drain removed, a major milestone in my mind.

My body

At this point last year, I was only walking a few blocks here and there. Tomorrow, I'm taking part in six fitness classes at the Bust a Move fundraiser for the BC Cancer Foundation. You can still donate, by the way!

I run two to three days a week, and have signed up for my first half marathon in September.

My hair

I had just had my hair cut short, in anticipation it would soon be falling out or shaved (I opted for the big shave to make it less traumatic when it did fall out). I'd wanted short hair forever, but kept putting it off until I lost weight. Yesterday, I had a bunch of my new chemo curls shaved off because I wanted to.

My kid

When this all started, I was fearful of talking to my son about cancer, which in part lead to some serious behaviour issues. I couldn't see it ending. I wondered if cancer was going to send him down an irreversible path that would lead to a lifetime of unhappiness.

Today, he has several friends I anticipate he will have for the rest of his life. He reads, does math, and can navigate the monkey bars hand over hand from one end to the other. He is compassionate and thoughtful. Sure, he still has his moments but he's six after all, and let's face it, he comes by his stubbornness, ahem, honestly.

My life

I still have fears: around cancer, parenting, money, work to name a few. But I'm working hard to do things despite my fear, and stop compromising. I am me, and I need to do the things that honour this.

To you, my haircut is simply that, a haircut. To me, it's symbolic that I'm going to be who I am and who I want to be, and not hide behind excuses any more. I'm sure I'll stumble here and there. But I was given another chance at this life for a reason. I'm going to try to do it right.

Coordinating help for a loved one

I've sung praises of our network of friends many, many times in this blog. They were our lifeline during my treatment last year.

However, one of the huge challenges we faced was keeping everyone organized. Did I need to book a volunteer driver for chemo, or did someone offer to drive me? Had someone already said they would pick Malcolm up at daycare? And who was making dinner?

Remembering it all, even in the iPhones age was tough, particularly once chemo brain set in.

Eventually, George took on the vast majority of the organizing, along with being my caregiver. Frankly, it's too much work for one person to be expected to do. He did it without complaint, but it worried me that he felt he had to shoulder so much.

CaringBridge

Today, I received a message from a friend, who knows a woman who is just beginning the whole cancer treatment gong show. She thought I might be able to offer her support. She sent me a link to her friend's story on CaringBridge.

I clicked, and holy crap, do I ever wish I'd known about CaringBridge last spring!

You can set up a site, where you can connect with family and friends, keep them updated on your health (it's open to people with medical issues of all sorts). It's all in a protected space, with privacy settings, no ads.

Clearly, I don't have issues sharing information in a public format. But here's what really interested me: they also have a calendar you can set up (or a loved one can on your behalf).

Fill in what's needed and when, and your friends and family can pick the tasks they're able to take on - cooking, getting you around, providing childcare, feeding the cat, etc.

How did I not hear about this until now?

What you can do

So, if you know someone who needs this sort of support, tell them about CaringBridge, or better yet, set up a site and calendar for them.

And if you're feeling philanthropic, head to the CaringBridge donations page.

Chicken feet and kids are jerks

Chicken feet sans red nail polish. Photo from CEZ'L 

I was delighted to hear from Sandra, a friend from my elementary school days. Namely, the pubescent school days when kids are battling to be cool, or not to be the least cool. Turns out she has been reading my kancer kronicles.

Anyway, Sandra reminded me of something we did, something we thought was hilarious at the time. Something that today, would probably get us suspended at the very least. And something that reminded me that all kids are jerks now and then, even kids like us who weren't normally jerks.

I had just returned from a visit at my grandparents' farm. At the time, they had chickens. I had found the foot of one unfortunate chicken who had been recently decapitated, and thought it would be a great idea to bring the foot home.

I told Sandra about my find. We decided we needed to do something special with the chicken foot.

Hatching a plan

I'm not terribly sure how we selected our target. I remember she was very bright, one of the first to put her hand up in class. She didn't have a mean bone in her body. I guess that was it, she was simply an easy target.

Having been a target many times - I was a quiet, pudgy bookworm - I should have known better. Then again, maybe I was just delighted not to be the target this time around.

Anyway, we decided we would fancy up the foot, package it, and leave it as a gift on her desk.

Crafty chicks

We painstakingly painted the chicken's nails red, then stored them in the freezer at Sandra's house for safe keeping. Then we fashioned a package out of an old Cool Whip container, and made a tag in the shape of a fish. We wrote a love note from the least cool guy in our class, whose last name was Fisher. And topped it with a bow.

April Fool's Day, we made sure to get to school early, so we could deposit the gift on our target's desk before the teacher arrived.

As our classmates strolled in, they saw the package, paused, and wondered what could be inside. Finally, our target arrived. With a crowd around her, she read the note, opened the container and screamed.

A clean escape

Sandra, who made no secret of her dislike of our target, was roundly scolded by our teacher. She even told him it was me who had brought the chicken foot home from my grandparents' farm. For whatever reason, the teacher never said a word to me about it.

Operation fuck kancer: Chemo 3 and an attitude adjustment

My wall of happy.

Had my third chemo yesterday, the second last of the AC part of my ACT treatment. This puts me close to the half-way mark chemo wise, which I'm quite pleased about.

The huge thing was yesterday, I had four members in my chemo posse: my husband, current colleagues Kirsten (who doubled as our driver) and Melissa (who had me laughing about making Elizabethan ruffs for dogs), and Erica, a former colleague who's now a great friend.

I was waiting to see if the nurse would kick two of them out, but it wasn't a full room, and only one other patient had one visitor with him, so I guess she decided it wasn't a big deal. Now more about that attitude adjustment...

Getting needed perspective

It was a huge kick in the pants for me. You may recall I've been having a pity party.

Then a few nights ago, I was magnetized to a magazine in our laundry room called Fresh Vancouver. The feature story was an interview with Bif Naked, a rockin' woman who happens to be a breast cancer warrior. One quote really stuck out for me:

"...there are cancer patients who take the bus in from Surrey for chemo, or who have four kids and can't find child care so they lug their kids in with them." Sweet merciful crap. I can't imagine taking my one kid with me, much less four.

Challenges are just that

Yes, we have had challenges arranging child care, or finding someone to do daycare drop-off and pick-up for us at times. My husband has taken over that task because it stresses me out (thing one to be grateful for).

And every single time, whether it takes 10 phone calls or one, a friend steps up to the plate (thing two to be grateful for). Indeed, the childcare posse is in full effect y'all, with Shemim helping us last night Yvonne this morning, and Nikki tonight since George is working. It takes a village, folks. And our village is pretty fucking awesome.

My wall of happy

All this brings me to my wall of happy (sorry about the photo quality, will try to get something better, but you get the idea). The wall started with a couple of art pieces by my son and one of his best friends. Last night it grew to include photos and greeting cards.

I've been posting my progress on Facebook with some uncertainly over how much I should be sharing. But within a few hours of posting that I'm almost halfway through chemo, the number of responses floored me. And that's why I do it. Living far from most of my family, I need to know my friends are there for me.

When I roll over to get out of bed every morning, and when I'm lying down because I feel like hell, I now have a hard-copy reminder of how many people have my back. And a reminder of how much hair I had when I was young and wild (yeah, that's a perm - don't judge, it was the 90s).

Finding solace in books

Last week was chemo appointment two. I ended up arriving early at the cancer agency with an hour to kill, so decided to check out their information centre on the first floor. Basically, it's a small library with free hats.

After nabbing a couple of new skull caps and discussing the merits of doing the head-shave with another cancer warrior, I asked the volunteer working that day if she had any books for children she could recommend.

Lo and behold, she found Where's Mom's Hair? If you read last week's post, you'll know talking to my son about the whole cancer thing has been weighing heavily on my mind.

All about timing

Even though I had already shaved my head, this book landed in my hands at the perfect time. Not only does it go through mom's shaving her head (at a head-shaving party, no less!), but it also walks through mom's experience going to chemo, with photos of her with the IV in. It talks about dad feeling sad when mom doesn't feel well after treatment. And it ends on a hopeful note.

I brought it home and that night, my son and I read Where's Mom's Hair? He was curious about the IV and wanted to know if my treatment was the same as the mom's in the book. And then he got very quiet. We finished the book and he gave me multiple hugs before bed.

He has no interest in reading the book again. And that's okay. I'm pretty sure it served its purpose.

How do I broach death with my kid

With all the goings on of late, the fellow in this photo is the No. 1 person I worry about.

Yesterday, my husband and I are took wee man to kindergarten orientation. I have all the normal fears about my child starting school, and then some.

On Monday, I had the chance to hash out these fears with a family counsellor at the cancer agency, and I'm grateful for that. My fears:

• Another child who has lost someone to cancer will tell my child I'm going to die.
• My child will act out because of frustration, making his first year of big-kid school not so fun.

The basis of my fears

There are a couple of reasons I'm worried about these particular points, especially the first one.

I have been warned by other parents who have gone through cancer treatments that kids can come home with misinformation from their peers.

My husband and I have kept our language simple and straight-forward when explaining my surgery and treatment to our son. However, this is his first experience with cancer. He knows my mother-in-law was sick, her lungs didn't work properly, and she died before mommy and daddy got married. But he doesn't know that she had cancer.

My sister, on the other hand, has the opposite challenge. My nephew, who is a year-and-a-half older than my son, knows people who have died of cancer. So my sister has been avoiding using the word when describing what's going on with me, out of concern he'll be upset because until now, for him cancer = death.

Time to tackle my fears

The counsellor and I talked about preparing my son by talking to him about what my cancer means, and what it doesn't - namely that I'm strong, I'm young, and my doctors are doing everything they can to help make sure it doesn't come back. 

Which sounds great in theory. But this brings up another fear, the unspeakable for everyone around me: what if we're all wrong? What if it does come back, and my son feels lied to?

This is one of those posts where I don't really have any clever quips to make me or anyone else feel better.

It's okay not to work sometimes

So I'm at home this afternoon because my kid was up late last night with a fever, then puked this morning. I booked it to work after taking said kid to see the doctor. He magically perked up as he walked into the examination room, leaving hubby and I looking like morons who bring their offspring in for every cough and sneeze. Seriously, he felt like a piece of hot coal just 30 minutes before that. Oh well.

Anyway, I'm lucky enough to work for an employer who doesn't get all, "Hey, when will you be making up that time?" Rather, the partners are generally, "Please go home and make sure he's okay. And keep the familial germs there while you're at it, thank you very much!"

That said, I have remote access to my work email, desktop and such, so just tried logging in with all three passwords I've invented for my current work purposes. Nada. Access denied. And I feel shitty for it. Why the hell can't I remember it? Never mind that I told my coworkers to call if they need me. What if the sky falls at 3:51 p.m. and I'm not available to fix it? What if someone needs some last-minute proofing and a client's livelihood absolutely depends on it? What if?

Then I think about it. On my walk home, I called and chatted with my Dad. It was his first day of vacation. Or rather, it was supposed to me until he got an email that he had to be at an 11:30 a.m. meeting. Then he was on his crackberry for much of the day in further talks, some spawned by that meeting, some not.

You know what? My kid's sick. It's 2:34 on a Friday afternoon. The clients will live if they can't reach me for the next 2:26 hours.