Quash Cancer

In Memoriam

2010-01-08T09:20:00.000-08:00

Zoë Lewis

Zoë Lewis, formerly Sherry Anne Longstaffe, was born in Vancouver on May 15, 1960 and died peacefully at home, surrounded by her children, dear friends and family, on January 3, 2010, after a long battle with breast cancer. Loved for her quick wit, fiery spirit and kind heart, Zoë sought out and celebrated authenticity throughout her life, and condemned injustice wherever she found it. Zoë was a deeply caring and loving mother, a quiet, but passionate philanthropist, an amazing jewellery designer, and a culinary goddess. She is survived by her children, her mother Marietta Hurst, her brother Ted Longstaffe, as well as her many dear friends and extended family, who will all miss her tremendously. Zoë will live on in our memories, free of the cancer that took her body, but could never quash her beautiful spirit. A party will be held at a later date so that friends and family can share Zoë's passion for love and life.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Red Hibiscus Foundation at www.vancouverfoundation.ca/redhibiscus or by sending a cheque made out to "Vancouver Foundation - Red Hibiscus Foundation" to Vancouver Foundation, Suite 1200-555 W. Hastings Street, Box 12132 Harbour Centre, Vancouver BC, V6B 4N6.

Taking a Break from Cancer

2009-11-15T08:15:00.000-08:00

I could write a grumpy post about this cancer-coaster that I am on and all of the crazy symptoms that come and go thoughout the day. I could write a full-of-gratitude email about some wonderful things that are happening. But since I am busy trying to distract myself from some of the aforementioned symptoms by laying lazily in bed with a mug of freshly-steeped ginger green tea beside me, and my lovely, loyal mutt Sadie asleep on the end of the bed and my lovely Charlotte fast asleep across the hall and my lovely Zach undoubtedly fast asleep at his Dad's. I have just been reading the Sunday New York Times which has been immensely entertaining and I just read an article that I think is absolutely hilarious and that I am about to try to cut and paste:
November 15, 2009
Field Notes In Cougar Territory, Cubs Take the Lead
By MARCELLE S. FISCHLER
IN the swirl of attention around older women coupling with younger men, it seems the guys are increasingly the ones on the prowl.

Over the last year, Amber Soletti, a founder of OnSpeedDating.com, has been playing host monthly to “Cougar/Boy Toy” speed-dating events. And despite research to the contrary, it is the men, she and others say, who are clamoring for more.

“We’ve had to turn away men at every event,” she said. Ten men were on the waiting list at the most recent one.

Casey Mizzone, 31, a teacher from Hoboken, N.J., made the cut at the “Cougar/Boy Toy” night on Nov. 4 at the Watering Hole, a New York bar. He had been wait-listed the previous month. Older women, Mr. Mizzone said, “are not so nitpicky, so naggy; there’s not a lot of pressure.”

He was one of 16 men to get a chance to meet, for four minutes each, the 15 women at the OnSpeedDating.com event, which typically draws more cubs than cougars. The men were 23 to 31 years old; the women 35 to 56.

Ms. Soletti said the lure for the men is that older women are more sophisticated and, frankly, more sexually experienced.

The women “are in their sexual prime,” she said. “If they can please her, they feel like they rock in bed.”

James Insinga, 28, managing director of a Manhattan real estate firm, said he finds younger women “are about getting married immediately, having kids.” He said the older women he dates are easier to talk to and more enticing, including an “adorable” friend of his mother’s (but it “would be dicey” to tell Mom).

Barry A. Farber, a psychotherapist and the director of the clinical psychology program at Teachers College at Columbia University, said “dating an older woman may free the man from the pressures of the ‘baby hunger’ that a relationship with a younger woman might bring.” An older woman, he added, “may well take him more seriously than a woman his own age and will overlook the relatively small flaws.”

It is not, however, a new idea. In 1745, Ben Franklin in his “Old Mistresses Apologue” advised men that “in all your Amours you should prefer old Women to young ones.”

“They are so grateful!” he added, rather indelicately.

And into the 21st century, men have started Web sites to chase and give advice about dating older women, such as Urbancougar.com, where “cub chronicles,” “cougar confessions,” cougars of the month and listings of “dens” are posted.

There are more men than women among the 200 that have signed up for the first International Cougar Cruise, a three-day sail from San Diego to Ensenada, Mexico, Dec. 4 to 7.

Rich Gosse, the organizer of the cruise and the chairman of the Society of Professional Singles, based in San Rafael, Calif., said that when he started running younger men/older women parties a year ago, the focus was on “cougars wanting the younger guy.” Now the men are “more excited about this phenomenon than the cougars.”

Not too long ago, Mr. Gosse said, a 20-something male wouldn’t admit to dating a woman over 40. “Now it is a badge of honor,” he said.

At a cougar speed-dating event at R. C. Dugans, a bar and lounge in East Meadow, N.Y., last month, 8 of the 10 men attending said they would date Patricia Polenz, a 48-year-old Northport, N.Y., divorcee with five children. Her first husband was 20 years her senior.

Ms. Polenz said the younger guys were “a little refreshing.”

“They are a little more eager to know me,” she said, “they are more willing to be accommodating than men my age.”

In fact, a recent study of 4,500 British singles conducted by Parship, a British online dating service, said 20 percent of men in their 20s and 22 percent of men in their 30s would date an older woman.

For the last six months, Andreas Anastasopoulos, 27, a graphic designer from Hamilton, N.J., has been dating Erin MacCord, 41, a divorced mother of three teenagers and a nonprofit development director from Burlington, N.J. Mr. Anastasopoulos said that women his age are into “immature partying and drinking, and being stupid and irresponsible” and he is “past that.”

He thinks her children are great. “I have younger sisters that are their age,” he said.

Brandon Solomon, 28 and a real estate project manager, sat next to Ali Addesa, a 44-year-old accountant, during the East Meadow speed-dating event, which was sponsored by WeekendDating.com. He said he would be willing to date 8 of the 11 women at the event, who were nearly old enough to be his mother, and wondered if they might consider him “a trophy.”

A booth away, Fred Guarino, 34, of Middle Village, Queens, and the owner of a heating and air-conditioning company, said, à la Ben Franklin, older women tend to be more appreciative, especially those “who have been married and divorced and have seen how bad things can get.”

“Young girls today, they take everything for granted,” he said.

Fall Reflections

2009-10-10T11:00:00.000-07:00

I stopped writing regularly in the blog just before the beginning of the summer. I was about to be done with the wocko-socko chemo and the indications from the scan mid-treatment was that the chemo was working and that the cancer had been pushed back. I had the idea that once the chemo was over in July that I would have tons of energy and a great summer hanging out with my kids and enjoying Vancouver in the sunshine. That's not exactly what happened.

The July scan was the same as the April scan meaning that (a) the disease had not progressed and/or (b) the last 3 rounds of chemo did nothing. I just couldn't bring myself to post that news. I did not want to admit how profoundly fatigued I felt and how bereft of life force. I had,had the intention with the blog to tell the whole story about my experience with metastatic cancer but I just didn't want to admit how low I was feeling. The wonderful Vancouver summer happened but I mostly looked at it out the window. I was told that it is natural for it to take about 6 months to bounce back from chemo but I could tell that there was also disease progression not just post-chemo blues at play.

In the last few weeks I have started on a new oral chemo, narrowly missed needing to have fluid drawn from my lungs, experimented with close to a dozen meds to manage pain and other disease-related symptoms, have experimented with taking as few of those meds as possible as my body railed against the toxic accumulation from all that I was ingesting. There were some nights that I wondered if I would wake up the next morning and thankfully friends either stayed or were a phone call away. Charlotte and Zack's Dad is going to move back to Vancouver with his wife and baby and it will be great for the kids to have more nurturance nearby. It's tough enough being a teen an a tween without having a mom who is ill and emotional and who still obsesses over what they are eating, what time they go to bed, whether their homework is done and why they don't put their shoes away or do their dishes. Surely these things should not be what I consider priorities right now but it still comes out of my mouth and they quite rightly give me occassional eye-rolls along with their hugs and "I love yous."

Okay, so that was a tough slog of an update for me and undoubtedly for you reading this but as always with the hard times go the silver linings and the best of what love and relationship and community has to offer.

On this Thanksgiving Weekend, I want to send out love-drenched, heart-filled cheers of gratitude to the wonderful people in my life who have knocked through my veneer of desired privacy (such a crock) and who just keep showing up and showing up and showing up for Zack and Charlotte and me. This is not a complete list which underscores just how lucky we are!

Parents of Charlotte's friends are covering all the carpooling for school and her dance classes. Parents of Zack's new hockey team are pitching in to cover rides to games and practices that his godparents can't do. We are the recipients of home-cooked meals and sweets several times a week,organized by my wonderful friend Esmeralda, and cooked by women who already have crazy chock-a-block filled lives of kids and careers and mates thrown in for good measure. My mom is lovingly demanding to help out no matter what....thank you Mom. My beloved GP of 16 years came to tell me in person that she has replaced herself in her family practice to take on a new post. Though personally sad for me, I am so delighted for her. The kids and I are now the very lucky and grateful recipients of her farewell gift--the name and number of her housekeeper who was interested in working more hours. Dolly shows up many days every week to help me sort out my messes, bring order to my life and showers me will love and good cheer. Cousin Karen, who with boundless energy and good will is keeping us in groceries and is charming Sadie with daily excitements of beach or park or woods. Kelly who acted like her recent Vancouver visit--during which she filled out freezer with over a dozen much loved soups--was not less fun than our New York trip that we had supposed to have been on that week. Our daily chats--especially the cancer-free ones--are sacred. Carol-Ann, my longtime walk-in-the woods with dogs friend has graciously been dropping my samplers of family favourites for my wonderful carnivore son. To the trifecta of Bhola and Laura and Tom who provide such a profound level of nurturance--we are so grateful for your love-filled safety net. And to the kids' grandfather Dicken's for coming to Vancouver while the Trifecta are away to support Zack in getting to all of his hockey commitments and for being there for Zack and Charlotte.

All the offers and acts of support--named and unnamed--are so welcome. though I must admit that it has been interesting to see my resistance to graciously say "YES" to this profound outpouring of support. I am missing being engaged with life. Open-handed giving and reciprocity are so active and juicy whereas receiving, receiving, receiving, feels so passive. I am so lucky and so grateful for this much needed care and support and I am going to have to find a way to not feel like a waiting-to-die shut-in.

I am in a situation that I wish I were not. There is grief and fear and denial but of course there is so much more than that. If it were up to me, I would be outside on my bike right now glorying in this sunny fall day instead of lazing in bed looking out at it. But that's just today. Right now. Who knows what's in store? I don't feel ready to die and I also don't want to spend whatever time I have to live being on chemo or feeling sick from meds. I am feeling petulant about how much I am feeling like a full-time cancer patient. It's really dull. I am bored with it and with myself. I have a stiff neck from gazing at my navel so much lately. I need to feel more engaged even if I'm brain fuzzy, low energy, not very mobile and don't know how I'm going to feel from one minute to the next.

I'd love to know what's going on in your lives. Stories--trite, poignant and funny--are all most welcome.

Help is Wanted and Needed

2009-08-31T13:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Ones,

It's been a couple of months since I last posted. The kids and I have had a pretty good summer...the weather has been glorious as has been the break from the ever-so-scheduled busyness of the school year.

Despite all the downtime though, my energy level just has not bounced back and it is now crystal clear to me that I need help with things like grocery shopping, cooking, errands and kid chauffeuring. I may actually need to find two or more people depending on what Zach's hockey schedule turns out to be.

I know that a lot of you who have read the blog in the past are very good-thinkers and well-connected in the community, so I am going to ask for all of you to put on your thinking caps and forward me any leads of people who might be looking for a personal assistant type job that would vary from day-to-day. Any lead of any kind would be appreciated. Please feel free to pass on this request to anyone who might know of someone.

thanks,

Zoe

zoe@screamingpeacock.ca

Sweet Peas and Strawberries

2009-06-11T08:38:00.001-07:00

Ahhh...all of this sunshine is so good for the soul. Does anyone remember last year's June-uary? It's not even officially summer yet.

I just started my day with green tea and the Globe and Sun, then watering the garden, picking strawberries and sweet peas as I went. The weeds will have to wait until the Jewellery Show is done.

Zack's sleeping in...no doubt using his subliminal powers to psych himself up for his Science final later this morning. Charlotte is off to school and the decks are almost clear to create all day long, the scent of sweet peas wafting around the design zone.

Happy day everyone.

Strong Link Between Diabetes & Cancer: Another Reason Why BC Cancer Agency Should Not Dispense Crappy Chocolate Bars from Its Patient Snack Trolley

2009-06-04T14:31:00.000-07:00

Email to CBC's B.C. Almanac Program, June 4, 2009

RE: Link between Cancer and Diabetes

I was just listening with interest and concern to B.C. Almanac's Medical Columnist Tim Yeomans speak about the recent research linking type 2 diabetes and cancer. I became aware of the link between glucose and cancer in 2000 when as a follow-up to treatment for breast cancer I underwent a PET Scan that involved drinking a very sweet drink that contained the nuclear medicine. The doctor explained that cancer cells gobble up the sugar-laden substance and then the scan is able to detect the presence of cancer cells in the patient. Well that was enough for me to basically swear off sugar. My kids were three and five at the time and I very much wanted to be permanently free of cancer and get back to living a very long and fulfilling life.

Fast forward to 2009. I have just finished a round of chemotherapy at the BC Cancer Agency for treatment of metastatic breast cancer. I observed with great incredulity that the volunteer-run Snack Trolley that makes its rounds of the patient areas at the Cancer Agency is laden with Kit Kats, Snickers and the like.

I felt compelled to do a bit of advocacy work and wrote a letter to the Agency wondering at why they were making more appropriate snacks available and offering my time to source health-filled and delicious snack foods. I did receive a letter thanking me for my inquiry and was informed that a committee had been struck to look at the issue. A couple of weeks ago I followed up with Sue Fuller-Blamey of the Agency who explained to me that the reason that chocolate bars are offered was that patients have requested them. I asked her why it did not suffice to have chocolate bars available in the vending machines on the main floor of the Agency and why the Agency is not taking a leadership role in educating patients of the importance of diet as one tool to beat cancer. I was told that I would be contacted to have a face-to-face meeting with someone to address my concerns but so far that has not occurred.

Cancer patients should not have to glean this info from the media though as someone who hopes to live with metastatic cancer for a very, very long time I thank B.C. Almanac for today's interview on the link between diabetes and some types of cancer.

I find it empowering to know that there are things that I can do in my daily life such as eating a healthy diet low in simple carbohydrates, getting regular exercise and maintaining an appropriate weight that can greatly contribute to my health.

Portal into an Intoxicating Day

2009-05-31T08:03:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning at 6:24am after a 9-hour sleep. Uninterrupted sleep of that length is, in itself, miraculous for me. The sun shone brilliantly through every crack in the blinds. I put on the kettle, traipsed downstairs to bring in the New York Times and went out on the sunny Frat Porch (deck of my bedroom that overlooks the Georgia Straight, Downtown, Stanley Park and North Shore Mountains). With my feet up, sipping on my green tea, I read for a bit before heading into the garden to snap some photos for the blog.

I haven't been writing for many reasons: I am now done with the major chemo (will continue with Herceptin which has just fatigue as a side-effect) as of 10 days ago; I am working every non-parent/householder/mutt-owner moment designing for my jewellery show that is coming up on June 18th; and I realized when my computer wasn't working for several days in the transition from Telus to Shaw that I wanted to be using it much less.

With the fantastic weather we're having, I want to be outside gardening, having BBQ's on our new portable Weber on the frat porch and basically enjoying life rather than writing about my life.

I am sure that I will get back to writing--as that feeds me too--but right now, no news is good news.

Wishing all of my dear followers and lurkers a wonderful day. May the fragrance of blooming wisteria and lilacs waft up your noses, may you have the time to delight in your kids/dogs/mates/friends and may your hearts be full and your worries be set aside even briefly so that you may hear the birdsong, smell the fragrant blossoms, consume delicous food and feel contentment even if mayhem is close at hand.

There Isn't Enough Time to Not Vote...

2009-05-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Voting Polls are open 8am-8pm

Today Whatever your politics and your point-of-view, vote.

No matter if you are voting for a candidate or against one, vote.

No matter if you are voting for a party or against one, vote.

No matter how crazy your day is today, vote.

Be the Change You Want to See in Vancouver, VOTE.

Also, there's a Referendum Question: First Past the Post or Representational Voting...

Confused about BC-STV? Try it and see if you like it By Charlie Smith, Georgia Straight

http://www.straight.com/article-219859/confused-about-bcstv-try-it-and-see-if-you-it

Cancer Sufficiently Quashed to be Designing Jewellery Again...

2009-05-06T16:03:00.000-07:00

Moms adore receiving a token of their darlin's affection on Mother's Day which is this Sunday, May 10th. Feel free to pass along the info to those who have mother's or drive those who have mothers. I will be open by appointment this week/weekend.

Tiffany's--who for the record got into the keys as pendants way after Screaming Peacock's one-of-a-kind vintage key and sterling silver heart pendants were introduced--cannot offer the uniqueness, the funk, or the prices that Screaming Peacock Jewellery canI am very happy to report a very good scan result and that I am feeling well enough to be back designing one-of-a-kind and extremely limited edition jewellery.

To make an appointment, please email me zoe@screamingpeacock.ca or call me 604-228-8555. I accept credit cards and of course cash and have all sorts of selection and gift certificates as well.Deepest thanks to all of my well-wishing followers and lurkers...I couldn't have pulled off my current happy news without you all.

Zoë

Temporary Retreatment

2009-04-27T07:12:00.000-07:00

It's time for me to go inward for a wee bit. Last week Zack had a sinus infection and missed two days of school. I was being cautious in terms of Hefneresque hand-washings, immune boosting etc. but could feel my body at the edge of sickness. I was working with pretty much trick that Lalitha has ever taught me and felt good about just barely averting illness.

But...I showed up on Friday for day one of Sacred Art of Dying Part II...hit a very intense emotional state and a cold/flu thinging came in like gangbusters.

I came home Saturday late afternoon and got straight into a hot bath and then went to bed. I got intense chills to the point that I slept with a very heavy wool hat on. Every time I had to get out of bed, it took my almost an hour to stop shivering. I just don't get sick like that normally and when I phoned Janie at Callanish to let her know that I just couldn't go to the last day of the workshop, she commented that my white blood-cell count is likely low and that's why I was feeling so ill. That reminded my that my oncologist had mentioned that it was already suppressed before my last dose of chemo.

This week on Wednesday afternoon I will have my next set of blood work done and meet with my oncologist who will have results from a CT scan that was done a couple of weeks ago, tumour markers (I already know that two are going in the right direction and that one is not) and my blood-work results. There is a certain level when the WBC count is too low to the point that one's chemo protocol is delayed. It is my understanding that I need to make great effort to avoid this so that I may continue my chemo cocktails at the optimal kill-the-cancer-but-not-quite-the person pace.

Chemo is scheduled for this Friday though there are a number of possible scenarios under which that may not happen. I'll know more Wednesday. Waiting for test results is really one of my least favourite things though it is a great opportunity to practice being in the moment. Really. Either my scan is better or it is worse. Either the tumour markers will cause my oncologist to suggest a change in my protocol or they won't. Either my white blood-cell count will allow me to continue chemo or it won't. All I can do about all of that is to take good care of my body. I rest is out of my hands...at least until Wednesday.

I have two days and lots of appointments and work to get done before chemo and it is sunny and the garden beckons as does my comfy bed and chairs placed strategically for maximizing vitamin D intake.

So...Saturday I spent the entire day either in bed or sorting through mountains of papers looking for things for my accountant and on Sunday...weeble that I am...I started to feel distinctly better. It helped of course that it was a glorious day. Some plants got planted...there was a lot of sibling trampoline bouncing...there was the traditional first day of the "music" truck (aka ice cream truck so named for the benefit of a mother with two young kids (me). The kids were four and two when I revealed to them that the nice man in the music truck was even nicer than they had imagined) driving by, opening of the wallet of the Mama as she gardens and the kids play/provoke one another.

Then into the car to take Charlotte to a class. I ended up with 90 minutes to have lunch and poke about the artisan co-ops at Granville Island. Charlotte joined me after her class and we ended our afternoon with some mother/daughter bonding over many things beautiful, innovative and well-crafted.

So...I am much better than I was two days ago and I need to be even better by Wednesday so I am putting myself on an energy-expenditure diet and going to try to slow down my pace.

I wish you all your desired mix of doing and of being. Ahhhhhhhhh...

Sacred Art of Dying II

2009-04-24T06:21:00.000-07:00

I return to Callanish in the City for Part II of their inaugural workshop on the Sacred Art of Dying, today and tomorrow from 10am-5pm. Part of me would like to just stay close to home, spending the day divided between jewellery design, house de-disasterifying and gardening. Part of me is so happy to be back in the company of the very fine folk who source Callanish and the seven other participants.

I write this watching the sun rise colouring up the eastern sky, birds at the feeder, and reflect on the crazy month that I have had since Part I of the workshop. I have discovered advocacy and been part of a "take back Pacific Spirit Park" whistle initiative, started a new blog entitled: http://bethechangeyouwanttoseeinvancouver.blogspot.com/, written to the BC Cancer Agency about their--in my BFO--very unsavoury snack trolley and upon posting the letter on that blog after almost a month of awaiting a written response, received a hand-delivered letter from them less than 24 hours after mentioning that I was wondering about being in touch with some of my media contacts. I also with great efficiency was able to promote a very neat Earth Day event held in the parking lot of Lord Byng Secondary. Best Buy accepted people's old electronics to keep them out of the landfill. I heard through another parent that they had five times the response that had been expected. Thanks to all who participated and who now have less clutter in their homes.

I also had the great honour of being at the birth of friends' strapping bonny lad. That is truly a delicious memory. And then there was the meeting of this new being two days later with Zack and Charlotte. That was just an immense thrill for all of us.

I feel so full of live these days and know that it is because of being reminded of how precious and uncertain life is. I will go to Callanish to do the deepest work I am capable of so that I can maintain this appreciation of this life that is available to me this moment, moment, moment.

"A good death does honor to a whole life." ~Petrarch

"Apply yourself now, that at the hour of death, you may be glad and unafraid." ~Thomas à Kempis

"In my end is my beginning." ~T.S. Eliot

"When someone is born we rejoice,
When someone is married we celebrate
But when someone dies, we pretend that nothing happened." ~Margaret Mead

Perfect Day for Even a Moment of Holiday

2009-04-23T07:24:00.000-07:00

Happy Spectacular Day dear Vancouver followers and lurkers! This is what we've all waited for--our first high-pressure system. Long may it last. All hail King Soleil. Roll-up those sleeves, don those groovy shades, smile at random people, get out of your car: walk and bike. Grab lunch in the sun. Plant the plant you bought on Earth Day. Hug a kid (if they are known to you). Spring has sprung!

Life is No Brief Candle to Me

2009-04-21T06:09:00.000-07:00

This is the true joy in life, to be used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one, to be thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap. To be a force of nature instead of a feverish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. I am a member of a community and as a member it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can before I die. Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch that I want to make burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”

George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950)Irish literary Critic, Playwright and Essayist1925 Nobel Prize for Literature

Photo by Gabe Kircheimer

I'm a Weeble...

2009-04-20T07:26:00.000-07:00

and as we all know: Weebles Wobble But They Don't Fall Down.

No matter what is thrown my way these days...and there has been a lot, much more than would be appropriate to put into a blog...I somehow keep managing to pop back up. Yes I do fall over. I go out, I appear to have tons of energy, be animated and engaged and then as soon as I am hope I go to bed.

For about a week to ten days after each chemo round, I am very low functioning. Then there is daily life of a single mom with a teen and a tween, that requires some sharp thinking which is on the other end of the continuum from chemo brain. Then there are interactions with the outside world. I have been saying for about a week now: "I'm just one side of crazy, but I'm not sure which."

On Saturday I was on the wrong side of crazy and realized yesterday that I must, must, must be much more judicious with my energy expenditure if I am going to somehow be able to "buy" an big fat life extension.

Luckily for me I have the resilient gene. I am a weeble and thankfully weebles wobble but they don't fall down.

http://www.weebles-wobble.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weeble

And, of course, today's post would not be complete without a mention of our Canucks who are leading the first series of the playoffs against the Blues 3-0.

My resident statistician informs me that only two teams in the entire NHL history have come back from being down 3-0 in any series.

I made Zack cross when we were watching the final minutes of yesterday's game. I said "I feel sorry for the Blues." Zack looked at me in horror, asking me how on earth I could say that and telling me that I must leave the room if I planned on continuing on with that tack. I said that I a mom and I just can't help it but I did zip it as there is nothing more fun that watching playoff hockey with my boy when it's the Canucks who are playing and whoopin' the Blues.

What's New Pussycat?

2009-04-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, at the time that I would usually be entertaining myself with some new blog entry whilst watching the day dawn, drinking green tea and perusing The Globe and Mail and The Vancouver Sun, I receive the call. The call that I have been ready and waiting for for days. The call that I feared might come during last weekend's chemo combat recovery period. But no, it came yesterday!

Oh. You're wondering what on earth I'm on about? Well, it's not really my news to tell so here's the highly-edited version.

I had the great honour of being invited to be present and involved at the birth of a very, very dear friend's first child. It is the very first time that I have had such an invitation. It was of course the third birth I have been present at, if one can be called "present" during labour but the very first time that I was not the one doing all the hard work.

Mama and Baby did their parts impeccably and are doing great and Dad is justifiably, chest-swellingly proud of both of them.

I spent the late afternoon with my Mama hat back on, profoundly effected by what I had witnessed in the morning. The miracle of life. The abilities of two humans to make another human. The perfection that is a new human being.

Charlotte was having a very brief--I need food--tween moment and I said to her that she was lucky that I had had such a brilliant experience earlier in the day and was feeling so ecstatic otherwise she would have been on the receiving end of a very cranky Mama.

And another thing.........CANUCKS ROCK!

According to the statistician-in-residence, 90% of teams who win the first two games of a playoff series go on to win the series.

Have an awesome weekend.
Zoë

Going Global--Maiwa auction Thursday, April 16th, 7:30pm in the Net Loft on Granville Island

2009-04-15T19:27:00.000-07:00

Ajrakh Auction

Thursday, April 16th at 7:30 pm in the Net Loft on Granville Island

Join us [Maiwa] as we transform the Net Loft into a gallery. There will be a multi-media presentation and talk by Charllotte Kwon on the Khatri community of traditional blockprinters from Dhamadka, India, and the present water crisis.

There will be music, food, refreshments, and wine. But the most exciting part of the evening will be the live auction of textiles. Exquisite double sided ajrakhs, textiles from the Maiwa Collection, Jewelry and other items will be put up for bid.

During this evening, the Maiwa store will be open and 100% of the sale price of all items sold will be donated to the Foundation for Project Dhamadka.
Due to limited space please
RSVP to Maiwa 604 669 3939
or maiwa@maiwa.com

Please come and support us.

Want to Know More?
We've put pictures of these incredible double sided auction pieces up in a previous post.
Curious about how an ajrakh is made?
We've put up pictures of one cloth going through sixteen stages of production. With a double-sided ajrakh these stages must be performed on each side of the cloth. It takes an entire set of wooden blocks to print an ajrakh. Sometimes the pattern is asymetric - this means a separate set of blocks must be carved for each side.
The pi�ce de r�sistance? A double-sided ajrakh printed with different colours on each side!
Want to hear the Khatris themselves speak about ajrakh?
Listen to our three podcasts featuring the Khatri brothers from Dhamadka and Ajrakpur.
Excerpts from
Masters of the Art
The Khatri Blockprinters of Dhamadka and Ajrakhpur
Part 1 - Presentation
Razzaque Mohammed Khatri and Ismail Mohammed Khatri
with Eiluned Edwards
Excerpts from
Masters of the Art
The Khatri Blockprinters of Dhamadka and Ajrakhpur
Part 2 - Questions from the Audience with
Razzaque Mohammed Khatri and Ismail Mohammed Khatri
and Eiluned Edwards
Excerpts from
Kismet, Ajrakh, and the Fish of Knowledge:
Collaborating with Craftspeople in India
Eiluned Edwards

When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Go on a Holiday!

2009-04-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was an awesome, gorgeous sunny day and so after my 2 1/2 hour session with my wonderful TCM/not-so-tiny-needle torture doctor...direct quote: "If the point is 'strong' like that, you know it's the right point"....'strong' being a euphamism that for being brought to instinctive in-hard-labour breathing (apologies to those who haven't had being at a birth/birthing and have no idea what I am talking about)...I went on a 3 1/2 hour holiday.

First, to get into that holiday mode toute de suite, I walked a few blocks, down some scary stairs (should have had my whistle with me!) and hopped onto the wee ferry boat that after $3 and about as many minutes I was on an island!

All that sea air gave me an appetite so my first stop was the Indian food stall for a thali plate of curried cabbage, spinach and potato. I of course ate in the courtyard and as a tourist took photos of other tourists and had my photo taken.

I told the group of Brits whose photo I had just taken, that they were getting a wildly incorrect experience of Vancouver weather and that before they decide that they want to immigrate here that they should know that this was our nicest day in seven months and that we have the same shite weather hear as they do in the U.K.

After lunch, I poked about some of the shops, did my part to help out the B.C. economy and then walked up to 4th to take the bus home. I still had a few minutes when I got home to sit in the sun on the back deck, hang some laundry on the line, watch the birds, delight in the blooming flowers and budding shrubs.

We made it through the winter!

Chemo Combat..................................Me and my Mutt Kickin' Big "C's" Butt

2009-04-13T12:21:00.000-07:00

Chemo combat:

Day 1: 6 hours of pre-meds and chemo. Fabulously distracted by dear friends.

Day 2: Woke up with no side effects other than extreme fatigue. Stayed in bed all day other than getting up to let the dog out or grab a snack.

Day 3: Woke up and was suddenly wildly nauseous, remembered that I still had one more anti-nausea pill to take (1 each for day 1-3 for a total of $100 + tax....this is what you buy for someone going through chemo...flowers are nice but wonderdrugs are nicer!). I pulled off a walk with Sadie at the local park and then was back to bed and crazy symptoms....feverishly hot, jaw-crushing pain, tingling in hands and feet, racing heart, faintness when standing, breakthrough nausea...it went on for hours with me looking at over a half-dozen prescription bottles thinking "okay, what to take, when to take, how much to take, and if too much, will I wake?"

Day 4: Good news. I did wake up. Sunny. Good. Brain. Dead. Kids. Coming back in a couple hours.

Can't wait for my own personal resurrection.

"Too Good" as my buddy Kelly would say...

2009-04-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

I was looking to see if the VSB had issued a media release about the Byng whistle distribution and found an online report that had a reference to and a quote from me. Out of curiousity I read the article and then read the 36 comments that had been posted regarding the news story (I wonder at the free time some people have, anyway...)

I came across:

Posted 2009/04/09 at 1:11 AM ET--wrenn1 wrote:

"Just saw "Zoe"'s tv appearance. She scares me with or without her whistle. "

You can vote for or against the comment. I voted for it, as had 10 and 1 voted against...that was probably my Mom.

"Too Good" as Kelly always says after we've split a gut over some non-fiction event.

If you want to learn more about what random strangers think of "Zoë Lewis" please click on:

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2009/04/08/bc-body-park-reopens.html#socialcomments

p.s. I look at this photo and I kind of scare myself...as my face gets smaller, my teeth get bigger....grrrrrrr.

Adventures in Chemoland: Episode #4

2009-04-11T16:28:00.000-07:00

Chemo #4: 4/10/09--"Good" Friday--Herceptin, Taxol and Carboplatin

I was in a complete state the entire night, a dark night of the soul as intense as any I've ever had and I've had many. I kept thinking about Wendy Ladner-Beaudry, the woman who was murdered in Pacific Spirit Park on Friday, April 3 as she was jogging. The killer has not been caught and the police are saying that they have no suspects.

I was feeling exhausted from the week. Personal hassles. Whistle co-ordinating. Media interviews and Chemo. God I hate chemo. It is so brutally hard to be doing this to my body and yet...it seems to be working...symptoms of the cancer are lessening though it is clear that the cancer has not miraculously vanished.

I desperately did not want to go to the Agency. I slow-poked my way through the early morning packing up all of my soothing comforts and distractions. I was so worried about my fragile state, thinking if I feel so ill and wasted now what am I going to feel like after the chemo? I tearfully phoned my dear friend Dolly and she dropped everything and came and picked me up and took me to the Cancer Agency. I had asked Natasha the night before if she might stop in...we ended up having a bit of a party.

Natasha and Dolly were all dolled up looking gorgeous in their colourful outfits showing lots of cleavage. Their two chairs formed a circle of protection around me.

Natasha brought bright pink heart stickers which we stuck on all of the chemo bags labelled: "Spectacular Healing Juice".

My session lasted for 6 hours. I had about an hour's nap after the Benedryl (one of the "pre-meds") which gave Dolly and Natasha a chance to bond some more...this was only their second time seeing one another but both Dolly and Kelly felt the same way I did from the first moments of meeting Natasha. The rest of time we just told stories and laughed. The time really flew. The experience was enhanced by the fact that I lucked out and got chemo nurse Fran who is both highly competent and extremely lovely. You can just see the back of her behind D. & N.

We walked out of the building. Dolly http://www.dolly.hopkins.com/ took off to meet up with her team who are helping to staging a huge Earth Day event at Jericho Beach on April 18th from 11 am - 4 pm. http://www.evergreen.ca/earthdayvancouver/

Nathasha had a bit of time before hooking up with another friend and so we grabbed a bit at the Eatery. I had an enormous Lava Roll and a pint of Russell Cream Ale and then since it was so delicious together and I was still hungry, I ordered another roll and another pint. Natasha drove me home and came in long enough to fall in love with the noble mutt and threaten to dognap her. I hung out with Sadie for a while, read for a bit and fell asleep.

I slept very soundly until about 7:30am and woke up with absolutely no chemo side-effects other than extreme fatigue. Was it because of the pink heart stickers saying "Spectacular Healing Juice" on the chemo bags or was it the wonderful, wonderful company of two girlfriends who "get" me or was it the 2 pints of dark beer? I'll never know for sure but I sure am grateful! May it last, last, last.

Way Too Busy to Have Cancer

2009-04-08T22:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Followers and Lurkers,

My attention has been captivated...at least until my next chemo combat this "good" Friday.

If you want to know more, check out:

http://bethechangeyouwanttoseeinvancouver.blogspot.com/

I hope that you'll be inspired to "Be the Change You Want to See in Vancouver."

It's really fun being an activist...try it, you'll see.

~Zoë

Save UBC Farm--TODAY--and a...

2009-04-07T06:47:00.000-07:00

Shout Out to Evi !

The Great Farm Trek ‘09

HOW YOU CAN HELP save UBC Farm. Come to the Great Farm Trek 2009!

Today: Tuesday, April 7

Personal aside: This would have been my beloved grandmother Evi's 98th Birthday. The kids and I had a wonderful dinner and fire ceremony honoring her. In our family, honoring our ancestors involves chocolate, a lot of chocolate. The act of participating in the UBC Farm's trek is a way of us honoring our children and our children's children. I will be there, at least for part of the time. Hope to see you....

okay back to The Great Trek blurb:

The Trek will gather at the Student Union Building at 3:30 p.m. and trekkers will walk to the UBC Farm for a celebration with food and music, and a ceremonial planting. Free parking is available at UBC Farm anytime, and a free bus shuttle will take you from there to the Trek in progress between 3 p.m. and 6 p.m.To get involved, email

Come help celebrate the UBC Farm and its future! It has been a great year for the farm, in terms of innovative programming, awards, and media attention. However, the future of the 24 hectare farm is still not clear, so it is time to come together to celebrate the Farm’s accomplishments and show our unified support for a bright future for the Farm! This is a celebratory, family-friendly event. We want thousands to join us as we trek from the UBC Student Union Building (SUB) via the Board of Governors meeting and then on to the UBC Farm.

We invite you to please book off Tuesday, April 7, 2009 from 3:30 p.m. into the early evening to attend the Great Farm Trek 2009! If you can’t make it until after work, we will be shuttling late-comers by bus from free parking areas near UBC Farm directly to the Trek crowd anytime between 3 p.m. and 6 p.m. After 6 p.m., the crowds will be located at the UBC Farm for festivities. Come to the UBC Farm, 6182 South Campus Road for free parking (see map) http://www.landfood.ubc.ca/ubcfarm/images/new-farm-directions.jpgBring costumes, music, banners, posters, spirit, kids, moving art shows, farm love, floats, hot air balloons, circus performers, sandwich boards, party favours, whistles, bells, dancers, fire twirlers, clowns, bicycles, novelty cars, trapeze artists, scooters, painted school buses, TV Camera crews, and other sundry fun items. Oh yes, bring snacks, water, and weather-appropriate clothing. The event will happen rain or shine!

During the Trek we will have Vancouver’s own ever-wacky and danceable Carnival Band, the high-energy percussion ensemble known as Sambata, Papa Thom from the Shepherd’s Pie Tour ’09, Agora String Band, and much more! At the UBC farm there will be music (the soul-quakin’, boot-shakin’ bluegrass boys of the Agora String Band, and the hip hop alt country tom waits-sylin’ Blackberry Wood.) As well there will be food, addresses from James Mackinnon (100-Mile Diet author,) Rex Weyler (Greenpeace founder), special recorded greetings from David Suzuki, and the Mayor of Vancouver, and a ceremonial planting

friendsoftheubcfarm@gmail.com if you have questions. For a route map and event location see:http://www.amsubc.ca/index.php/ams/news/ams_great_farm_trek_2009/
Also on Facebook: Great Farm Trek 2009
We can’t wait to see you there! Save the Farm: Join the Trek!

The Schedule
2:30 p.m.: Shuttles and van drivers start running between UBC Farm and SUB (until 8 p.m.)
3:15 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.: Gathering at the SUB
3:15 p.m.: Sambata, fantastic percussion ensemble, performs!
3:45 p.m.: Shane Pointe — Traditional Musqueam welcome
3:55 p.m.: Rex Weyler — founder of Greenpeace
4:00 p.m.: James Mackinnon — co-author of the100-Mile Diet: A Year of Local Eating
4:05 p.m.: Michael Duncan – AMS welcome
4:15 p.m.: Trek departs SUB
4:30 p.m.: Trek passes Board of Governors meeting
5:45 p.m.: Trek begins arriving at UBC Farm
5:45 p.m.: Agora String Band and Planting Ceremony
6:30 p.m.: Mark Bomford — UBC Farm welcome
6:35 p.m.: David Suzuki and Gregor Robertson video addresses
6:45 p.m.: Blackberry Wood
7:45 p.m.: Andrea Morgan — (Friends of the Farm) Closing
8 p.m.: Time to go home

Top
PAST: UBC Farm HistoryAs one of the founding faculties at UBC, agriculture has played a major role in academic and land-use activities at the University. The University was initially established around a 100 hectare farm.

Over time, as the UBC population grew and buildings expanded, the farm was re-located from main campus to mid-campus. After extensive research into the best possible remaining site for a farm on campus, farm activities were re-located again in the 1970s to their current location across 16th Avenue in south campus. During this time, the academic focus of UBC shifted to other areas. Field trials gave way to lab tests, and the importance of integrated sustainable field agriculture was de-emphasized.

In 1997, UBC’s Official Community Plan (OCP) was approved. UBC identified the last remaining on-campus working landscapes (the vestiges of our agricultural heritage in the south and mid-campus areas, including the farm) for housing development. However, the faculty of land and food systems’s curriculum and vision changes in 1999 to 2000 as well as renewed student interest prompted a fresh look at the on campus agricultural land base, focusing on new possibilities for the south campus fields. In 2000, the faculty published a paper entitled,“Reinventing the UBC Farm,” articulating a vision for renewing the existing land base as an integrated farm system focused on hands-on sustainability education.

The development and growth of the UBC Farm, also referred to as the Centre for Sustainable Food Systems (CSFS,) during the last nine years follows the general vision first shared in the “reinventing” document, with some refinements to its scope and programs. The strong student leadership that was crucial for the farm’s “re-invention” gave rise to a focus on student-centred learning as the primary mandate of the CSFS. Closely interwoven with an emerging research program and community service activities, the “new” farm can be considered a direct descendant of the University farm first envisioned in 1915.
Over the last century agriculture has left a rich legacy to UBC. As we enter the 21st century with all its associated ecological challenges, the UBC Farm provides a place of rich learning on a many of the key sustainability issues of our time.

Top
PRESENT:The Vancouver Campus Planning process and the UBC FarmIn 2007 the UBC Farm hosted 41 for-credit student courses, over 2,000 students, over 20,000 visitors. The Farm also hosted 35 active research projects from 14 of UBC’s faculties, schools, and colleges on some of the most challenging sustainability issues of our time such as low-carbon food production, alternative energy, nutrient cycling, and honeybee colony collapse disorder, to name a few. It is home to a Saturday farm market during the summer season, and a number of innovative programs that involve residents from the Downtown Eastside, children from various Vancouver schools, academics, youth, elders, and everyone in between.

In response to Campus Planning’s proposals to shrink and move the UBC Farm to make way for housing development, UBC staff, students, and community members have worked very hard during the last year to preserve the UBC Farm and promote a vision for its future. Among other achievements, this year of work resulted in hundreds of letters written in support of the UBC Farm (including a from Dr. David Suzuki) and a motion of support for the farm was unanimously passed by the Metro Vancouver Board. At the November 27, 2008 Board of Governors (BoG) meeting, AMS, GSS, and Friends of the UBC Farm representatives collaborated on a presentation conveying the farm’s importance in helping make UBC a global leader in sustainability. The BoG responded with a media release in which they directed the UBC administration to conduct an academic planning process for the 24 hectare farm to determine how best to make it an “academically rigorous and globally significant” centre for sustainability research and teaching. This represents a positive step forward. Students and the broader community want to make a clear statement before the end of this school year that it is critical to sustainability education at UBC to keep the farm at its current 24 hectare size and location, to provide stable funding for the farm’s programs and operations, and to include key farm users in determining the shape of the farm’s future.

Top
FUTURE: The Great Farm TrekThe AMS decided to organize the Great Farm Trek 2009 to celebrate all that the farm has accomplished in the last nine years, and to send a very clear message to UBC that thousands of people from the academic and wider community support the farm and wish to see it preserved and supported for the future of students and faculty at UBC, residents of Vancouver and B.C., and citizens of the world concerned about sustainability.
This is following upon a long history of Treks at UBC. In 1915, UBC halted construction on its Point Grey campus due to WWI shortages, which left students increasingly cramped on a makeshift campus (now the site of Vancouver General Hospital.) After collecting petition signatures and gaining media and public support, in 1922 1,200 students marched from their makeshift campus to the Point Grey campus to demand the provincial government resume building on the site. The students dedicated a stone cairn as a symbolic foundation for the long-term prosperity of the campus. Under the student and public pressure, the provincial government resumed building.

In that time honoured tradition that has given us our beautiful campus, we will trek to the UBC Farm to show our strong support for its future. With seeds and plants in hand, we will march to the Farm and put them in the ground as a symbol of the desire to grow deep roots at the Farm site for the kind of innovative teaching and research about sustainability issues that future generations will need. Come help us save Vancouver’s last working farm!

for more info, please see: http://www.amsubc.ca/index.php/student_government/sub%20page/category/great_farm_trek_09/

Mad As Hell

2009-04-06T07:18:00.000-07:00

I am taking the tragedy involving Wendy Ladner-Beaudry very seriously and very personally. I was literally in Pacific Spirit Park that afternoon, and can you imagine, my friend was telling me about the Safe Teen presentation that was offered up Lord Byng PAC (Zack and her kids' high school) and we were talking about a "Wise Woman's" response to creepy guys would be.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20090404.wladner0404/BNStory/National/?page=rss&id=RTGAM.20090404.wladner0404

I said that I thought that the wise response to a creep is to not provoke but to let the creep know that he/she has picked the wrong person through body language etc...kind of like a velvet glove over a tire iron.

I don't know if this meets the definition of a "Wise Woman" response but I intend one way or another to buy up a quantity of very loud whistles and to hand them out to whomever might be interested. I contacted Mountain Equipment Co-op asking if they would be willing to give me a price break. I also contacted the principal of Lord Byng to see if they might be interested in whistles that are made available free-of-charge to her students and staff. She wrote me back right away saying that Byng would be very interested.

If anyone has any other idea, other sources if MEC isn't interested, please post a comment. I am thinking of trying 3 Vets next but time is of the essence.

The friend that I was walking in the wooods with on Friday said that she will no longer go on her own. I am not willing to give a creep free rein over Pacific Spirit Park. I want to be safe and I want to be able to go into the woods. I am mad as hell and I will not back down.

"Mounties are still warning the public about being safe in Lower Mainland parks because her death may have been a random violent attack.

Here are some safety tips from the RCMP :
* Always walk, jog or cycle with a companion.
* Do not wear headphones, you need to know what is going on around you.
* Carry a whistle or battery-powered personal alarm device with you.
* Always have your car keys handy so you can get into your car quickly.
* Tell a friend or family member where you are heading and the route you will be taking, and how long you will be there.
* Take a cell phone with you.
* Vary the times you use any trails.
* Wear bright-colored clothes to improve your visibility.
* Try to avoid heavily wooded areas, secluded areas, or areas which would offer poor visibility."

OMG, BBF is like so totally over...

2009-04-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, Charlotte had some girlfriends over--there were five of them who were 12 or are soon-to-be 12. As the head bus-girl and dishwasher, there were wiffs of conversations that my senses picked up.

Some of them greatly concerned me. Some of them I could/can do something about and some relate to the nature that is Grade 6 girl. Moving on to what impacts me/you guys. Apparently I did not make up the acronym BBF.

Googling, I discovered that there were many definitions for the acronym "BBF:"

BBF
Blackbird, Fly (Japan, camera)
BBF
Brother's Brother Foundation (Pittsburgh, PA)
BBF
Big Block Ford
BBF
Buffet Breakfast
BBF
Box/Box/File (file cabinet under the work surface)
BBF
Bumblefoot (band)
BBF
Border Book Festival (Las Cruces, New Mexico)
Bbf
Betriebsbahnhof (German: Service Yard)
BBF
British Baseball Federation
BBF
Bursty Bulk Flow
BBF
Baptized by Fire (gaming clan)
BBF
Best Best Friend
BBF
Best Buds Forever
BBF
Burlington, Massachusetts (Airport Code)
BBF
Blood or Body Fluid
BBF
Be Back in a Few
BBF
Balance Brought Forward
BBF
Branded by Fire (youth conference)
BBF
Best Boy Friend
BBF
Belly Button Fluff
BBF
Burger Boy Food-O-Rama (Ohio fast food chain)
BBF
Brass Band Festival
BBF
BigBrotherFans.org (online community and bittorrent tracker)
BBF
Blue Box Fraud (Sprint)
BBF
Blackberry Friendly
BBF
Bargain Box Fabrics (Australia)
BBF
Bulletin des Bibliotechques de France (France)
BBF
Borden Burger Foods
BBF
Brain Stem Blood Flow
BBF
Baja By Fountain (Fountain Powerboat Industries)
BBF
Big Bang Fireworks (UK)
BBF
Beer Buddies Forever
Above acronyms from: http://acronyms.thefreedictionary.com/BBF

and then there is the one that I heard mentioned at Charlotte's Birthday Party on Friday night: Google BBF Paris Hilton and you get many options to read about Paris Hilton's reality TV show entitled a post-ironic, post-funny "Paris Hilton's British Best Friend" that's based in--wait for it--Britain.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_Hilton

and then there was my definition as was entered in Zoe-speak, the lexicon for my blog--"BBF: Beloved Best Friend(s)"--and which referred to my Kelly and my Dolly. I have now removed the embarrassing acronym from "Quash Cancer" as it is my intent to somehow in this lifetime ensure that I have more than 6 degrees of separation from Ms. Hilton.

I like totally didn't know, you know? Like seriously.

Cram Parenting

2009-04-04T15:22:00.000-07:00

It has been a super-challenging ten days from a parenting perspective. In June 2008 I officially got 100% custody of my two kids--14-year-old Zack and 12-year-old Charlotte. Unfortunately, June 2008 was also the month that I unexpectedly had major surgery and a month after I had found out that I had a cancer recurrence.

Since then I have been on overdrive, trying to figure out how to cram in all of life's learning that a mother should impart to her kids. I feel kind of sorry for them. There is almost no day that goes by without me jumping up on my soap-box trying to instill and solidify fine human being traits. They are such great kids and I want them to be safe and secure no matter what the future holds. This sometimes looks like me being a super "over-protective parent" which I am to understand is an insult but which I consider to be my job. My job is not to be "fair" or "nice" or "their friend." My job is to keep them safe and if that means that I have to say "No" to certain desired activities then that is what I will do. I'm not trying to win a popularity contest though I notice time and time again that after tempers cool, the kids acknowledge their appreciation that I have their back and that "on the big things" I am pretty cool and even in the case of my eldest who didn't speak to me for several days recently, he made a joke about what I had not allowed the week prior and I got to see that seeing through a boundary means that they know that my word means something and that I will do my best to keep them out of risky situations.

Sometimes trying to support them is my saying "Yes" to things that I would never have imagined. I'll digress for a moment. On Monday after my acupuncture appointment I took myself to Granville Island for lunch. I got some Indian veg on a stainless steel thali plate and went and sat down on the other side sharing a table with a woman around my age who was waiting for a friend.

The woman and I started to chat...she was saying how much she liked the Indian food and that she always brings a tiffin from work and that they have about 40 of them for all the staff to use and I asked her what kind of business and she said "we develop video games." By now her friend has arrived and I say "Oh, too bad my son isn't here...I know nothing about video games but he loves them." Then I asked what titles they had done and she said "Oh, ones that your 14 year old shouldn't be playing...they are militaristic." "Oh I said, my son just got one of those (actually now two as of yesterday)." The woman's friend said "Oh, I wouldn't let my kids play those" and I remarked that "well, many of his friends have those kinds of games and so he would be playing them anyways and I want my kids to want to have their friends over. I can't stand those games and won't even go in the same room with them when they are on but I have an agreement that is that (a) anything that is in our house in mine and anything may be confiscated if I decide that it should be and (b) that I will take games away if I don't see a huge distinction between the mood and attitude of those games and his behaviour at home and away from home. We have an understanding you could say.

I also had a mini brainwave last night in the "If you can't beat them, join them" realm and asked Zack if there might be a game that I would like and that he would be willing to play with me. Charlotte was intrigued as well and we went to Blockbuster video today to see what there might be. Charlotte and I went staight to the good deal bin and Zack came and found us a couple of minutes later, excitedly indicating that he found the one...Rock Band...with drum kit, guitar and mike. "I call drum kit," I say. "I call guitar," adds Zack. "I want to be the singer," say Charlotte. And "The Defacers" was born. I was trying for "The Kick-Ass Trio" but Zack said "Nothing with Trio in it."

Creative Flatulence...aka BFO "Sharing"

2009-04-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

There is something strange going on in my brain, rendering me odder and more eccentric than ever. I think that part of it is that I am theoretically a dying woman and as such feel unencumbered by many of the neuroses that I spent this life thinking were concrete reasons why I couldn't be happy or just be content or at peace. But there's much more to it.

I would not dream of pretending that I know. I am reminded my mentor and her "Auntie Lalitha Rule #1" which is "Things are Not as they Appear." So it appears like boo-hoo so sad single-mom Zoë, recurrent cancer, going through chemo...But except for the rough bits--that thankfully have a beginning, a middle, and a end--life is awesome. I really feel engaged in life. I am in love with life. I do not feel sorry for myself in any way...though I will admit to sometimes wishing for a bit of a breather when the Universe sends me torrents of new opportunities with such force and speed that I don't even have a chance to complete and in and out breath prior to the next onslaught.
So one of the amusing-to-me things that I have noticed is that my marketing brain is locked into "on" mode 24/7. Literally, every day, for weeks now, I hear myself making a marketing suggestion to someone in business. I generally say that it's a "freebie" and "on the house" though sometimes I say it would be nice to get credit and Michael needs to keep picking up lunch tabs if I give him a really good idea that he hasn't already thought of.

Here are some recent examples:

Plant Nursery
I was trying to track down a certain plant--Sarcaccoca--and was phoning around. The fellow at nursery told me that he had had some but that he had had to throw themall away as they had sustained so much damage because of our brutal winter. We got to talking about business and how tough retail is in general and then to add a tough winter and a brutal economy. I said that I was glad that I made "non-perishable" goods.

Then I had a mini brainwave. I told him that I thought that people would still spend money on their gardens especially as they would likely be spending more time at home as people curtail some of their extraneous spending, that there was even signs of a trend for people to have "staycations" where they stay at home and holiday in their own cities, and that I thought that one change is that people would be doing more of the gardening work themselves--to save money, because they have more time, and because putting one's hand in soil and nurturing plants and watching them thrive is a powerful antidote to the crazies that seemingly have struck most of our planet. I suggested to him that they hold themed workshops for people who want to learn how to pick out plants, create moods in their gardens, etc. etc. and that they could offer a 10% off for class participants on the day of the workshop. He was all ears and said that he would raise the idea. "If you end up using my idea perhaps I could have a one-time 10% off my purchases?" I asked him his name and told him mine but he didn't ask for a phone number so I'm not holding my breath. But if you notice that Southlands is putting on new workshops this spring or summer, think of me.

American Apparel
I can't remember now if I already wrote about my idea for American Apparel...in their store they carry great-quality, well-priced cotton basics that are made in the US, they also have some very well-designed, though more expensive women's cotton basics and between Zack, Charlotte and me and its location in Kits I am in the store about once every couple months or so. Kelly--generous and most perfect BBF that she is--to paint me a top or dress for me that has a... ahem...communication on it. I went online to look at American Apparel's tops as I am more horizontal than vertical these days (though not in the fun way) and I was taken aback my how skanky their website is. Go see what I mean: Go to http://store.americanapparel.ca/women.html and check out the Nylon Spandex Micro-Mesh Long Sleeve Mini Dress. I think that I'll get one in every colour. So I was really struck by that skanky aspect of their product line...something that you don't really notice in their stores...and what a poor fit their "Nouveau Classique" tagline was for their brand. So, I wrote to them and even gave them my email address as they promised emphatically that they responded to each and every email that they receive from customers and suggested that they go with what they do best, that makes them unique in the market place, that their positioning statement be "Retro Skank." I think that is is incredibly apropos but it's been a couple of weeks now and I haven't even received the most perfunctory response.

Sock Dreams
I am an odd combination of being extremely frugal about some things and have an absolute love of deals, bargains, second-hand clothes, unloved and unappreciated treasures etc. and then can be an absolute spendthrift under different circumstances, especially for local art as well as some rather eccentric things such as socks. Well to keep this post short-ish and to get it done before I have to begin my Mama-make-breakfast-and-shepherd-kids-out-the-door routine, I will summarize my interactions with this online store who I have bought hundreds of dollars of socks from over the years and though until yesterday had never, at least knowingly spoken to the owner, have been blown away by their product and their customer-service orientation. I was in contact with Sock Dreams as I wanted a custom-designed pair of tie-dyed fingerless gloves that incorporated "Quash Pink" so that I could wear them with my "Kick Cancer's Butt" hot pink patent Docs.

To make a long story short I ended up in direct contact with the tie-dye guy and he made me a custom pair to my specs...actually about 5 or 6 to choose from and then I received an email from the owner yesterday linking me to their website...and look what I saw... http://www.sockdreams.com/_shop/pages/socks_detail_ProductID_1487.php.

If you scroll down to the "Screaming Peacocks" you will see the designs that I inspired and the best of the best--which are like design the "Spiral Purple Green & Blue" that are shown on someone's arms--are being sent to me gratis and they are going to be reordering more for their online store. And how sweet is that, that they called them "Screaming Peacocks" as a way to acknowledge my input and also so that if people would google that name they would find me and my business. I believe that I have e-met an kindred marketing spirit.

More tomorrow...hot air you can count on!

*Image posted without permission from: http://scienceguy288.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/cow.gif

Contemplating Karma Part III

2009-04-01T07:23:00.000-07:00

After acupuncture on Monday, I drove to Granville Island to do an errand, poke about and have lunch. There was a service guy at the house and Tom was handling that so I figured that since I couldn't actually go home and nap for an hour or so that I might as well go enjoy myself.

When I got home, I walked in the door and was struck by the most massive, most gorgeous bouqet of flowers that I have ever seen. Irreverent as usual my first words were "Did I die?!" I couldn't imagine who might have sent them or why and at first thought that there was no card. When I found it though I was came undone. The flowers had been sent by someone whom I had done a favour for, a favour that I had intended to be kept anonymous but the recipient wanted to say what my favour had meant to her. I am so very touched.

Yesterday, when I returned home from physio, I walked into the kitchen and there was another bouquet of flowers--sassy, bright and cheery gerberas, that have two-toned petals, orange on the front and yellow on the back. I couldn't believe the syncronicity as I had just bought myself a gift at Granville Island market...a gorgeous wood vase--with glass insert--that is stained the exact same colour orange as the flowers. With the flowers, was a vessel of homemade soup with a note saying "made with love for Zoe" and crackers for the soup.

Then I found a card, that had been hand-delivered--a very authentic, risk-taking note from a somewhat estranged friend. "How rare," I thought, "for someone to take the time to write a reflective note regarding regret that a friendship has lapsed." That made me cry too.

Anyone who's known me since childhood would attest to the fact that I cry easily. I am an emoter. Happy, sad, mad, scared...you're in my vicinity...you're going to know what's going on with me, even if I am not saying anything.

It actually caused problems for me in my worklife. I remember one time, when I was working as an advertising account executive for a big agency, that there was a big meeting in the board room as the creatives pitched their ideas to help the corporate client to improve their public image. What the creatives came up with was excellent and would have worked but there was a big problem...the two clients kept saying "We can't say that. We can't say that." I guess that my disgust had shown on my face as I realized that the reason that our well-designed campaign was not going to get the go-ahead was that they actually were doing a poor job stewarding the natural resource and actually deserved the poor opinion that the public held of them.

I was pulled aside by my supervisor following the brutal meeting and she told me that I absolutely had to learn to have a better "poker face." That was close to the end of my career in high-stakes advertising and I never did develop much skill at hiding when I am not on the same page with someone. I don't value inauthenticity in others and am not so inclined to be better at hiding what I really think. Some softening has occurred over the years as I knock into sharp edges of life but if I would have to say that I am still an opinionated hard-ass, except when I am a complete and tender mushball.

It's kind of fascinating to me what has transpired over the last three days...there were two really, really tough days during which I just had to cling tenaciously to my goal of thriving my way through whatever "opportunities" the Universe was wanting to offer up. Feeling so ill and weak, I was reminded in each moment that I had to be so careful of where I would "spend" my energy.

There were three people whom I was having tricky interactions with...with two I tried my best to really listen to what they wanted and needed and did my best to remain in relationship whilst working out the contentious bits. These were both men. In the third situation I drew a very clear boundary and indicated that this person could choose either side. She chose the not agreeing to my boundary option and wished me well...I'm feeling a bit sketchy about someone saying she is "praying for me everyday" but wants nothing to do with me and really wanted to say "please don't!" but I figured I would just be adding kindling to the fiery situation and that I should just let her have the last word.

Oh, one more absolutely wonderful thing that happened yesterday...I was on my way to physio and I saw three guys outside the house that is opposite from the "meditation in action" house...ie three houses to the east of our house...two of the guys were putting the tell-tale orange plastic fencing around the trees on the boulevard. I was ecstatic for two reasons: (1) It meant that the teardown and redo would happen at the same time as opposed to after the other house and (2) that I could find out who to ask about what was going to be happening to all the plants. I walked up to the three guys and asked if any of them were or knew how to contact the contractor or owner of the property. They all just stared at me shaking their heads but when I added that I was just wondering about some of the plants in the back, one of the guys said "You show me" and we clambered over piles of rubble to get to the back...I asked about a decades old quince that I have admired each of the 18 Springs that I have walked down our back lane." "There will be garage there," he said with a slavic accent. "Oh, so I may have this?" He nodded. "And these blackberry bushes outside the lane?" He nodded. "And these cuttings from the quince, so that I can force them inside?" He said "You can have everything. Just take before April 15th. Everything come down."

Well I was beside myself! I had to zip to my physio but I phoned Kim (part owner of Petals and Pots who helps me with my garden and who was planning on coming to help me with soil amending and planting some plants) on Thursday. I told her with great glee what had just occurred and when they might be able to swing by...they actually spent a couple hours yesterday afternoon, finding treasures like two white ribes, and a grape vine, and, and, and. And the blackberries...well my kids, who were literally born in this house, have spent every August of their lives, toddling, biking, scootering, unicycling down the lane to pick blackberries. Now this will continue for them and for all the other neighbourhood kids.

When I moved into my house, there was just a widower living there and I heard that many years prior his wife and child had diedin a tragic accident. It was perhaps his wife who had planted and cared for those plants decades ago, maybe even 40 years ago. I am going to find out more about the family so that I can properly honour these gorgeous old-timey treasures.

As I write this post, it is snowing outside! It is April 1st and it is snowing. Tell me again about global warming? Bundle up dear ones and expect the unexpected.

Contemplating Karma Part II

2009-03-31T08:01:00.000-07:00

You guys probably got that I had a rough weekend emotionally. So it was with great relief that I had an acupuncture appointment for 9 am yesterday. Dr. Sunny Lee was running behind and so I sat and tried to drink my breakfast smoothie and just tried to calm down and breathe.

When it was my turn, I walked into Sunny's office and sat down. I told him that I was doing okay physically, that the worst of the side-effects were subsiding from the last dose but that I was doing terribly emotionally.

He wanted to hear more and so the way I summed it up was that while I do have lots of people who have my back--who are available and supportive and perhaps, most importantly, expansive of me generally and specifically right now --there are others, some of whom theoretically, would be more inclined than many of the people who have shown me the most kindness--who in my perception--have my throat.

They are clutching my neck with both hands and seemingly wanting me to (a) die or (b) shut up or (c) not direct what they usually describe to be my great insights and wisdom, towards them. I told Sunny that I am trying to be a kindler, gentler version of me but that it just doesn't feel safe to put down my armour because I keep getting sucker punched. I told Sunny that things were so bad that I had even lost my sense of humour.

Sunny listened to what I had to say and said "You cannot allow yourself to be distracted. It's like you are halfway up to the top of the Himalayan Mountains and suddenly a flock of birds surround you and started to squwack and pick at you...would you take both hands off to swat at them, or your feet to kick at them?" "Well," I said, "one person I made a boundary to and said that it was not okay and to leave me be." "That's good too," he concurred, "but just keep your attention focused on your goal. Never mind the distractions."

With that, we went into one of the patient rooms and Sunny gave me many, many needles to treat my peripheral neuropathy, my lungs and breathing, my liver and kidneys and several for qi-raising and emotion-soothing. Sunny left and turned out the lights so that I could just rest. Every 10-15 minutes he would come in to check and spin the needles. "Feeling better," he would ask each time. "No," was my reply each time. After about the fourth check in, he added some more needles...I asked for them in my jaw as that is where I am getting a lot of nerve pain and as I noted to Sunny "isn't that where one holds anger?" Sunny checked in with me about the time and I said that I had to be gone by 11 am, so he gave me a really long treatment including my back and also inserted three metal acupressure points around my right ear for some take-out acupuncture.

I whimpered when he put in the first and asked "What was that point?!" "Oh, that's for calming," he replied. I burst out laughing noting that I obviously needed help with that. I went to pay, nervously pressuring the receptionist when she realized that she had made an error, had to check something with Sunny and then come back and re-write the receipt.

I walked about of the building and around to the parking lot where I saw a parking ticket on my dash. I picked it up with confusion given that I knew that I was just over my time limit. I spied the ticket writer and walked over to him. Just to give you a bit of a picture...he was dressed in faded jeans and a checked flannel shirt over an old white/grey one over a good-sized beer gut. He looked like a good-ol'-boy, the kind of man who kills small, furry animals for sport. I walked up, and looked into his one seemingly-working eye and the other seemingly-not-working one.

I asked him what the time was: 11:11 am he said looking at his watch. "Isn't there a grace period?" I asked. "Yes, five minutes." Still very calmly...I guess those little acupressure points really work...I pointed out that my ticket expired at 11:00 and that he had written the ticket at 11:05. "I can't just stand by your car and wait to see if you're going to come or not," he said. "I realize that but given that I did come right away, that I was just out by a couple of minutes, couldn't you...."

Well, suddenly I was cross. My right hand shot up to my head and I ripped off my wig. I stood right in front of him--smack-dab in the middle of a very grey, filthy, downtown parking lot, feet on the ground, eyes locked on eye--I said "I was just trying to talk to you like a human being. I have just seen a doctor. I am going through chemo. I was just trying to talk to another human being. Are you a human being?"

He walked away muttering "That ain't right." and I went to my car, sat in the driver's seat and started to sob. I sat there trying to collect myself so that I could drive and suddenly the guy was back and he put out his hand and said "I'm going to take care of this for you. You did a really shitty thing...but I'm going to take care of this for you. I handed him the ticket trying to look appropriately chastened and he walked away. I pulled forward out of his sight and I replayed what just happened in my head and I started to laugh and laugh and laugh.

So...I got my sense of humour back. Thanks, parking lot ticket guy! Oh, and if I did just create some new karma with the entire male gender later this lifetime or in the next? It was worth it. Really it was.

And a final word in the delicious-irony category...I just re-watched the mockumentary "The Delicate Art of Parking" on Saturday night which is all about people's rage at parking-ticket writers.

Contemplating Karma

2009-03-30T07:42:00.000-07:00

I must have done something very, very, bad to the entire male gender in my previous life/lives.

Seriously rotten. Awful.

Perhaps I am being given the opportunity to pay off a lot of both-gender relationship debt in this lifetime?...if I can just keep my mouth shut and keep moving towards intimacy with people for whom I am not too scary or too harsh. People who "get" me and actually enjoy my company and the rest I need to let/be allowed to let fall away and keep moving.

What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
What doesn't kill me makes me stronger

Sucker Punch*

Sucka sucka sucka
nursing on the teet of
trust and love and thinkin’ it was
safe to put down yo’ armour.

well b*tch, I got news for you--

you’re still a sucka sucka sucka
and I’m one mean mother f*cker,
so don’t go tryin’ to figure yo’ way out

cus’ I got you comin’ and goin’
and my favourite…the sideways punch
‘cus you are and always will be a
sucka sucka sucka.

*any individual who has unresolved guilt over interactions with me, Carly Simon has something to say to you: "...You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you. You're so vain, Ill bet you think this song is about you. Don't you? Don't you?..."

She also has something else to say:

"Most songs are a composite....most songs are.
CR: Was this one?
Carly: I don't know."

(from http://www.carlysimon.com/vain/vain.html)

And what I have to say is that this is an adult gender composite.

Photo Source: www.Flickr.com; Alive Film

Never A Dull Moment

2009-03-29T08:39:00.000-07:00

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that frightens us.

We ask ourselves 'who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?'

Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

~Marianne Williamson, from "Return to Love*."

For more cool images and facts about the solar system, go to: http://www.solarspace.co.uk/Solarsystem.php

*This quote is often mistakenly attributed to Nelson Mandela.

The Sacred Art of Dying

2009-03-28T06:21:00.000-07:00

I reminded Charlotte and Zach yesterday that that afternoon I would be participating in the first day of The Sacred Art of Dying workshop that Callanish was holding.

Zach flashed Charlotte a quick sideways glance and said "Is there something that you're not telling us?" I said "No. You know me, I have forthright Tourette's. If there's anything new to tell, you will know." They both had a puzzled look and I told them that it is reassuring and calming to deal with one's demise (be it imminent or not), that it helps to live life fully. They didn't seem convinced and I don't expect them to be. They just turned 12 and 14. But somewhere that data is tucked away in their grey matter and it will serve them well.

I then told them a very sad and true story about a businessman who died at work, in a washroom, from a heart attack. No chance for good-byes. No chance to "put one's affairs in order." I told the kids that I would way rather die from metastatic cancer than die unexpectedly like that.

I used to think that being in my mid-40's meant that I was middle-aged. My beloved grandmother, Evi, died when she was 91, and so I just assumed I would live to my 90's as well. When I thought I had half my life left to live I was--in retrospect--very casual about how I spent my time.

But what if today really was my last day of life? Did I notice the birds singing as I awoke. Did I take the time to look at all the green shoots and spring bulbs in the garden or just rush past to hop in the car and get to work/appointment/kids dropped off. What messes did I create in my rush to start my day. Did I hug my loved ones or holler at them? Is my will up-to-date? Did I leave love letters to intimates that I had written so many times in my head?

What if I die today? And what if I don't? Will I be startled enough by the notion that I may not have as long as I had assumed/planned/wanted/depended on to actually be inspired to consider what The Sacred Art of Living might mean for me?

Meditation In Action...

2009-03-27T05:38:00.000-07:00

in more of an urban rather than suburban environment and--other than the teen/tween rec room in the basement--not a hip-hop setting.

What on earth am I on about? Just inspired by one of my laughter-therapy cable guys...kind of an in-joke for my political satirist followers/lurkers...add a comment if you're one of them.

Okay...so "Meditation in Action" is what people who are Buddhist practitioners and others who have a meditation practice--ie park your butt for a period of time each day on a cushion and observe how crazy the mind is--try to do for the other 23.13 hours of the day.

The goal is to be mindful, to observe and to act but not react. That kind of thing. Serious practitioners even welcome the inevitable irritations, annoyances and full-on psychic warfare from frenemies and worse, as an "opportunity" to be mindful.

Well as a semi-recluse, I don't have too, too much problem in the negative people interactions... though the first time that I went to a grocery store in three months (thanks to my wonderful, albeit pseudo-pa, Tom) did cause me to have a bit of a tulip turbulence...but back to my point...

There is a six-out-of-seven-day irritation that I am trying not to allow bother me...it is the mega reno that is going on across the street from the upper office. Somehow, no matter what time I nap, there are loud construction sounds...double dissonant hammers would be the minimum. I do what I can. I close the window. I stuff silicone earplugs way, way deep into the recesses of each eardrum and I try not to notice the racket or let it bug me.

On Wednesday though, the sound was so loud including back-up beeping and it went on and on and on and on that, I just had to look and see what could possibly make that much noise! It was a humungous flat-bed eighteen wheeler backing up to a huge, filled dumpster, that has all the reno landfill refuse in addition to a front-loader in the front yard digging up the entire front yard!

I took the photo later that afternoon when I was out with Sadie and you'll note that there is now a different big truck at play. Detail-oriented folks will have noticed the yellow of the sleep-robbing dirt-digger just behind the mega-truck.

I guess that with this writing practice, bothersome details=blog topic, so I shouldn't be cross. I sure am tired though.

Lance Armstrong Got It Wrong...

2009-03-26T07:09:00.000-07:00

It Is About the Bike.

The gorgeous sunny Spring weather yesterday got me thinking about my bike and wondering how I would fare up the hills from Spanish Banks or Alma St. up to my place.

I've written about how being able to ride up those hills and ones up at Whistler after having a "window" put in my pericardium (the usually enclosed sac that surrounds the heart) last summer, was the sign that I was going to be okay. Right after the surgery I had symptoms that an elderly person with advanced heart disease would have. I would be out of breath just from a brief conversation on the phone, my heart pounded when I climbed up stairs, I literally almost passed out from running across the street to catch a bus...I was so breathless that a young woman on the bus offered me a sip from her water bottle...so kind but way too cooties for me to accept especially as I had my own, buried in my backpack.

Okay, where was I?

You guys are getting to imagine what it's like to have chemo brain just by trying to follow along with my train of thought. Imagine this 24/7. See another digression and then I have to try to get back to the original point...which one can never really be sure of at the best of times with a Zoë. Since I'm so off track I'm going to throw in another observation, which is that it is super interesting when I ask people what I was talking about...some people always know...they are actually listening to my ramblings, whereas others generally don't have any more of a clue than I do.

So, why do I say that Lance got it wrong? That it is about the bike? Because if I can pull off getting up those hills despite this chemo combat, it means that while I may have lung mets, they don't have me! It would mean that I am not being defined by the cancer. It would mean that I am living with cancer not dying from cancer.

And that, my friends, is an unquantifiably vast distinction.

Imagine Going with Alice Down the Rabbit Hole...

2009-03-25T06:21:00.000-07:00

and going straight when you should have
taken the fork in the road and ending up in a Star Trek episode...

Well, that is where I have been hanging out for the last few days.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?""That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat."I don’t much care where--" said Alice."Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat."--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation."Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."(Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 6)

Maybe I really am traveling through a different dimension when I start to look to Alice in Wonderland for meaning. This notion of needing to know where you are going is something that I have heard Lalitha speak about many times over the years that we have worked together. She has said things like "If you don't have any idea of where you were going, there are plenty of other entities that do." The premise is that I will most certainly end up somewhere but unless I am very conscious and precise in my direction it is easy to get swept along and end up living someone else's agenda and not living the life that I had intended or had been intended for me.

I am feeling quite disembodied, a sensation that I have been feeling for days. When I saw my TCM on Monday morning, I asked him, after he had put in the first set of needles, if I was dying or if I was just practicing dying. I asked that because I have been having a very distinct feeling of being outside my body, watching myself. It is kind of cool and kind of creepy. Sunny laughed and said that I need to be eating more food to bring the Qi into the body. When I asked my physio yesterday, she said that I need to pay attention to how I'm holding my head and where she indicated was sore and was made sore by doing my Carrie Bradshaw imitation of writing whilst sitting on my bed.

The key Star Wars symptom is peripheral neuropathy (pn) which involves odd nerve sensations: numbness and tingling in the hands and feets, popping (remember those things that were around when we were in high school and they exploded in our mouths? I just googled it: Pop Rocks. As an aside to my aside, I keep telling the kids how amazing it is to be able get the answer to any question that you want to know just be having Internet access.

Okay so that Pop Rock sensation is what I feel in different spots throughout my body: in the inner joint of my elbows, in my neck, down my spine, esp. the lower back, down the thighs etc. The popping and pinging when it gets going is doing a non-melodic symphony of pings, pricks, tinglings with a numbing bass beat. Hard to sleep with and it would be very hard to live with.

All that on top of exhaustion and break-through nausea, hot flashes (or were they blood sugar crashes?) makes for a very disorienting time. I spend as much time as I can in my uppper office. I now have a bird feeder (squirrel and rat and swallow proof supposedly) that hangs right in front of one of my windows on my bedroom front porch overlooking the North Shore mountains, ocean, Stanley Park, Downtown etc. The first brave black-capped chickadee came for a sunflower seed just before dusk yesterday. I plan to spend as much time resting in the next few days until all these symptoms subside. The kids are doing great. Tom and Laura are as usual being fantastically supportive as are many other people and we are all doing well. I am getting to rest and conserve my energy to tell my body that I want to live despite allowing chemotoxic chemical to be inserted through my veins that give my body a very different message.

I really am fine and there really are a lot of weird things going on with my body as it responds to the chemotherapy drugs. The fact that I really try to pay attention to what's going on with my body and my mind (ie a self-observation practice) means that I really notice even very subtle changes and sensations--which basically makes me sound like a nutter hypocondriac who can milk a well-intentioned "How are you?" or "What's new?" into a full-on entire lunch-hour monologue.

I'm going to track down a copy of Alice in Wonderland, if it's no longer sitting on our shelf downstairs and study it for clues. "Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it."(Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 9)

Adventures in Chemoland: Episode #3

2009-03-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

Chemo #3: 3/20/09--Herceptin, Taxol (reduced by 25%) and Carboplatin

Who's that complete nutbar in this photo? Why me of course. What on earth am I wearing on my hands? Oh, those are "ice gloves" which are used usually for people receiving Taxotere, a cousin to Taxol, to try to prevent the chemo victims' fingernails from falling off. As an aside, is it any wonder why some people say for the Big "C"--that the treatment is/is sometimes/is often worse than the disease?!

Now just in case anyone didn't memorize my post on Thursday, March 19, I will recap that I got my oncologist's agreement to try the ice gloves to try to minimize the peripheral neuropathy (tingling and numbness primarily in the feet and hands...very, very bad for a jewellery designer) that I began to have after the second dose of chemo. This is part of the reason that I am now receiving a lesser amount of the Taxol. The other main reason is that I am now a lesser person from a weight standpoint.

Overall it was pretty uneventful. I had all my kitchen-sink comforts with me: the last remnants of my breakfast smoothie, green tea, water, newspapers, study material for a course I'm doing, IPOD and organic ginger spelt cookies in case of hunger or nausea. I had a super interesting conversation with the adult daughter of someone receiving chemo. We were talking about the expense of doing complementary treatments, including how much naturopaths charge, plus supplements plus plus plus.

I can't remember exactly how we segued into the fact that she can really support her mom despite being on Vancouver Island because of the fact that she was a consultant and most of her work was done via the computer. I asked her what she did and she said that she was an accountant and that she worked for a few very large companies (I think in the States) and she prepared legal documents to sue businesses are late in paying clients' bills. I said that that sounded like she had a good job for our current economic times and she agreed. Then I asked her if she was seeing she had seen signs of the economic crisis coming from her clients having higher accounts receivables. She said "Yes." So then I asked her if she is seeing any early signs of recovery, and she said "No."
All in all, it was a pretty uneventful day down in the Underworld. There are a couple of things that I have mentioned in a letter to some people at the BCCA, but that will have to wait for another day. Actually.....I think that I'll just report that to my followers.

I felt so good in fact that I decided to bask a bit in the unforecast sunshine and take the bus home.

When I got home I quickly heated up my defrosted Kelly Zucchini Soup and zipped up to the upper office and this is the eye candy that awaited me...

While You're All Patiently Waiting...

2009-03-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

for the 3rd episode of Chemogrrl's Adventure to the Underworld, check this out:

The Universal Gospel Choir featuring Sheri Ulrich

Saturday, April 18, 2009 8pm

All proceeds go to Callanish Society...for more info, go to http://www.callanish.org

Tickets on sale now at the Stanley Theatre's Box Office, 604-687-1644 or at vancouvertix.com.

My Spring Break...ish

2009-03-21T18:23:00.000-07:00

Friday was chemo day, dose #3 of 6. It's been written in my Moleskin now for three weeks and I have now commitments for the next day--even someone else is going to pick up Zack tonight at the meeting point as I am on pretty strong anti-nausea meds right now. I feel like I started to be prescient and have a crystal chemo ball....Friday, March 20...11am...Zoe will be hit by a freight train...she will have no broken bones but she will feel like shite for about 10 days. She will recover with the help of her awesome team: oncologist Dr. Karen Gelmon, TCM Dr. Sunny Lee, physio extraordinaire Judy Russell,and of course, my mentor Lalitha. She will somehow mangage to remain healthy enough to stay with the every three week protocol and to matter what happens she will be done by July.

It is also my "Spring Break" as the kids are out of school and out of town. Instead of feeling sorry for myself about not being able to go somewhere sunny myself, I decided to surround myself with good company and fit in some fun with a smidji of work as well as doing the limbo, choreographed as per my Cancer Agency dance card.

So let's get to the highlights:

Lunch with a Buddy and Marketing "Research"
Monday involved lunch with an old friend, downtown. We caught up on our family lives and then, as marketers do, we started to brainstorm all sorts of ideas about our respective projects. Very fun. Then I went off to do some "research" at Tiffany, H&M, and Holt Renfrew to see what my clients might be looking at and/or buying. I'm going to be having a huge jewellery party at the fabulous Glenda's Wallace's--hostess extraordinaire--on June 18th and the creative juices are flowing.

Quick side note. When I was in Holt Renfrew--my second time as I found the sales people to be so absurdly snobby the first time and everything's so way overpriced--I was looking at a hot Quash pink shawl in the mirror, thinking this is just a piece of unhemmed fabric, how can it cost $95? Maybe once Charlotte gets her fashion design business going we can get this kind of fabric wholesale and she can sell it to her Mama for just a wee mark-up? A salesperson approached me and commented on the tights I was wearing...black and cream horizontal stripes to complete my black cotton mini-tutuesque dress and my knee-high lace-up black Docs. "Oh so nice," she said. I thanked her. "Look so nice on you, you so skinny. I couldn't wear them." I agreed that I wouldn't have normally worn such a thing but that I had recently lost a lot of weight. "How you do it?!" she asked, clearly hoping for the secret to my success. "Chemo.," I replied, noting that that's an effective way to cease a conversation. Monday night ended with an impromptu dinner at Pair Bistro with Kelly who is here with her kids for the week. We started with a Wild Mushroom Truffle Latté that was served in the teeniest of expresso cups with wee spoon. Sooooo good.

Acupuncture, Writing, Jewellery-designing (the latter was mostly in my mind).
Tuesday was acupuncture and following that, there had been a planned belated birthday party of two for Lalitha, who just turned 60 last week.

As an aside, I find it interesting that two of my dearest intimates both have the same astrological sign, both were born in the same year and both have husbands who are 15 years younger than them...does that have something to do with their age-defying good looks and radiant demeanour? Hmmmm....

I was listening to the radio on my way home from acupuncture and heard how long the border line-ups were and told Lalitha that I couldn't bear for her to be in that both ways just for us to have a visit so we decided to postone as none of her gifts were non-perishable. Actually I'm kind of turning the tables on Lalitha as her belief of what one does when she has a birthday is either (a) forget completely about it or (b) if it is being acknowledged in some way, it is she giving gifts to her intimates. Well all I can say is that she is in for a bit of a surprise this year.

I tried to take advantage of the "free" time and go up to the upper office to rest but the combination of the major reno with major manpower and major loudest-imaginable power tools makes that a bit tricky even with my window closed and my silicone ear plugs stuffed into the deepest recesses of my eardrums. The other tricky thing is that my mind is going even faster than usual...I have one creative idea after another. I have pen and paper beside my bed to try and just write it down and then be able to nap but they just keep coming.

It actually reminds me of a time when I was seeing a neuropsychologist for PSTD--following my first bout of cancer. In our final meeting after he had fixed that all up we got to talking about other types of ways in which he tweaks people's brain patterns. He said that he has artists who come to him to further activate their creativity...well I was all over that!...he did acknowlege though that they tended to sleep less as a result...me whose just been going to see him to be able to sleep! but in my excitement I didn't really give that much weight. I told him that I would think about it and spoke to Lalitha about it later. She just laughed at me and said that that would be ridiculous to put myself back in the position of sleeping less and that I was plenty creative already. Well whatever part of the brain Dr. Swingle would have amped up appears to have naturally occurred. It's super fun but it is a bit tiring so I am spending as much time as I can in the upper office.

Estate Planning
Did you guys know that when you die, on the very day that you die, all your assets such as stocks are deemed to be sold (I don't believe that you actually have to but they are deemed sold) and all the capital gains are triggered and you get to pay a big fat tax bill....but...one can also donate money to NPO's thereby helping out charities whose work you believe in and get a charitable donation tax receipt and end up paying less death tax. Lurking financial friends and acquaintances can write to me if I got any of this wrong but that's the gist of it.

So odd as this might sound, this is something that is making me incredibly happy. I feel like a fairy with a magic wand...who am I going to sprinkle fairy dust on? I do have some ideas and I do have a very strong general area of interest which is: single women and children in the Downtown East Side. I am interested in finding out if there are micro-lending programs in existence, I'm wondering about housing projects, I'm interested in companion and working dogs for people after seeing that sightless man navigating the Downtown streets with just a red-tipped white cane. I am more interested in supporting programs that provide "the fishing pole rather than the fish as I believe one of the barriers to real change can be the multi-generational dependency on welfare and government handouts. I was really excited by an article that I read recently in the Vancouver Sun about young women in Calgary being trained in carpentry. It is a joint project between the Vermilion/YWCA and Habitat for Humanity. I have just started conversations with the Calgary folks. It is my understanding that this is not happening in Vancouver and would be expensive to start...needing a sizable physical space etc. so I am looking for other people who might have an interested in being involved.

Here is the link to the newspaper article:
http://www.vancouversun.com/story_print.html?id=1356910&sponsor=

So that took up most of my Wednesday and the morning of Thursday, then errands and an unsuccessful attempt at a nap and then I needed to get ready for a big evening out...

I feel a bit like a drag queen when I get ready to go out and put on make-up...mascara definitely has to come before the wig as I found out the first time that I did it the other way and ended up with mascara all over my faux follicles.

I'm losing my eyelashes and actually attempted to put on false ones but did such a terrible job that I had to rip them off as well as a few of the few remaining real ones...ah...vanity.

Ta Da! Wig on. My new-to-me fabulous Betsey Johnson "Bambi print" dress on...the same one that I was coveting at a different consignment store last summer but as that one was a bit too large for me and because I was certain that no one but me would want to buy it...I held out for it to be further reduced only to have it sell! But then, last week, there was--in my size--in a different consignment store. That's a sign from the Universe to buy it, right?

I'm outside my place, just waiting for the rest of the Fab Four, to get this party started!

On our way to Lumière with our charming cabbie Charan.

Please note that the Fab Four are not just fabulous but also responsible.

Outside Lumière. That's Kelly to my right and Natasha and Dolly to my left.

The Fab Four's Lumière dinner
I wanted to go out with Kelly for an awesome dinner while she was in town and ended up inviting Dolly and Natasha to join us. I debated between Lumière and Market and we settled on Lumière. I'm so glad we did.

This is Dwayne--who belongs in the über-echelon of waiters--let's call him a superserver...kind of like supermodel but with brains and charm and endless patience and good humour. All of which we Fabs greatly appreciated.

There was a nine-course "chef's tasting" menu that had zero details. I asked Dwayne if it was a secret or if we could find out what it would entail. I had already anticipated that we might want to do that and when I called to make a reservation, I spoke with Tiffany and asked if it was a problem if one of us was a strict vegetarian. Tiffany assured me that the chefs would be able to accommodate that and I could hear her typing notes as we spoke including that Kelly ate dairy but not seafood (I think that's pescatarian, you faux veggie fakers).

Dwayne said with a smile that it was not a hard and fast secret and said that he would go speak with the chef and report back. He was gone for several minutes and then explained that normally when there are two people having the chef's tasting menu, they prepare two different dishes for each course, totalling 18 different dishes but as we were (he thought) three and one, there would be 27 different dishes and he proceeded to eloquently describe each and every one of the dishes. I was much more enticed by what Kelly was having and asked to have exactly the same. I then complemented Dwayne for his delivery skills and he showed us that he had done it with writing only one word per dish when the chef had told him what would be served and in what order! As I said, he is in a category all his own.

The food was all excellent! Here are some visuals:

This was my first course...instead of a gauche coulis...they have literally painted on a smear of red beet! I was in aesthetic and taste-bud heaven.

Natasha said that this reminded her of those Asian rice crackers...I don't think they usually put black truffles in those though.

This was an insanely delicious roasted eggplant dish.

We spent six hours having dinner, luxuriating in our 9-course, premium-wine paired dishes, interspersed with hilarious conversation as my buddies all got to know each other better.

Here are my BBFs tryin' on some LL:

I was so impressed with how fabulous the food was and the flexibility that the kitchen exhibited with the "I am allergic to beets" and "I am allergic to tomatoes" and "I'm not allergic to anything but I hate cilantro." All of this Dwayne carefully noted even to the degree that in the first course Kelly did not get beets on her salad but I did even though I had asked for exactly what she had asked for...very impressive. The most charming moment was when after we had all laughed about the smiji mushrooms that the carnivores would be getting and I oohed and aahed when the dish came out...well wouldn't you know that two courses later Kelly and I had our dishes tweaked with some smijis. It was at that point that I asked Kelly to go and take a picture of whomever what whipping up this amazing food. I guess they were a bit overworked as this is what she came back with:

I was a documenting fool taking tons of photos. All of a sudden I spied Dolly's cleavage from across the table. I said to Natasha who had just met Dolly and Kelly that evening, can you believe that Dolly just turned 60?

As for me...what do I have? A demi-cleave? No need to feel sorry for me though. Cumulatively I nursed my two kids for 4 1/2 years, I have a kick-ass yogini tattoo over my mastectomy scar and I am still kickin'. No regrets. But I still can admire my BBF's racks.

Natasha and Dolly were having a bit of a "whose travelled to more places" face-off and had Kelly and I in hysterics with some of their match-ups...ever been to Hurtigruten? Well they have.

We really could not have had a better time. These pictures tell the tale. Just a warning though, all that chef flexibility and you can have anything you want and make any change or tweak you want leads to a final bill that is not for the light of wallet. That said, it was worth every penny and the experience was priceless.

oh, what's that? You're wondering where Kelly and I got our gorgeous necklaces? I'm so glad you asked...check out http://www.screamingpeacock.ca/ ...that's my custom-designed, one-of-a-kind and very limited edition jewellery website. The latest designs section is way out of date...but you'll be glad to know that the 2nd annual Summer Solstice Screaming Peacock Soirée has been set for Thursday, June 18th. Glenda is hosting again and she has promised a repeat of the Lemon Drop Martini Fountain. Sorry gents, it's gals only. But feel free to email me if you want to surprise your honey with something special zoe(at)screamingpeacock.ca

True Stories

2009-03-19T09:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was pre-chemo prep day at the Cancer Agency.

It started off well--albeit early:

9 am: lab work. Praised the nurse doing the "poke" saying that she had a gentle touch and it was appreciated and adding that there are people who are really bad at it and they always blame the patient. She said I had made her day.

10:30 am which turned out to be 11:30 am: appointment with my oncologist, Dr. Karen Gelmon. Zipped through a long list of questions. I need to take a moment to praise Karen yet again. I had emailed Karen two weeks ago with my concerns about the neuropathy that was developing in my feet and hands. She responded saying that she might consider reducing the dose of the Taxol, the chemo that is known to give that side effect, though not usually so early into the chemo protocol. I sent Karen an email detailing all of the chemo side-effects that I had had in the nine days following dose #2. It was a very long email. I told Karen that I was very interested in having the dose lowered so long as it would not compromise the efficacy of the chemo cocktail. As I said in a previous post, neuropathy can be permanent and the long-term realities of living with neuropathy made me feel sick-at-heart. So...in our meeting yesterday Karen said that she was going to lower the dose by 25% partly because I have lost weight and partly because from my symptoms it was clear that the dose was too high. As a bit of an aside, I happened to do something very smart, which was to jot down imy smymptoms n my Moleskine every day...just a word or two. That allowed me to whip off an accurate list to my oncologist. If I had not done that and had just walked into my oncologist's office having no sense of reflection of the first ten days following chemo I would not even have remembered how brutal it was. Because yesterday morning I looked and felt great and who wants to remember when one didn't? One other item on my list was the notion that I could try icing my hands during the Taxol IV (about 3 hours of the 7 1/2 hours). When I had read through all the literature of the three chemo drugs that I am taking, it was the possibility of peripheral neuropathy that worried me. Jewellery designers need to be able to feel their hands. Mothers and dog owners, ideally, able to feel their feet and are able to walk without a cane, not to mention ride bikes, ski and do whatever else it is the family is up for. So...I started asking everyone who I was coming in contact with about how I might prevent peripheral neuropathy. I asked my beloved TCM, Sunny Lee, who reassured me that accupuncture can be quite effective in alleviating neuropathy, especially if you receive treatments right when it begins. I read in some breast cancer forum that someone had received ice gloves when they were receiving Taxotere which is a sister drug to Taxol.I asked my brilliant physio Judy Russell what she thought of the idea of icing the hands and she said she could see how the ice would constrict the blood vessels and that could minimize the amount of chemo that the hands would "take up." I forgot to ask Karen Gelmon both times that I met with her just before doses #1 and #2. I did ask the chemo nurses just prior to each dose. The first time I was told that it was just done with Taxotere and that it was just done to try to stop people's nails from blackening and falling out (lovely) and that it had nothing to do with preventing neuropathy. The second time my initial nurse said "can't hurt to try" but then went off shift and I felt like it was too busy to try to pull it off. In yesterday's appoinmtment with Karen I finally remembered to ask her about trying the icing and she was completely open to it and wrote down a req for the chemo nurses to do that.

12:15 pm: Anti-nausea wonder drug prescription needed to be filled and a very quick inhale of some lunch before getting back for:

1 pm: Pamidronate IV on the 6th floor of the Cancer Agency: The first sign that things were going downhill was that my chart was lost even though they had been trying to get it for hours, anticipating a problem with the tight turnaround between my oncologist's appointment and my IV. A nurse who I had not had before and who shall remain nameless...actually let's call her "I"...said she would just start me with a saline drip so we were good to go once my chart arrived.

She warmed up my hand--standard procedure--and then sterilized my left hand and as she was about to insert the needle I closed my eyes and went to my happy place. I could feel something was wrong right away. She was too gentle and too hesitant and it did not go in. By now my eyes were open and I was cross. "That really hurt," I said and added that it was the second time that the first try didn't work. She blamed it on my veins...that they look good but they are short and the one that she had tried had an obstruction. She started the process again, re-warming my hand. When she sat down to do it again, I asked her how the other vein looked. "I will not do this a third time," I said "how about if you ask another nurse to do it." "Oh no, no need," she said and sure enough the second one went in no problem and I asked for my warm flannel blankie, an extra pillow for my head and started to do some reading "homework" I had.

About 30 minutes later another patient entered the room...he was a very sweet and smilely elderly Asian man. He spoke English with a very thick accent but fortunately the nurse also spoke Cantonese so there was no problem for them to communicate. She started the hand-warming process with him. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and when I opened them I saw the tell-tale white guaze with clear tape on his arm indicating that she had screwed up her first try with him as well. She shot me a look and I returned it with the thought bubble "You are so busted!" She called for another nurse to come and do the second try, yelling out of the room "His vein collapsed." The other nurse said that she would be right there but "I" for some reason...trying to prove to herself that she wasn't inept?...or trying to prove to me that she wasn't inept?...she did the second try herself. And again, through no fault of her own...because this sweet and still-smiling gentleman's veins were so bad, her second try had not worked either. As the competent nurse walks in, let's call her "C" there is all sorts of laughter...ha ha ha...your veins are so bad....ha ha ha...just think of hoses...as if the problem was what this man was thinking about when the nurse had been trying to insert the IV...this man who could not have been more relaxed, or patient, or accomodating. Third time lucky. No problem. The gentleman made a joke about how there was no problem when the pretty young one did the IV and ha ha ha weren't the two nurses laughing. "I" made a comment about how she had been able to put the needle into this man the last time he was in as if she thought she should get an award of merit for being able to have done her job. No award today honey.

"I" left the room and did not return until my IV was done. Usually whenever a nurse is going to leave the room, one of the patients is handed the call button and instructed to push it if anyone needs anything. "I" did not do this. The sweetheart and I had a chat. I had to pay very careful attention to decipher what he was saying...he was really just dear...75 he wanted me to know...and would have chatted the entire time but I was pooped and told him I was going to have a little nap and he said that he would too.

"I" came back just as my IV was finishing and tried to make small talk with me. I just couldn't. I asked her as calmly as I could if she had noted in my chart that my hand should not be used. "No," you can just tell the nurses. "What if I forget?" I asked. Then I added "Do you note how many times you poke someone?" "Oh yes" she said. She starts trying to defend what had happened earlier and I just let loose "No one should ever have to be poked three times!" I spat out. "Oh no," she said "that never happens." "It happened to that lovely man, just now!" I said and started to rant: "It's not okay for you to be laughing while you are hurting people. Do you have any idea what your patients are all going through? The chemo, the blood work, the extra IV's? It is not okay to be casual about it. Try putting yourself in our shoes. Imagine that it is you in the chair and the nurse can't get your vein and hurts you!" By this point I am shaking and there is blood spurting out of where she had just took out the needle. She grabbed my hand and cleaned it off and offered to help me gather my belongings. I declined. As she walked away she asked the lovely gentleman how he was doing, if he needed anything and offered him some juice, which he accepted.

As I was leaving I looked him in the eye and said "Take Care" and added that I had really enjoyed my chat with such a good-looking man. He laughed so hard and said that it was a long time since a woman had said that to him. I said that there's no telling where you're going to meet a great guy, and walked out of the IV room and left the building.

3:30 pm: Stopped off for groceries on my way home. Just as I approached the exterior of Whole Foods my eye caught all of the tulips displayed and I decided that that was just the pick-me-up that I needed. Just as I was closing in on which I wanted, a woman came out of the store and plunked down a gorgeous bouquet of pink-and-green-hued parrot tulips, pink tulips and grasses back into the display bucket.

"Oh, those are gorgeous," I exclaimed. The woman replied "$14.99! And these ones" pointing to some plain-jane small big-yawn tulips "are 3 bunches for $10. "Yeah" I said "but these are spectacular and those are boring" and started to reach for the bouquet that she had decided against. In a flash of an second, this woman swooped her arm past mine and pick back up the bouquet saying "I'm going to get these after all." I started to laugh and said "I guess I talked you back into them. I was going to buy them." She turned to look at me full-on and said with a straight face and apparently a very short-term memory "I picked these out very carefully. These are mine." "Bbbbut," I stammered "you put them back. You decided against them because they were more expensive than the other ones." Clutching very tightly to her bouquet, she said "Oh I'm sure we can find you something else...oh look these ones are nice." "I can take care of myself." I said and she retorted "I'm sure you can!" and stormed off.

I finished up my shopping...trying to think of healthy and yummy food that would work for me post-chemo and then got in the car. The radio was set to CBC and the host of the afternoon show was mid-interview with a young man who was describing how his one-man was developed. He was describing how cathartic it had been for him and was also for the audience...to be able to laugh at ....cancer....I listened intently trying to catch the gist of the theatre piece and the name of it. This guy literally plays cancer in a piece entitled "This Is Cancer?" Audience members get to participate, yelling and laughing, at what to most would be the worst-thing-imaginable-to-have-happen to me/someone I love....For the record, there are way worse things. I took my tuning into that interview to be a sign that I should remember not to take any of what had just happened to seriously. After all, there was no need to stew about anything. I had handled it in the moment and I get to cathart in today's blog posting.

http://www.vancouver2010.com/en/culture-and-education/cultural-festival-and-events/event-listings/-/57622/34048/10j94hk/this-is-cancer.html

I took my tuning into that interview to be a sign that I should remember not to take any of what had just happened to seriously. After all, there was no need to stew about anything. I had handled it in the moment and I get to cathart in today's blog posting. I got home and went straight to bed after apologizing to a friend for not calling her in what was supposed to be the window between appoinments earlier in the day. Kelly made a surprise visit and I sat and drank green tea in my flannel bathrobe and my beloved grey hat (a gift from someone on the Callanish retreat who thought that I would need a cozy hat for my newly bald head) and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Who Knew?...Who Didn't!

2009-03-18T06:49:00.000-07:00

"Brain scans [show] that when a man's brain is in a resting state, at least 70 percent of his brain is shut down. On the other hand, when women were resting, at least 90 percent of their brain was active, confirming that women are always thinking....In another study, when asked to think of nothing, men's brains were more active in the more primitive physical activity centers, [while] womens brains were more active in the emotional centers. Left to themselves, men will think about sex [or] their jump shot; women will think about their spouse, their children or parents."

~author/neuropsychiatrist Daniel G. Amen, Sex on the Brain, 2008,
excerpt from Chatelaine Magazine, Feb. 2009, pg. 40, reprinted without permission.

Gender-Bending

2009-03-17T08:30:00.000-07:00

I was born in 1960...the very last year to be part of the baby-boomer bulge. This has irked me for decades. Any time I had a new interest, hobby or past-time I would discover that the gunters had already discovered it and that they had been there and were already doing that.

For some things this was/is mildly irritating such as taking up knitting or...but for some things such as collecting folkart furniture, or loving the pursuit of fab fashion finds at Value Village and consignment stores this completely pisses me off as it means that those people who are supposedly my people are inflating prices and reducing supply. Grrr.

Why am I telling you all this? Because whilst reading The New York Times in bed Sunday morning, green tea at my left hand, sweet Sadie curled into the curve of my legs, Charlotte doing her own thing and Zack in California, I read--in a very funny and well-written article entitled: "Take Their Word, They're V.I.P.'s" by Guy Trebay.--" 'This has been a great season for lesbians,' one fashion editor said,'...Others saw in the season's gender games signs of the steady and stealthy migration of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender influences into the culture at large...'Oh, I love my bull-daggers,' Beth Ditto, the outrageously gifted singer of the Gossip, pronounced before Wenesday night's show, referring to old-school butch lesbians.'...A 'femme' herself, Ms. Ditto lives in a committed relationship with a transgender person. 'But I do love a man-hater," she said. "

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/15/fashion/15diary.html?ref=style

Now I wouldn't put myself in the category of a man-hater--after all one of my dearest intimates is a verging-on-manhood guy. But...there was a time, about four years ago when I declared that I was done with men. I told the person I was speaking with that I had been in so many relationships with so many different types of men and that I was done!

I made the half-serious comment that perhaps I would try relationships with women. Well, it's been four years of not even a sniff of a date never mind a relationship of any kind with either gender, but perhaps this is my moment? I'd just have to specify that I'm only available for a short-term relationship. Given people's commitment issues, that theoretically shouldn't be an issue.

To be continued..

Close Shave

2009-03-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I learned the true meaning of a close shave when I had an as close an encounter with a straight razor that you can get, without being done in. I also learned earlier that day that one can still be vain even when one has metastatic cancer, is undergoing chemo, and is losing her hair...that someone of course is me and I have not been entirely pleased with my bald look.

In fact, I looked like 70's punk rocker who had had a mohawk, gotten tired of it, and then decided to get a buzz cut. It was mildly interesting to observe the female chemo-balding pattern that was occurring but it was getting a low score on the Zoё stylin' scale.

So...I walked into my local barber and got my head shaved with a straight razor.

Oh yeah baby...$18 plus tip and I went from chemo bald to kick-ass bald.

March Madness

2009-03-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

Wow. The last few days have been bonkers busy. I spent four hours with my lawyer and accountant on Wednesday and then on the way home did errands in prep for Zack's California trip (very early this morning) and Charlotte's family birthday party (last night). I was in American Apparel buying a couple of t-shirts for Zack when all of a sudden I had a complete low blood sugar crash. This is not surprising given that it was 2:30 p.m. and all I'd ingested so far that day was some Amazake (a heath-nut drink of fermented brown rice). I ran across the street to Whole Foods and got myself a huge lunch: veggies freshly-juiced , pea soup and two skewers of specialty-chicken yakitori. My hands were shaking and I was sweating as I inhaled the food. I zipped back to American Apparel...the crash had been so extreme that I couldn't even take the couple of minutes to pay before eating...and paid for Zack's shirts.With food in me I felt much better and as the cashier was ringing through the payment, I commented on the behind-the-counter display of "Butt" magazine that was peaking out of about five different-coloured canvas bags. "That's the magazine that created such a controversy, wasn't it? She nodded.

A couple of months ago, a very angry mom made a huge stink over the fact that she had been in American Apparel with her young teenage daughter and the daughter pulled "Butt" magazine that was part of a display on the floor of the store and opened it up to find what you would expect to find inside a magazine entitled "Butt"--an adult would or should know what they're in for if they open a mag like that but not necessarily a young teen. I said that I empathised with the mom but on the other hand, it is just "so American Apparel" and said I was glad that they had figured out a way to continue to be politically incorrect but not inappropriately so (my bfo*).

When I had first been in the store I had been on the phone with Kelly and had commented that when I was on the American Apparel website looking for a cotton dress for her to paint for me, that I had realized just how skanky many of the clothes were. Kelly said "Yeah, but in a 70's roller-skating in hot pants and knee hi's kind of a way." We had a good laugh and I said "Yeah, they should use the slogan 'retro skank' in their marketing." As a digression from my digression...I actually emailed American Apparel my suggestion and told them they could have it for free with just a modest request for some free product--of the non-skank variety--should they run with it. No word back yet but they promise to respond to all emails so I'll keep you all posted.

Okay, where was I...oh yeah...trying to build the case for how exhausting my Wednesday morning and afternoon were. I got home just in time for Charlotte to get picked up for jazz class. Zack was at volleyball practice and I took to my bed. Nate got home just before his godfather Sean came to pick him up to go for dinner. I was so tired that I called Sean while he was downstairs to say "Hi" and say that I just couldn't get out of bed.

On Thursday I made up a to-do list for Tom--Thank God for Major Tom who is kindly impersonating a personal assistant for a few months--and went to bed, trying to conserve enough energy to go to my book club that evening. I kind of felt obligated given how lovely the book club gang has been to our family with their frequent acts of kindness and delicous food that they have been leaving for the kids and me since I began chemo. I knew that I would have a blast once I was there but I was pooped. I had planned to take Zack to the mall to find a dress shirt, pant and a tie for his hockey trip...I couldn't believe it when I read the email that said that it had been decided that the boys would dress up for their travel days...some of the boys are at private schools and of course have such things...but Zack's wardrobe consists of three pairs of American Eagle jeans and a few t-shirts and hoodies...I actually had to email all of the parents to ask where to buy such things...anyways I realized that a trip to the mall was required...something that I do with great reluctance about twice a year. I was so tired that I asked Tom if he would take Zack and offered the services of Charlotte, fashion consultant extraordinaire. Charlotte said she would only go if Laura went, and Laura--who is eight-months pregnant--kindly agreed to partake of the shopping adventure which like any self-respecting 14-year-old guy, Zack was vehemently trying to get out of.

I stayed in bed but had the phone next to me in case there were shopping conflicts. The first call was Tom asking if Zack should get a light grey or black shirt to go with black dress pants. I said black thinking that he could use the outfit for my funeral if need be. Then I got a call from Zack asking me if he could get a pair of sunglasses to complete the outfit. "How much are they?" I asked. "$50 or $60," was Zack's reply and I said "No." A few minutes later I got another call from Zack. "Can I get a hat? It's a really nice hat." "What kind of a hat?" I asked. I could hear Zack conferring with Tom and Laura. "It's a bowler," he said. "Zack," I said "this a hockey trip not a theatre performance."

At about 6:45 pm, just before the kids got home, I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Then I figured out what to wear and put on my hottie wig and was almost ready when C-A came to pick me up for book club. The kids weren't the slightest bit sad to see me go as Deanna had come to hang out with them while I was out.

Book club was even more fun than usual which is really saying something. M. had selected Nigella Lawson's cookbook "How To Be a Domestic Goddess" as our book and everyone had been requested to bring a dish that used a recipe from the book for a tasting. Fun was had from the get-go but really heated up when L. made the comment that she loves cooking and cookbooks so much that she even takes them to bed with her. I commented that I could really see that in this case as NIgella's writing was so sensual. This led to a number of Nigella impersonations...one funnier than the next. I've never seen her "live" but apparently she has a TV show and that she is really known for working her hot bod and having close-ups of licking cake batter--finger in, turn of the wrist, tongue out, eyes rolled back, creamy batter to lips, and mmmmm. I don't actually ever need to see the show now, because I don't think that Nigella herself could top M.'s impersonation.

Normally we rate the chosen book prior to our taking turns expounding on our bfo*'s and then afterwards, but this time we decided that we could rate it based on how many times A. had to remove her steamy glasses that had fogged up from laughing so hard. On that scale, the book got a "3."

I got home after 11pm and Zack was still up. He asked me to tie his tie (only two years of private school--grade 7 and 8 but tying a tie really is like riding a bicycle) and then told me that he wanted to show me his outfit and disappeared down to the basement to get changed. All I could think of was being horizontal but this was obviously a big deal to him and I waited. Zack came up looking oh-so handsome and with the smooth moves of Fred Astaire took me in his arms and started ballroom dancing me around the kitchen. Us being us we then broke out into conga-line dancing with a bit of free stylin' to finish it off. It was a precious, heart-exploding timeless few moments, tucked safely away in my memory bank as a counter-balance to the inevitable feisty Mama/feisty son conflicts.

I'm sure that some of you who have been following the blog are wondering why there isn't a photo of Zack any where to be found. Is it because he's got a face that only a Mama could love? No...it's because he is 14 and when I try to take a photo things like this occur:

Friday morning and afternoon went like Thursdays: met with Tom and then went back to bed where I stayed until it was time to take a shower and get dressed up to take Charlotte out for her family birthday party with Zack, Tom and Laura. Charlotte received a new top after school as I knew she'd appreciate having something new to wear to the whatever and whereever...no questions allowed...birthday event. Her official birthday is March 21st but she's going to be away so we had decided to do it just before Zack went to California. We went to the Eatery and then came back home for Evi cake--so named as it was the kid's great-grandmother's very favourite triple-chocolate mousse cake from Sweet Obsession and Evi would use any excuse to order one including for a time any dessert for any dinner that the kids and I came to--as well as gifts.

I was a documenting fool and got Tom and Laura in on the act so there are actually some great photos of the evening. First are some shots that reveal something of my son's theatricality:

But with some very strong intention, bribing, threatening and cajoling, there were also some photos like this:

And the birthday girl? Well she and the camera lens are very sympatico and so there's no shortage of great pics of her:

Tom and Laura and Baby Shelby (about 5 weeks away from being welcomed to the world) went home at about 10 pm. "But there's no photos of Laura," you protest. "She can't go home 'til we have a photo of her!" Ah, but you forget that at eight months pregnant, Laura has pre-approval prior to all personal photo posting and you my dear followers tend to get a bit testy if there are days between posts.

The party was over but now there was the packing up of Nate who left for California very early this morning. I stayed up until 12:30 pm making sure that all his documents were filled out,. His clothing, well I take no responsibility for that as he would not let me within 6 feet of his carry-on suitcase but I did notice that "packing" to him means throwing everything into his bag from across the room and means that he may earn the award for the most crumpled Canadian ever to visit California.

I fell into bed exhausted but happy, having spent such a delightful evening with my family. But then, barriers down from the effort of the day, I was suddenly awash in tears as I wondered how many more birthdays I will get to celebrate with my kids.

*bfo=big fat opinion in Zoë-speak"

Chemo Brain is a Real Thing

2009-03-12T07:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning was nuts. I had to get out the door with Zack at 5:25 am, pick up his hockey buddy and get them to their practice out at UBC. Then back to the "upper office," to catch up with correspondance and make a blog entry and get myself and Charlotte up and ready to be out the door at 8:30 am. I realize that this is normal for most families and I am very grateful that I do my jewellery design work from home.

Just as we were heading out the door I said "Where's Sadie?!" We called. No Sadie. We ran around the house. No Sadie. I looked out at the back gate. Closed. I looked out the side gate. Open! By this point Tom had shown up to take Sadie for a walk and I just sent Ruby off to get a ride with Tom and pick up her two school buddies and I started calling out both the front and the back doors for Sadie. I realize that not all people are dog nutbars like I am but really one more major trauma and I might just drop dead on the spot.

There were about ten guys who had descended on the house next door to me that has been for sale and empty for almost a year. They were mowing the snow-covered lawn, carrying around gas-belching blowers and basically making a big eco-unfriendly racket. There were also all the guys working on the major reno across the street and as my mind was going a mile a minute, I'm also thinking that our usually quiet street has just had lots of traffic with people dropping their kids off at the elementary school that is just a block away.

I grabbed one of the clear plastic sqeak-makers that I am always removing from Sadie's clutches after she has ripped open a stuffie (she usually gets one in her stocking and sometimes as a just-because gift). When she was just a young pup I had trained her that squeak equals yummy treat...most of her training I did with praise so squeak-hearing is very exciting for her and generally she comes running, tail-wagging and dog-smiling. Squeak, squeak out the front. No Sadie. Squeak, squeak out the back. No Sadie.

It's now 8:40am and I have an appointment downtown at 9am with my lawyer and accountant. I started to do what I always tell the kids to do when they lose something: retrace my steps. When was the last time I saw Sadie. Think computer think...Well...she went with me to drive Zack to hockey practice and then...oh...my...God...!!! I ran out to the car to find my very dear dog with her nose pressed against the front passenger side of the car...wagging madly...and smiling at me as if to say...I would just love some of those treats you were squeaking about!

Will You?

2009-03-11T06:46:00.000-07:00

Short entry today as I have to work on updating my will before I meet with my lawyer and accountant this morning.

Any one else need to update their wills? It's actually a very stress-reducing activity as then you know your loved ones won't be left with a horrible legal tangle or having no clue as to what you want them to do with your body and your stuff. I had planned to have a wake/party after I died (no funerals thanks) and had actually put it in the old version of my will.

Over Christmas I was discussing this idea with Kelly and Dolly and they wondered why I wouldn't want to be at my own party. So I am considering doing a really fun "Still Kickin' " party at some point...maybe using my 50th birthday as an excuse...I still have a bit more than a year 'til that and I would do it as a fundraiser for Callanish Society. (http://www.callanishsociety.org/).

Sky is just turning that delicious blue-black as the sun makes its climb up the back-side of the mountains and begins to illuminate the day--I've already been out of the house and have driven Zack and a friend to hockey practice--it looks to me that we're in for a spectacularly sunny day!

Have a great one.

The Good, The Bad, and the Hilarious

2009-03-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

I'm going to have to keep this one brief as I had a rough night. For a nice change, it was not medical-related. Zack came in late from his hockey game and woke me up to check in and wanted to chat. As any of you who have teenagers know, when your teen wants to chat, you do, no matter what time of day or night it is. I did finally kick him out of my room as it started to look like it could be an all-nighter. I began to doze off when Charlotte came bounding into the room announcing "I'm going to be sick!" I will spare you all the details but suffice to say she did not make it very far into the bathroom before that occurred. It was kind of nice to have the regular kind of bad sleep that Mamas have--though bleary-eyed is bleary-eyed, and it's almost time to get up.

I am perched in my "upper office" and there is a fabulous show outside...sky slowly going from all black, to blue-black and no the still-behind-the-mountains sun is illuminating the strand of cloudless sky and if I don't get too distracted with typing I am going to witness a gorgeous sunrise.

So what I wanted to talk about:

THE GOOD
I keep telling myself and others that the best part of doing this blog is that I get to do therapy...for free...without even having to get out of bed. There is also another fabulous thing though...I am not only staying in touch with friends and family, I am reconnecting with some dear friends who I have lost touch with. Yesterday when I was on the phone with a neighbour who is hosting a reception for another neighbour who just passed away, a phone call came in. I didn't recognize the name but figuring that it was Zack calling to tell me when he was coming home from school I quickly got off the phone and found myself listening to half of the message of a woman whose voice I didn't recognize. I replayed the entire message to discover that my very dearest friend from the mid-and-late 80's was calling me to say that she was following my blog and that she wanted to get together when she was next in town. This delights me and is today's very GOOD.

THE BAD
Two nights ago, after my laughter therapy (one dose downloaded Daily Show and one Colbert Report) I checked my emails and then wondered to myself if people would easefully find my blog if they just typed in "Quash Cancer" into a search engine. I googled that and saw with great satisfaction that my blog was the very first listing on the first page (a perk I guess from using the word "Quash" out of common context or usage), then my eyes moved to the second entry, again, the title of one of my posts but with a different web address. With great fascination and some horror, I clicked on the second entry to find that my blog had been attached to an Australian on-line bookstore on a page that was promoing some "authority's" audio-books on meditation and cancer. How creepy is that? Zack says "It's no big deal, but I say it's BAD! I went back to my blog and deleted the word meditation from the entry and when I checked the next morning the link was gone. It's a really good reminder though that by putting something into the public domain of the Internet I am basically making it available to be used however anyone wants to use it.
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THE HILARIOUS
Last evening I dropped Zack off at a teammates to be driven to his hockey game. My side-kick Sadie came along for the ride. When we got back, there was another dog being taken for an evening stroll just up the street. The dog was mid-dump as we were getting out of the car. I told Sadie to "leave it" but apparently she felt that she needed to communicate to this dog that this was her block and her side of the street. The woman looked very concerned so I quickly walked up telling her that there was nothing to worry about and that Sadie was just being territorial. "Why don't you just pick up the poop and I'll take care of Sadie," I asked, remembering that I had almost walked in dog do on my way back from the bus earlier that day and being a bit suspicous if this woman is one of those people who only picks up her dog's poop is someone is watching. Sadie continued to bark madly though she was also wagging her tail and as anyone who knows her would attest, she is just not a scary dog. This woman kept staring at me and not picking up the poop. I finally got Sadie under voice control and as we walked back to our house, I mused that the woman actually looked like she was cowering in fear. All of a sudden I realized that I had whipped on a hat to cover my bald head when I went to drive Zack and the closest one had been my new black hat with white writing that says FUCK CANCER. Had she been more scared of Sadie or of me? Pretty HILARIOUS given the latté neighbourhood we live in.

p.s. I'll add a photo later.

On My Soapbox Again

2009-03-08T11:41:00.000-07:00

Today is International Women's Day, and with ironic timing of the very bad kind, the news is breaking that celebrity couple Rihanna and Chris Brown have reconciled despite the fact that he "allegedly beat her on their way home from a Grammy party a month ago and was charged Thursday with assault likely to cause great bodily injury and making criminal threats, remaining free on $50,000 bail." (Vancouver Sun, March 6, written by Shelley Fralic, excerpt reprinted without permission.) To read the entire article:

http://www.vancouversun.com/news/Rihanna+domestic+violence+history+repeating+itself/1359896/story.html

I was sickened by the newspaper article and made a point of bringing it up with my 14-year-old rap-loving son Zack who knew about the abuse but not that they had reconciled. I talked to him about how sick it made me and that apparently some photos had been leaked that showed that she had been really seriously beaten. "Oh yeah," he said "I saw those photos."

I kept my eyebrows in place but I thought to myself that it really is important to talk to him about these issues as he is exposed to so much through the Internet and that while I have no control over that anymore--ie I could confiscate every electronic knickknack we have at home and he would still have access to whatever he wanted when he was with friends--I can offer up some context/Big Mama Zee's* big fat opinion.

I went on to say that I thought that it was incredibly sad, that even a celebrity who has her own money sometimes chooses imagined love over self-respect and self-preservation...that for some women they really feel trapped as they have children and no income of their own...that women believe their abusive mates when they apologize and say that it will never happen again but that mostly it does and that some of them literally end up being killed. "I'm horrified by what kind of message their getting back together is giving teenagers," I said and with that got off my soapbox and let Zack get back to watching his beloved Canucks.

*Big Mama Zee is Zack's rapper handle for me and the only circumstance under which I will tolerate "zee" over "zed."

You're So Brave!

2009-03-08T09:09:00.000-07:00

Friends and acquaintances often remark on how brave/courageous/strong I am.

Last week I popped into a hair salon to get my hair re-shaved as five-o'clock shadow all over one's head is like sleeping on a bed of nails. The stylist chatted with me as she re-buzzed my head and told me how brave/courageous/strong I was and how she could never be like that. "Don't sell yourself so short," I said, "you have no idea what inner strength you have until it is needed. "

As I said to my friend Ian later, what choice do I have? Stay at home and have a boo-hoo pity party of one every day? My life may end up being shorter than I would like it to be, so why would I spend any time--more than what is beyond my current control--feeling sorry for myself? "I'm a dying woman! I can do whatever I want. How much fun is that!"

I did see a demonstration the other week though, of what I consider to be true courage. I was in my car going to a meeting downtown. I was waiting at an intersection, wanting to turn right and my attention was on a blind man walking with a cane, crossing in front of me. Suddenly he veered entirely out of the two white ped lines and started heading straight for a pole...he paused, still on the road, sensing that he was a bit off--and heart pounding--I started frantically looking around to see if someone was going to come with his aid. I placed my hand on the emergency brake, ready to jump out of the car if need be.

The light had turned green by this time and I started to turn right, almost driving into the back of another car as I kept watching in my rear-view mirror to confirm that this guy had made it safely across the street.

Now that is what I consider courageous...walking around the mean streets of downtown Vancouver--without sight--beckoning nefarious characters with the left-right-left swish of your neon white cane to come check out just how vulnerable you are.

Ta Da!

2009-03-07T11:39:00.000-08:00

I told you guys I'd rise again.

I had an appointment downtown late Friday morning and with great reluctance got into go-out-of-the-house clothes. I was going to go bald but was a bit worried about going out for an unknown time with a head that had never before been directly exposed to the sun.

I got a ride downtown, did my errand, and then walked several blocks to the bus stop, crossing the streets strategically so that I could bag the maximum possible number of rays. I have heard that chemo and sunshine absolutely do not go together but Lalitha has always been a strong believer in it's essentialness.

Lalitha's insistence that sunshine is a good thing has been going on for decades...decades during which sunshine was considered very, very bad indeed due to the risk of melanomas. But now, of course, sunshine is good!...Vitamin D is necessary...Certain cancers clearly benefit from vitamin D. This to me is a perfect example of why we have to figure out for ourselves what is good for us and not. I know that being in the sun feels very, very, very good. I am a Vancouver girl. How could it not feel good! I will be very cross if it really is true that I won't be able to tolerate sunshine and that my usual olive skin will turn all delicate and sun-intolerant. The red on my head is just a wig.

Okay, I'm off my soapbox...actually back on for a minute...I'm starting to notice that I'm developing a bit of a bucket list in my head. These are strictly for fun. So far I have New York, Rajasthan, and today's addition because soapbox + me laughing about all of my big fat opinions about basically anything and everything made me think of London's Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park. I so want to do that! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soapbox.

Okay...what I had actually planned to write about today, is the resiliant gene, something that I first heard about while on Callanish retreat. I'm going to go Google and see what I can find so that I don't make all of this up. I'll be right back...

"In recent years, biological science has proposed a new paradigm. The latest research shows that resilience can best be understood as an interplay between particular genes and environment — GxE, in the lingo of the field. Researchers are discovering that a particular variation of a gene can help promote resilience in the people who have it, acting as a buffer against the ruinous effects of adversity. In the absence of an adverse environment, however, the gene doesn't express itself in this way. It drops out of the psychological picture. "We now have well-replicated findings showing that genes play a major role in influencing people's responses to adverse environments," says Sir Michael Rutter, a leading British psychiatrist and longtime resilience expert. "But the genes don't do anything much on their own." (Excerpted without permission from: New York Times Magazine, "A Question of Resilience," written by Emily Bazelon, published April 30, 2006. I highly recommend reading the entire article but be warned that it deals with and talks in great detail about survivors of child abuse. http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/30/magazine/30abuse.html?fta=y)

So the resilience gene is actually a real thing that scientists refer to as "protective version of the gene [GxE] (two long alleles)." I am so not a scientist and am getting tired so I'll just say that apparently we all have two alleles related to the gene GxE and if we have two long ones and we experience traumatic events in our lives we have a better chance of overcoming them (I'd wager my house that Ishmael Beah has two long ones) and if we have two short alleles we are more likely to experience depression and not recover as well. I would guess that I have one long one and one short one. Or that in really intense times my short allele lengthens and then when the pressure is off they both shrink and I am susceptible to the blues. I don't know.

I have observed for myself that during the last nine years...a period of time that has been more challenging than not challenging from many different perspectives, not just the health aspect...that I do keep popping back up like one of those bobble-headed whats-its with a big grin on my face. I also have observed that while I can put on a good show, some of the traumatic events have ways of bubbling back up to the surface as if to say "you have to actually deal with this one."

I'll give an example: At the Callanish retreat we did many, many fabulous things to the point that any time I had a session I had developed an expectation that it would end wonderfully no matter how many tears were shed in the midst of it. So when I read that I was to have an afternoon " Therapeutic Touch with Sound" I thought that that meant I was about to have an extended version of the therapeutic touch we received at the end of every pre-breakfast session of meditation, chanting and qi gong. Mats would be laid out and we would be personally tucked in with fleece blankies, seed-filled eye patches to block out the light and amidst lovely sounds, receiving by not one, but two people, one at our heads and one at our feet, in synchronistic, tandem strokes. For someone who rarely receives adult touch other that a quick hug from a girlfriend, it was really something. So I walked into the space that is built over the creek with high expectations.

In I walked to see a massage table set up in the middle of the room. I hopped up, had the blankie and eye patch placed and we began. One facilitator doing the energy work and one doing the voice and music. Almost immediately I was aware of pain in my chest similar to the pain immediately following surgery I had this summer to have a "window" cut into my pericardium (the fully-enclosed sac in which one heart rests). Then I started to have intense pain in my left side. My thoughts were running amuck: oh my god, this is bad. this is not working. i'm supposed to be relaxing. My entire body seized up. Then the chanting began by the person standing by my left ear...she kept singing "noooooooooooooo, nooooooooooooooooo, noooooooooooooooo." I wondered with incredulity why on earth she would be chanting "No." I finally blurted out "Why are you chanting No?!?" The voice person said "I was chanting "Do." I should have been emphasizing the "D" more. The facilitator said with such compassion, "Oh my goodness, you put up with that for so long." I burst out laughing at myself and tried to settle into my "relaxation" session. So after I realized that they were done and I was in a great deal of physical pain. I told them about it and they said that this kind of work can bring all sorts on cellular memories to the surface. They said that they would keep working with me and focus on where I was experiencing the most pain. I found myself very tearfully retelling the story of how I needed to get someone to pick Charlotte up in the middle of the night before calling an ambulance last summer due to intense chest pain and how that led to an unscheduled week-long stay in the hospital and surgery with most of my intimates having absolutely no idea where I was. It's something that I would have thought I had dealt with, was over, done. But apparently not.

The energy work continued and the pain dispersed throughout my body. "Is that feeling any better?" one of the facilitators asked, and I blurted out that I felt like I was being buried alive in cement. More tears, more work. When it was time for the session to be over I hobbled off the table, almost buckling over from the pain that was in my left side. I was laughing and saying "thanks...sort of" and went to have some tea and finish off my collaged votive candle to take my mind off what had just happened.

That evening, the "Do" chanter asked me with great kindness how I was feeling. "Oh I'm great," I replied, "I'm very resilient." I really meant it when I said it but on later reflection I observed that just to make it through any given day I often just hack off the sticky emotions and am left with a lot of phantoms that can resurface unexpectedly when my guard is lowered. I would love to figure out how to just have one big sobfest and then be done with "it:" (whatever that day's "it" is).

Phoenix Rising...and Crashing...and...

2009-03-06T07:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I rose like a phoenix out of my bed where I had spent every possible second for the previous 24 hours with the very strong intention to go to a relaxation session at Callanish. I had intended to go to there on Wednesday but just did not have the oomph to get up, get dressed, get in my car and go relax.

I got to see two of the other women who had been on retreat with me, some of the core Callanish team and met other wonderful women. A phenomenal voice and sound improvisor Laurel Murphy (http://www.laurelmurphy.com/bio.html) was there to add an fabulous aural element to the relaxation.
Laying on a mat of the floor, tucked in with a cosy blankie, I closed my eyes and relaxed my body, ready to drift off into a deeply relaxed place...

when I noticed that that my chest was constricting and was painful and that my arms were tingling and so were the tops of my feet. Breathe in....relax....listen to Janie and Laurel's voices, the sounds of the bells...oh my god, it's neuropathy...aahhh, relax...use this time...pay attention to the voices...relax....I'm hooped!...relax...breath in....deep breath out...I can't feel my feet....metta...so, so beautiful...heart opening...my heart hurts...loving kindness...yessss...for all beings...stop being so self-centred...this is no big deal...such a safe place...such radiant, alive women.

The session ends with some discussion, an honouring of the amazing space that was created by Laurel and Janie and Gretchen and then I kicked into extroverted Zoё mode, completely forgetting about the physical symptoms that I had just been experiencing.

I got into the car and had the thought that I had been acting like someone on some kind of "upper," that I was running on adrenaline as opposed to actually available energy and I had a very strong sense that I was headed for a big crash.

It was a gorgeous sunny day and normally I would have taken my lunch and eaten it outside to have a sunbath before having a nap but I was too tired. I took the food upstairs. took a few bites and decided that I needed sleep even more than I needed food, having been awake since 3 am. I put on my eye patch and ear plugs and tried to sleep. I had closed the window to buffer the sound of the construction guys working on a major reno across the street. I was able to relax until another chapter of the book that seems to be wanting to be written popped into my head. Now I was fully awake...fueled by that delicious creative energy that so feeds me...and I sat up to add the new chapter title to the list.

I knew I needed to rest but that sleep was impossible so I called Kelly still laying in bed. We had one of our typical, juicy, hilarious conversations that involved a great deal of laughing, snorting, kid-discussing and new business idea brainstorming. Whilst talking to her I started to have a lot of tingling in both arms and mentioned it but continued with our conversation. As we went on I started to get really distracted by the body sensations and told Kelly that I needed to get off the phone and email my oncologist.

I emailed Karen Gelmon, telling her that I had just started having neuropathy symptoms (a common side effect of the Taxol) and asked her for tips, signing off as "slightly panicking jewellery designer."
I also did some "research" and managed to scare myself silly. Laying in bed, feeling like a chemo victim I tried to think of what I could do to take back control of my body. Suddenly it popped into my mind that I hadn't been doing my daily exercises--Tibetan Rites--since before I left on retreat. It took me a few minutes to psych myself up enough to get out of bed and pull out the mat. I did the exercises pretty well considering what shape I was in and that--yet again--I had not kept up with them, and noticed that while the sensations were still there, they were not as strong.

By this time, Charlotte was home from school and my Mama hat was on for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I went up to bed at about 7:30 pm, had my hour of laughter therapy (one episode of The Daily Show and one episode of the Colbert Report and then turned out the lights.

My head on the pillow, I was suddenly awash with such sorrow and overwhelm. Tears were gushing from my eyes, my throat constricted and I began to sob. My first thought was concern for Charlotte whose room is close to mine and I tried to stiffle the weeping. "This is just too much" was the thought. After chemo there had been the nausea (though so mitigated by the drugs), the searing back pain, the jaw pain, the upset stomach, the chills, they hadn't all come together and I had felt like I was doing fine. But now I was in the what-if hell realm. It wasn't that I was in excrutiating pain. I just had tingling and sensations of numbness. The now wasn't what was causing me such grief, it was the fact that peripheral neuropathy can be permanent and very drastically curtail the activities that one can do.

I grabbed the bead mala that I had made on retreat. We had done a powerful exercise the second day in which we reflected on times that we had had to be very resilient, to call on that part of ourselves that could overcome really big challenges. The idea was to select a bead to represent each of those instances or periods and we were given cord to string them in any way that we had wished. I held the mala in my hands and in the darkness felt the different beads and found the one that represented freedom from suffering. Just holding that bead calmed me down. I had a few more sob episodes but I chanted my way through them and feel asleep.

I woke up with a druggy hangover having taken two sleeping pills and some pain medication before bed and then with a big drink of water needed to take even more meds for my low thyroid. It was 5 am and I was happy that I would have time to drink my green tea, write, watch the sky go from pitch black to what is going to be a stellar sunny day. This writing is my therapy. It obligates me to pay attention and by writing frequently I can go back and remember various emotional and physical states that I pass through. It helps me to not feel at the effect of what is arising. I am an observer not a victim.

I'm so grateful that the sun rose today and I will rise too.

Adventures in Chemoland: Episode #2

2009-03-05T05:03:00.000-08:00

Chemo #2--2/27/2009--Taxol, Herceptin and Carboplatin

Message from the Station: Dear Chemogrrl followers, we regret that regular programming was delayed as the star of the show was somewhat incapacitated. Following is Episode #2 of Chemogrrl's Adventures in the Underworld.

I returned on Thursday, Feb. 26th from the Callanish retreat and went straight to the Cancer Agency to have blood work. Then I went home and hung out with the kids for a bit (which I wrote about on Feb. 28th in Re-Entry.) I also popped 'round to see my mentor Lalitha who had just returned from a month in India and who regaled me with fabulous stories. Chock-full of the retreat, my reunion with my kids and my mentor, I went to bed happy and ready for whatever the next day might bring.

It was mayhem the next morning as I dressed myself in full kick-ass chemo-combat gear whilst trying to get lazy-bones children out of bed who had been spoiled for the last week by their kinder and gentler godparents. Tom's version of getting lazy-bones children out of bed was to throw dog treats on the kids' beds and have Sadie go fetch them. What kind of incentive is that for kids to get out of bed? I am planning pay-back when their not-quite-yet-born is at an appropriate age for Auntie Zoё to spoil him or her. Cousin Karen kindly picked me up just after 8 am as I was to be at the BC Cancer Agency from 8:30 am for a chest x-ray, and then had an appointment with my wonderful oncologist Karen Gelmon.

A bit of background before I go on: Just before starting the first round of chemo, I had my second pleural tap in just over a week. I had been squeezed in at the end of the day as it was a bit of an emergency. The doctor doing the tap was very young though he assured me that he had done many of them. Basically a pleural tap involves sticking a very, very large needle into one's back hoping to take out fluid without puncturing the lung. I was sitting up on an empty hospital bed facing the window as he prepared the equipment and donned on his bacteria-free gown. I had my eyes closed and was doing all my self-calming tricks. Just before he began he said, "Don't look at the needle!" I, of course, shot open my eyes and looked into the window to see the reflection of him holding a gigantic needle. I burst out laughing and told him that I hadn't been watching until he told me not to think of pink elephants. He did a good job though--it was actually less painful that the first time--and then told me that they needed to do a chest-x-ray to make sure that my left lung wasn't punctured.

"Wouldn't I know if my lung was punctured?" I asked. "Well yes, most likely." was his response, adding "there's really just an minute chance that your lung is punctured." "Okay then," I said "I elect not to have the x-ray." He stammered saying that he would have to get my oncologist's okay to release me without doing an x-ray. "Okay" I said and waited as he tried to get a hold of Karen. He couldn't get through and I took pity on him and the fact that he had been asked to stay late to do the tap and that it was now about 6:30 p.m. "I'm going to do it," I said "but only because it will make your life easier." I explained to him that I try to only do essential x-rays and scans because I have already had radiation to my chest wall and have had lots of x-rays and scans in the last nine years and it is known that radiation accumulates in the body and at some point one gets secondary cancers from beyond-the-personal-limit of radiation. I figure that if by some lucky deal I pull off living a really long time then I do not want to have to deal with radiation-induced cancer.

I went up to have the chest x-ray (I had written previously how the young woman had actually left work, gone home and returned to do my x-ray). Then I trotted back up to see the doctor to see the films and confirm that my lung had not been punctured. I think to make nice he asked me if I wanted to see the x-rays that he had put up on a large computer screen. "Sure!" I said, never thinking about what the effect of seeing it might be. I plopped down beside him and looked at the screen. My throat-closed up as I croaked out: "Is the white the cancer?" "Yes," he replied seemingly unaware at the impact my seeing a veritable blizzard on the screen might have on me. I realized in that instant why there had never been any mention of surgery to deal with my lung mets.

Okay, back to Chemoland day: When I met with the oncologist, she told me that the chest x-ray that had been taken that morning showed that I was responding to the chemo. I told her about seeing my chest x-ray three weeks prior and she said with a smile that there was less snow now. This makes me cautiously optimistic. It is of course, great news on one hand, as if I were not responding to the chemo, I would be literally doomed. But...and it is a big but...the lungs are not the only location of involvement, chemo response does not inherently equal an extended survival duration and an x-ray is only an x-ray. I don't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed so I am just going to be pleasantly pleased as opposed to begin organizing my "Yahoo, I kicked cancer's butt!" party. As and when though, you'll all be invited.

I asked for and received a prescription for the very expensive and very effective anti-nausea meds that I had seen be given to a women during my first dance with chemo. This young women kept throwing up whilst receiving chemo...they called her oncologist and got her a prescription for this brand-new wonderdrug that isn't often prescribed as three (3) tablets cost $100! I had tucked that knowledge away and found out the name of the drug. I decided to ask for a prescription as it is worth it to me and my kids to spend as little time as I can embracing the white-porcelain shrine.

After my appointment, I went out for a quick sun and money bath, as it cost $338 to fill all the prescriptions that my oncologist had written for me to manage the chemo's side effects. Then it was back to the Agency for episode #2 of Chemogrrl's Adventures in the Underworld. It really went fine.

I created quite a stir as many people thought that I had full-arm tats and I had to explain that no that was just my shirt but that actually I did have tattoos and flashed my chest one to a couple of the nurses and one of the wife's of one of my chemo mates. There was also a poignant/hilarious moment when one of the women who was about to receive her first chemo and was read the horribly long list of anticipated side effects including the loss of her hair. She looked over at me and asked why I hadn't lost my hair. With a smile I lift up my wig and showed her my shaved head. Quite a discussion ensued in the room about how well I suited my redhead wig. I told everyone how funny it was to me that I suited that hair colour better than my own... and I always had thought that Mother Nature knows best. Oddly enough, with all the attention I received, no one mentioned the antique necklace of tantric skulls that I was wearing...an interesting reminder that people often only see what they can handle seeing.

The seven hours passed quickly, though I was in a complete stupour when I left from the Benedryl that they give to stave off an allergic reaction to the chemo, and was very happy that my cousin Karen picked me up and drove me home.

The Great Eastern Sun

2009-03-03T07:10:00.000-08:00

I woke up to this fabulous strand of sunrise flashing through the clouds. I hopped out of bed, grabbed my camera and took the photo. Now, the sky is completely cloudy, but the birds were just singing.

Early morning sunrises and the bird song of spring make me giddy with the feeling of hope and possibility. They Obamamize me. I just heard the black-capped chicadees' mating call which is my all-time favourite sound. It makes me think of my beloved grandmother Evi and our annual shared excitement for green shoots, spring blossoms and bird song. It reminds me that it's about time to plant sweet peas in her memory. It's funny to be writing in real time...I think that is what "twittering" is though I'm way too wordy likely to fit the true definition.

Buddhist teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche used the Great Eastern Sun as a metaphor for liberation. It is always rising, and "there is always the potential for human beings to discover their own goodness and the sacredness of the world" (p. xvi of The Great Eastern Sun).

I instinctively have that response to sunrises...they excite me in a way that sunsets don't. Sunsets for me are a bit like a dozen long-stemmed hot-house grown, smell-devoid red roses. Sunrises for me are snow drops in the snow, purple crocuses in the grass, cherry blossoms and magnolia buds. Sunrises say "I made it through yesterday and today can be a completely different day."

Sunrises remind me of the famous Goethe quote:

“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."

Do I commit to the possibility of this day or do I hang on to the difficulties of yesterday. Right now with the kids asleep in their rooms, Sadie asleep at my feet, me sitting up in bed, green tea beside me, looking out on the ocean, Stanley Park, Downtown and the snow-capped North Shore mountains, I have a choice and it is one that I will make and make and make and make and make all day long.

My body now is so sensitive that I get instant feedback when a situation or my emotions are dis-ease creating. I need to figure out how to keep my heart open but be protected from experiences that cause distress. I don't know how to do that in the moment.

Last night the kids and I had dinner together for the first time in a week...I actually cooked (not one but three different meals) and we sat together, my beloved candle/Zack's first metalwork project lit. It almost did me in but felt so essential...being together at the table, eating food that was made with love, having the space to talk. It was awkward at first and I had to really get intense and demand that we have a relaxing meal with no teasing or lousy table manners but we got there and all fell into a mood of pleasure at being in each other's company. Charlotte had just found out the Zack's high school offers dance as an elective. She asked Zack if he would ever do dance (her passion) and he said he would if she did hockey (his passion). Charlotte said that she felt sorry for him for some of the strengthening and stretching that he would have to do and he said that that would be a great adjunct for his goalie training. Zack punched his abs to show that he already had abs of steel and I told the kids about a friend in high school who was always wanting us to take hits on his abs. Zack said "Yeah, it doesn't hurt when you're expecting it but it sure does when you're not."

So that's my question: How can I drop my well-honed defenses and live as a kinder, gentler Zoё--Kelly ix-nayed the term "more feminine" as I think she thought that would involve tea parties with extruding pinkies--without getting sucker punched?

Hair-Razing Tales

2009-03-01T18:12:00.000-08:00

Being the kind of person who likes to prepare for the worst even while hoping for the best, I knew that with the particular chemo cocktail that my bartender...I mean oncologist...had concocted, that my hair would fall out two-three weeks after my first dose. I also had read enough accounts of women being traumatized by finding half their heads' of hair on their pillows to know that I wanted less hair falling out. That's what led to the vixie cut--less hair to be on the pillow. At about day 10 post chemo I started doing the tug test...pulling on my hair and seeing if any came out. On the day before I was to leave on retreat, I "failed" the tug test. I had bought a hair-trimming razor thingy in preparation of when my hair was really coming out and packed it just in case.

On retreat with me were seven other women who had either had cancer or are living with cancer. I was the only one who had not done chemo before and I believe that all of them had gone through the experience of losing all their hair. We were supported in our work and restoration by a team of ten women that included counsellors with decades of experience, a palliative care doctor, massage therapist, professional musician and art therapist.

I realized that I could not be in a better place to have an "embaldening ceremony" which is what is going on in the first two photos. I was given free rein as to the particulars of the ritual and I requested that photos be taken, that anyone who wanted to be there was welcome and that I wanted Burning Down the House* to be played at full volume. The reason that I am laughing in the first photo is that all the other participants were dancing to the music in front of me. The second photo shows one of the team shaving my head and the third shows the results of a second pass with the razor.

I had warned Charlotte and Zack that I might come home bald. I was resting upstairs when Charlotte came home from school. She came running upstairs to see me and with her usual aplomb didn't even flinch when she saw her bald-headed Mama. After hanging out for a bit, she suggested that I try on my wig...that's me, Zoё as a redhead, in the last photo.

I was downstairs with wig when Zack came home...I whipped off the wig to show him my bald head and after a few moments of reflection he said that he thought he liked me bald even more than as a redhead.

I have two truly awesome kids. I have given them such a different life than the consciously-raised, attachment-parented, family-bed-ed, demand-nursed ideal that I had so desperately wanted to provide them with. I had plans to be the perfect mother (what is that saying about "If you want to make God laugh...) but the distance that I have fallen from that now-obviously unattainable ideal is breathtaking. And yet...Zack and Charlotte have developed the ability to take pretty much anything in stride, they have their feelings but they move on, and while I would never consciously construct such a path for them, they have developed a matrix that will serve them well in their lives. What doesn't kill us--truly--makes us stronger. And while I failed dismally to create the safe sanctuary I had envisioned for them, they know--in every cell of their bodies--that they are loved.

*Burning Down the House is the only song that I have downloaded on my IPOD, though there are a few others thanks to Zack's insistence that it's just plain wrong to have dozens of audiobooks and just one song on an IPOD no matter how old its owner is.

Re-Entry

2009-02-28T19:12:00.000-08:00

For someone who is prone to superflous hyperbole, it's odd to observe that I really have nothing to say about my retreat other than: It was perfect.

I had chemo yesterday and am feeling fine but exhausted so you'll have to wait patiently or impatiently for more...

love,

Zoё

Time to Retreat

2009-02-20T09:00:00.000-08:00

I am heading off on a Callanish retreat from Friday, Feb. 20-Thursday, Feb. 26 and am home just in time for my second adventure in Chemoland the following day. If you are curious to learn more about the wonderful work that Callanish does, please see their website at: http://www.callanish.org/. And don't forget, if you wish to support them and have a very groovy Quash Cancer hat...they have arrived. The cost is $25 + tax and shipping (if required) and 100% of net proceeds will be donated to Callanish. If you want a hat, please email me at zoe@screamingpeacock.ca and I'll follow up with you on my return.

The Big C--A Disease of the Mind

2009-02-20T08:30:00.000-08:00

The hardest part of this whole living with cancer deal is keeping cool in the face of what might be a wee glitch or might be the beginning of the no-holds-barred, beginning-of-the-end downward slide.

Last night I was supposed to go to BBF (Beloved Best Friend) Dolly's 60th birthday bash. I had been on the fence about it for weeks, knowing that I was going to be going the next day (today) on retreat and unsure how I would feel after chemo episode #1. Dolly came to hang out with me at the Cancer Agency on Wednesday as I received my happy bones IV and I surprised her with her birthday gifts and then we both played hooky and had a quick lunch and sunbath at Go Fish. It was very carpe diem and happy and fun. I told her that I wanted to pop in to her party the next night but when I woke up from my nap yesterday afternoon feeling lousy I called Dolly to say that I wasn't up to coming after all. I had a rough night's sleep and as I sat up I started to cough. My mouth filled with what I thought was mucous but it was blood...dark red clots of blood. I coughed again. More blood. My mind was racing looking around at my bathroom, my half-packed suitcase for my week on retreat, trying to think of how this might not be a scary thing and what to do next. I concluded that whether I was going on retreat or whether I was going to the hospital, I should have a shower. So I did that then fired up the computer to send an email to my incredible oncologist. Then I went and put sheets in the wash and dryer, getting ready for Laura and Tom to stay either while I was on retreat or in the hospital, happy that the kids were sleeping in (pro-D day at their schools) and went to have my green tea and read the newspapers. I sent a second email to Karen G. to say that I had since coughed up clear mucous and was hoping that that was a very good sign. She emailed me back and said that it was and cc'd one of the core Callanish people going on retreat who is a palliative care doctor. Reading Karen's email that all was fine and wishing me a wonderful retreat I experienced a flood of emotions and burst out crying. All the fear and uncertainty had been held at bay while I needed the mind to function but once the pressure was off I was awash in a complex swell of relief and dismay.

Going For the Jugular

2009-02-18T15:00:00.000-08:00

Idiom: Go for the jugular "to attack fiercely in order to have no doubt about winning" Etymology: from the idea that an animal often kills another animal by biting the jugular vein (tube that carries blood) in the neck, causing the animal to bleed to death quickly Cambridge Dictionary of American Idioms Copyright © Cambridge University Press 2006. Reproduced without permission.

Two nights ago I was having a candlelight dinner with Zack. Charlotte was out, Zack had an hour before his hockey game and we were relaxing over a light supper of Kelly's Winter Warm-up Soup, Rustic Baguette and veggies. It was lovely. As I chatted with Zack, I placed my right hand up the left side of my neck. My brain made the sound effect of a toddler unsuccessfully attempting to lift the needle off of a playing record. My fingers went...poke, poke, poke. Then calmly I moved closer to Zack and asked if there was something strange about my neck. "There's a vein sticking way out," was his confirming response. I went to the mirror. Yup...big vein in neck...very, very engorged and blue with internal pressure building by the second. "Do you think veins can burst?" I asked Zack, wishing at that moment that I had picked med school over business school and knew what the eff was going on.

What to do? 7pm on a Monday night. Who to inconvenience with my question about whether this is a life-threatening situation or just a cancer glitch? I decided to call Lisa, the fabulous mom of one of Charlotte's best friends, a GP who conveniently lives two blocks away. She said that she'll just stop in to take a peek as it's hard to describe things over the phone. I sit back down to the table and start gulping back my soup saying to Zack, "well, if I have to go to the hospital at least I'll be full of Kelly's soup." Zack smiled and said "That's what I love about you Mom, you're so cool in these situations." I'm glad I give that impression although it's not exactly true.

Lisa came by and was very reassuring. No, the vein would not burst. No, it was not acute. Things to watch out for would be worsening symptoms, headache etc. but that it could at least wait for the morning or even today when I have an appointment for my happy-bone IV at the Cancer Agency. Off she went but I was not quite 100% convinced that I was okay given how much internal pressure there was. So...I did some "research" on the Internet, finding out the the bulging blue vein is known the "jugular" and that bulging neck veins can be related to pericardial effusion (which led to a middle-of-the-night ambulance ride this past summer), chest tumour or cancer in the chest region.

I zipped off a quick email to my oncologist describing my symptoms and what Lisa had said as a "just in case" and amazingly and very reassuringly received an email back less than an hour later saying that it could be a symptom of any of the cancer-related issues that I had just learned about or it could be nothing that all and that she was in clinic the following afternoon and would be happy to see me then if I was still concerned.

I went to bed feeling wildly appreciative of having been able to avoid a just-in-case trip to Emergency and woke up with the internal pressure gone. Whew! It's great to experience that some weird new symptom does not necessarily mean some dire new way in which the big C is going to work my inventory. I'm all for personal growth but I am just fine with the current rate and am not feeling the need for any added growth "opportunities."

I was reflecting this morning about the jugular vein as I happily noted that it was behaving itself and was trying to remember what the exact idiom was. "Going for the jugular"...it's kind of like "kill" or "be killed." Do I let the cancer kill me or do I kill it? And what would "going for the jugular" mean for a Zoë. Those of you who know me and those of you who have seen me on crosswalk duty at Charlotte's former school will attest to the fact that I have easy access to ferocity. That said, I have never been comfortable with the war-like mood that people often are described to have in their relationship to cancer.

Slightly veering off-topic for a moment, have you ever noticed how people's death from cancer is described: "lost his long, hard-fought battle with cancer," "courageous struggle with cancer," or "died after a ten-year fight with cancer."

That language just does not work for me. I have an immense aversion to war and can't imagine waging war with my own body. I do realize that in a certain way that my body is trying to kill itself, that unchecked the cancer--notice that I never say "my" cancer as it is an uninvited guest and in no way belongs to me or reflects my true identity--will cause my untimely demise.

So my point of reflection is how to appropriately respond to something that is going for my jugular? If it is "kill or be killed" and I am adverse to waging war, then what is to be done? I think that I need to be a cancer-whisperer. I need to come along side the cancer, taking lots of quiet, meditative, contemplative time to learn what it is that is wanted and needed. What changes do I need to make in my life? I have some ideas of how I managed to beat the odds once and then managed to re-create cancer in my body. There are internal and lifestyle shifts that I made originally that I was not vigilant about as the years passed and the first cancer dance became a foggy memory. I do not blame myself or judge myself. I just think of cancer--in my case--as being the Universe's way of cutting through my thick-headed existence. If I had kept up my meditation practice perhaps something much subtler would have sufficed? I don't know what or if I could have dodged this recurrence but now that is here what I fervently wish to do is learn what it is that I am to learn, regardless of whether that resultant wisdom will cause me to heal into life or heal into death.

My version of "going for the jugular" also involves going directly from the head to the heart--it's just more feminine. And for someone who has the fierce, ferocious and feisty angles already covered, this is undoubtedly part of my work.

Crazy Sexy Cancer Haircut

2009-02-16T14:57:00.001-08:00

Ta da!

Another silver lining to this whole metastatic cancer/chemo business. On Saturday I wrote about how fabulous it is to know in my lifetime how loved I am. And then as this added bonus--just because I want to spare myself from having to find scads of hair all over my pillow each morning when my hair starts to fall out--I end up with a stylin' vixie cut that actually suits me better than any haircut I've had for years. Too bad I'll only have it for a week or two.

But...according to the fabulous stylist I went to--Isabelle--I have a very nice shaped head and she predicts that I will end up going bald rather than wearing the wig that I have purchased. I'm not so sure...I found out when I went wig shopping with Charlotte that I also suit being a redhead.

So much learning, so little time.

Heart Matters

2009-02-14T19:14:00.000-08:00

I am reflecting on matters of the heart on this most Hallmark of holidays. I consider Valentine's Day to be, in the vernacular of my just-turned 14-year-old son Zack, "lame." I clearly have passed on this sentiment to the kids as I heard Charlotte tell someone on the phone the other day "You know that it was just made up to get people to buy stuff, right?"

It's not that I don't believe in showing love and affection, it's just that it's pretty absurd that the mighty economic and media machines are going to tell us when to do it and how to do it and perhaps niggle us into feeling badly if it is not done to us with a dozen over-priced, smell and soul-less red roses. Okay, enough of that.

What I really want to talk about is the silver lining of living with metastatic cancer.

Yesterday a well-sized purple cooler bag showed up on my front porch. Attached to the handle with a pretty ribbon was a laminated card that read: "For Zoë and Her Family, Love from Zoë 's Book Club." Inside there were a panoply of gourmet goodies and a card that read: "Dear Zoë , Your Book Club misses you, were praying for you, and we love you. We wanted to do something for you and your family during this hectic and difficult time; so, please check this cooler on a regular basis--we hope to surpirse you often. Love from your Book Club."

As I said to Charlotte later, the outpouring of love and affection and kindness and offers of support have been so touching that "it's almost worth getting sick for." Usually, there is not such a concentrated display for an individual until she has died. For whatever reason, in our society, we tend to wait until the funeral or memorial service or celebration of life to collectively communicate our care for someone. All that love wasted on the out-of-bodied.

But maybe I could think about this and actually pick up the phone, respond to that email, put pen and paper and stamp together?Maybe I could take more time to actually communicate my appreciation of the terrific people in my life? As I write this I can think of a number of people who I have intended to be in touch with for ages but just haven't found the time to do it. But really...how long does it take? And how wonderful does it feel to connect?

I gave both Charlotte and Zack a cocoa-rich gift this morning--let's call it an un-Valentine's Day gift. Later they walked up the street to buy milk and bread and Charlotte came back bearing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, bursting with pride as she gave it to me. Zack muttered that he too would have got flowers for me but that he had no money. I told him that money has nothing to do with matters of the heart. "Yes it does!" he insisted. "A single rose cost $7!." I told him that he had already given me my gift the night before when at his 14th birthday celebration at a fun and fabulous restaurant downtown, right after I had toasted him, he had spontaneously added a toast of his own: "A toast to my Mom, that she fully recovers."

A toast to my family and my friends, new and old. Thank you for taking the time to tell me that you care. Regardless of what happens to my body, my heart is truly healing. And that, is priceless.

Vixie Advice?

2009-02-11T18:53:00.000-08:00

I am about to turn the tables, break down the fourth wall, mix other metaphors and introduce the new Zoë word of the day--vixie--as well as ask for some advice.

Photo #1 was taken in December 2005 at the launch of Screaming Peacock, my custom-design and one-of-a-kind jewellery business...

Photo #2 was taken exactly one week ago, on the eve of my first dance with chemo. I am happily ensconced by the two finest BBFs that a grrl could ever wish for. That's Kelly to my right and Dolly to my left...

Photo #3 is...yes, it is Halle Berry, who is sporting the very vixie cut (that's a pixie cut with a certain kick-ass attitude for that one who's next "do" will be a bald non-do) that I would like to get so that when my locks begin to drop...there will be less of a mess.

My question? Anyone have a suggestion for a fabulous stylist who can vixify me?

Anyone Else Want to Quash Cancer?

2009-02-08T12:24:00.000-08:00

Here's Charlotte modelling a Quash Cancer hat. I am going to get some more made up. The 100% cotton, black military cap with hot pink lettering (same as my Quash Docs), a groovy side pocket and adjustable brim and back will sell for $25 Cdn. (+ tax and shipping) and 100% of the net proceeds will be donated to Callanish Society--a non-profit organization that provides weeklong retreats and support programs for people with cancer, and their loved ones. For more information on Callanish Society, go to http://www.callanish.org/. You may place an order by emailing me at: zoe@screamingpeacock.ca.

Adventures in Chemoland: Episode #1

2009-02-07T12:21:00.000-08:00

Chemo #1(a)--2/5/2009--Herceptin

Arrive at 3:30pm. Set up water, tape deck, IPOD. Lovely chemo nurse gets the IV going and sits down to go through the side-effects that I should expect during and after treatment, intermittently stopping as the two other people receiving IV's need their IV bags changed or checked. The list goes on and on and at one point she reassures me that it's all written down in case I'm starting to get confused. "Not confused," I said "I'm just trying not to panic at the thought of having all of these symptoms."

I was told to tell the nurse about any sign of an allergic reaction and so about half an hour in I commented that I had just gotten a really bad headache and that I was starting to have the sensation of my throat closing. The nurse called the doctor, stopped the chemo and gave me an IV of benedryl. One gripe: when the doctor came in he spoke to the nurse less than a foot away from me without even looking at me for five minutes. He was charming and reassuring when he got around to looking at me but--call me picky--couldn't he have at least made eye contact with me whilst getting the lowdown from the nurse?

After being there for about an hour and a half I needed to change rooms as the nurse was going off duty. I trundled down the hall, IV bags a-swaying, rather bleary from the benedryl and just as I was smiling at the new nurse and about to say "Hello," I was introduced as "This is Herceptin." "Actually, I'm Zoe and I'm getting my first dose of Herceptin," I replied.

I'm not planning on making a big deal out of these dehumanizing moments...but I do feel as someone who is not easily intimidated by those in authority positions that if I can subtly remind heathcare providers that they are dealing with people not allergic reactions or chemotherapy cocktails then I should. That said, I want these people to like me...they put big fat needles into my veins, fetch me extra pillows and warm flannel blankies.

Finally, after 3 1/2 hours, I got to go home. Tom and Laura had been hanging out with the kids. I ate an entire papaya and went to bed before 8pm.Charlotte most endearingly bringing me peppermint tea of her own initiative. I'm so grateful that Charlotte and Zack are old enough and independent enough to put themselves to bed.

Chemo #1(b)--2/6/2009--Taxol and Carboplatin

Crazy morning trying to get myself ready to be at the Clinic for 8:30am as well as getting groggy kids up out of bed, getting us all fed. Tom arrived early to walk Sadie and return to take Zack to school. Charlotte prepped her lunch waiting for her carpool pick-up and surprised me by handling all the breakfast dishes so that I didn't have to come home to them.

I was the first patient in my room that has four chemo "stations" in it. They stagger arrivals so that it's not too nuts for the nurse. It was explained that there would be over an hour of pre-meds for anti-allergic reaction and anti-nausea and then about 4 1/2 hours of chemo.

I was feeling a bit anxious as the nurse the previous night had referred to the carboplatin as being the "nasty" one. To psyche myself up I had donned on my Fuck Cancer hat and made sure that I had brought along things to soothe, nourish and entertain: chanting tape, thermos of herbal tea, two huge SIGGs of water, home-made smoothie, IPOD chockful of Daily Show and Colbert Report, eye mask, etc.

The seven hours went by pretty smoothly...I didn't have any reactions this time, I had put a heating pad under my back so I avoided the back pain that I had had the afternoon before, my chemo companions were all very lovely. The one hard thing was to watch a young woman--F.-- (late 20's?) having a really rough time with her chemo--throwing up repeatedly. I was glad for my eye patch and BOSE headphones as I'm one of those people who is prone to empathetic puking. F. was so lovely and completely enamoured by my hat. "Where did you get that?" she asked in a calm moment and her equally lovely young husband wrote down the website address, which for those of you who are interested is: http://www.jackiefarry.com/ and click on the very top bar "Tell Cancer Where To Stick It." It can be yours too for only $20 US!

I felt really quite fine after the chemos in an "I know good drugs are helping me feel better than I would otherwise be feeling" kind of a way and decided that I would take the bus home so as to get some fresh air and sunshine and a bit of a walk prior to crashing. Zack was about to take off to spend a thank-god-my-first-mid-term-week-is-over weekend at Tom and Laura's and Charlotte went off to bake cookies with a friend.

I was asleep by 7:30pm and then awoke around midnight to that unfortunately familiar sensation of drowning from the inside out. Obviously my body just can't easily absorb lots of fluid at the moment and there was lots and lots of fluid in those IV bags. I just kept adding pillows until I could fall back asleep.

I know that whatever my worst of the chemo cycle will be between day 7 and day 14 and that I should expect to be harder and harder hit (relatively speaking) with each dose. That said, I can say that I am feeling relieved that I seem to be getting off lightly and am crossing fingers and knocking on wood that my constitution will be able to stand up to the onslaught with its usual fortitude.

BR-I-I-I-NG!

2009-02-04T16:45:00.000-08:00

I start chemo tomorrow. All it took was BBF (Beloved Best Friend) Kelly coming over from Victoria and having a day-long playdate with her, with lunch at Aphrodite Cafe with BBF Dolly with a brief appearance from Cousin Tara.

I have a chemo date tomorrow and then also on Friday to see if I have a reaction to either of the chemo cocktails. Thanks to all of you for your kind wishes and support. It's been so appreciated.

I'll keep you all posted.

Cosmic Joke

2009-02-02T06:20:00.000-08:00

I'mtryingtobeagoodsportbutIgottatellyouIHATE

allthisfreakin' WAIT,WAIT,WAIT

asmysymptomsprogress,nosignthey'regonnaabate

withoutthepreviouslydreaded,nowmuchanticipated,chemodate

IwanttheUniversenotunderfundedkeeptestingtotheminimumdon'tcalluswe'llcallyousocializedmedicinetodeterminemyfate.

wonderifitsacosmicjoke,shouldacouldawouldasaidyestochemosooner,hadIknownthatyesdidn'tnegatetheWAIT,WAIT,WAIT.

Cliches To Live By

2009-01-31T11:19:00.000-08:00

Despite powerful visualizations of ringing phones...I did not receive a call from my about-to-be new friends at the Chemo Booking Desk and continue to be on tenderhooks, trying to keep living, Mama-ing. healing, working, exercising, eating right, staying psyched, certain and centred; knowing that any day now that which I have just penciled into my Moleskine agenda book will need to be erased, re-thought and re-booked.

So what's one to do when the waiting gets tough? There's only one answer--do what's wanted and needed in the moment, minute, hour, day. And last night what that looked like was a mini Cancer Vacation! I had bought my daughter Charlotte 4 tickets to see So You Think You Can Dance Canada as her Winter Solstice gift. Charlotte and a fellow-dance-fiend buddy, Charlotte's beloved godmother Laura and I and 10,000 other wildly pyched, screaming-prone fans took in the fabulous show.

Earlier in the week, prior to the pleural tap, as I began to fear that I might drown from the inside out, the possibility of my making the show seemed increasingly unlikely. I began to hatch plans B, C, D and E but didn't say anything to Charlotte knowing how much she was looking forward to us all going together. Taking things day by day has never been so obviously essential. "Hope for the best, plan B for the rest," or something like that. We had a fantastic time. Part of my delight was watching the glowing face of Charlotte and her friend during the show and then watching them dance through the streets of downtown afterwards, full-to-the-brim with pleasure and possibility.

I went to bed happy and content, only to wake up two hours later my right arm numb and my back completely in spasm. It's a powerful reminder to say "Yes" to that which I wish/want/should do today as the next day it may not be an option. I'm not saying that to be dark and gloomy. It's just my experience. Not only that, the back pain won't last, but the memory of last night will.

Breaking News

2009-01-30T06:55:00.001-08:00

There was a message on my cell phone yesterday afternoon from my oncologist telling me that she had some good news for me--tests had been done to the pleural fluid that had been drawn from my lungs and some other tests and that it had been determined that the cancer is HER2 positive. This used to be very, very bad news for women as it represents a very aggressive form of breast cancer that used to have a very poor survival rate. With the advent of a targeted therapy, called Herceptin, survival outcomes have moved to very poor to--well I'm not sure if better than average--but certainly much better than they were.

For some reason I cried when I heard her message and not in that happy, I'm so lucky way. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because I have just gotten my head around the current as-soon-as-I-get-the-you're-next-on-the-wait-list call from the Cancer Agency chemo desk and now I need to get with a new program.

Dipping back into the Internet's murky pond of data regarding cancer and its treatment options, survival chances etc. is not for the faint of heart. One of the infuriating things to read about are the medical studies that compare one cytotoxic drug to another and then conclude that one is "superior" because on average the patients in one arm of the study had 9.3 months to disease progression versus the other arm that had 7.9 months (don't worry Mom, these aren't my stats). Call me a limited thinker but I'm hard-pressed to get giddy over an additional 1.4 months--especially if the drug procotol involves six months of chemo that render the recipient pukishly-baldedly-cane-walking-muscle-angstedly sick (again, not necessarily true in my case). On the bright side, there's also some humour available. Apparently Herceptin is contraindicated if one is allergic to Chinese hamster ovary. Actually now that I think about it maybe that's not funny, maybe that means that I'm going to have Chinese hamster ovaries injected into me.

Time to have some green tea and work on upping my gratitude attitude.

Creativity and Cancer

2009-01-29T06:58:00.000-08:00

I have come across some truly inspired responses to facing cancer. crazysexycancer Kris Carr and Cancer Vixen Marisa Marchetto clearly managed to have and hold onto their creative juices through bad, ugly and good times.

Check 'em out:

http://www.crazysexycancer.com/
http://marisamarchetto.com/

Oh Canada!

2009-01-28T05:53:00.000-08:00

1pa·tient \ˈpā-shənt\ Etymology: Middle English pacient, from Anglo-French, from Latin patient-, patiens, from present participle of pati to suffer; perhaps akin to Greek pēma suffering
1: bearing pains or trials calmly or without complaint Source: Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Have you ever thought about how weird it is to call sick people "patients?" I have often wondered in the last ten years if it is meant to be a subliminal message to all of us who have the somewhat debatable good fortune to be part of Canada's socialized medical system.

I had been raised with the notion that it was one of the great things about our country...essentially free access to healthcare for all Canadians. As I grew up I started to hear about problems with wait-lists and the like but it wasn't until my beloved and very elegant grandmother, 89 at the time, spent 48 hours in the hallway of an hospital emergency room because there were no beds available and then was actually released before she was even admitted, only to return a few days later because surprise! she still needed medical attention--that I realized that our system had some profoundly serious flaws.

Soon after I became an active participant in the not-so-wonderful world of doctors and hospitals: wait lists and wildly powerful receptionists who could rebuff or re-book as they so desired; doctors who could not always offer what they hoped or even promised; incredibly caring people and incredibly calloused ones.

In 2000, in the months leading up to my 40th birthday, I had three surgeries in less than 12 weeks plus 16 days of radiation plus countless hours in countless other heathcare providers' offices receiving complementary treatment. Partly due to my personality, partly due to the fact that my cells were behaving like a jet-lagged, nap-needing, not-yet-nursed toddler, and partly due to the fact that I would have far rather been at home with my just-turned three and five-year-old children, I was anything but patient.

I've been having flashbacks to those times almost ten years ago because I am still waiting to find out when I will begin chemo and I am reminded of all of the razor's edge moments of attempting to be perfectly im-patient. Too far over the edge and those will the magic say-so will not tell me what I want to hear; too patient and weeks can go by waiting for the phone to ring only to be phoned to be asked why I had missed my long-awaited appointment for a test--a test that unfortunately no had told me had been booked.

One needs to be skillfully squeaky but never stridently shrill. Effective and karmically-neutral navigation of our medical system calls for skillful means, a sincere interest in being relational and mindfulness that any boon to me means bypassing other ill people.

My mind has been pretty calm while I wait for for the chemo-commencement call, but my body's been very actively misbehaving. Even though I just had fluid drawn from my lungs just over a week ago, it had returned by yesterday morning to the same extent as when I had the fluid drawn. I had emailed my oncologist, Karen Gelmon, on the weekend to let her know that it was coming back and then again yesterday morning, asking "At what point do I be concerned?" Karen G. had told me that if the chemo is effective that it would really aid with this fluid build-up but there was still no word on when that might begin.

I tried to have a nap yesterday afternoon and when I lay down I had the sensation that my throat was closing. That got my attention. I tried calling my GP but she was gone from the office until Thursday. I tried calling my oncologist's assistant but there was no answer. I decided to page my GP and started to pack a backpack with toothbrush, reading material, water etc. just in case I might need to go to Emergency. I didn't hear right back from my GP, Karen B., so I also kept calling Karen G.'s assistant and finally got through. She said that she would email her to call me. By now the kids were home from school and we were all on tenderhooks as we waited to hear.

Karen B. called and said that she felt that I would be fine overnight so long as I slept upright and that she would make some calls to get me in to have a fluid tap today. We were mid-conversation when another call came in and I quickly looked at the phone display which read "Canadian Cancer Society." I told Karen that I would call her right back. Thinking that it was my oncologist, I answered the incoming call only to hear a man's voice: "Hello, I'm calling from the Canadian Cancer Society. Can we count on you to canvas your neighbours in April to raise much needed funds for cancer research? It would just take..." "No," I replied. In that crazy-making telemarketer way, he continued with his spiel as if I had not just given him my response. "...a few hours of your time and...." "I have metastatic cancer and I said NO!" and with that he thanked me and wished me a nice day.

I grinned thinking about the tremendous comedic timing of that call. Last summer after my surgery, as I clawed my way back to health or at least the experience of healthy in a living-with-mets way, there were hilariously absurd things happening to me on a daily basis. Kelly and I would often be hysterical talking about them and we concluded that "you just can't make shit up this good," that real life is truly funnier than anything a novelist could dream up. But I digress.

I called Karen B. back and she said that I could go in right away to the Cancer Agency to have the procedure or they could find me a time in the morning and then I received a call from my oncologist, Karen G, saying that they couldn't actually fit me in the next day and that I should come in right away and they could do it. I called Charlotte and Zack's godmother Laura and she and her wonderful husband Tom said that they would be right over to hang out with the kids, get them fed, sit on them 'til their homework was done and off I went.

By the time I arrived it was almost 5:30pm. The normally teeming-with-people building was practically deserted. I went up to the 5th floor as directed and met with the doctor who was going to do the procedure, thanking him for staying late to do it. All went well with the fluid draw. The last step was to have a chest x-ray to make sure my lung hadn't collapsed. They said that x-ray would be ready for me in about 15 minutes and that I could go wait in the lounge. by the time I went to x-ray it was about 7:30pm. There was a young woman sitting at the desk in the dark. I apologized profusely for causing her to stay so late. "Oh, don't worry about it, " she said, "I just came back."

So what's the take-away from all of this? Sure, our medical system is structurally flawed but it is chock-full of fantastically caring and competent doctors and nurses, technicians and assistants. I am in good hands and I also squeak real good.

Chemo Grrl's Mission About to Commence*

2009-01-26T07:07:00.000-08:00

Chemo Grrl--with super healthy-cell protective powers--is set to embark on her mission to the underworld. I'm wait-listed to begin chemo as early as Wednesday, January 28th. I will receive 12-24 hours notice of my first treatment and then will receive an as-yet-undetermined number of weekly doses.

I'm attaching an audio interview of a fellow named Mitchell May whose story of recovering from a devastating car accident is the single-most inspiring story that I have ever heard. It is 53:30 minutes profoundly well-spent. It makes you believe that not only the improbable, but the impossible is, possible. It is a doubt-buster extraordinaire. I'm going to listen to it while the Taxol enters my system, just to make sure that my body/mind is on-board with the kill-the-cancer-but-not-the-body program: http://www.synergy-co.com/audio/NewDimensions.WMA

*A huge thank you to Chris for giving me the okay to post the image of his fabulous super heroine "Chemo Girl." Chemo Girl is TM & Copyright Chris Yambar & A Way With Words Foundation 2009. For more info, click on: http://www.lifemaxxhq.org/. With the desire to respect trademark and add my own touch, I have put the slightly fiestier "grr" into the spelling of my personal super heroine.

In and Through the Body

2009-01-24T07:09:00.000-08:00

Up until the cancer conundrum began ten years ago, I had always been absurdly healthy. My one hospital stay was when I was born. I sailed through my two pregnancies without even a split second of morning sickness, heartburn or swollen ankles. My kids were both born at home, brilliantly healthy.

I remember having a conversation with my mentor, Lalitha, about that years ago. She said that that was a good thing because in the Western Baul lineage-- spiritual work is pursued "in and through the body." She proceeded to tell me wild and wonderful stories of people's bodies being "on the line" as they pursued their investigations of the unknown.

It never occurred to me--that day or any other day--that part of my evolution as a human being might involve having body bits removed. It did not feel like a spiritual experience to stop nursing my daughter in order to have a breast biopsy, followed up quickly by a lumpectomy, a mastectomy and an oopherectomy. It was a truly terrifying time. My kids had just turned three and five. On top of all the surgeries I had radiation to the chest wall as the cancer was locally-advanced and had invaded the chest wall. I was given a 50% chance of survival. As an aside, "survival" in the world of oncology is a time frame of five years. Needless to say, I did not feel reassured by those stats. It took me three or four years to really start to feel well. The hardest thing to overcome was having my ovaries removed and being surgically thrown into menopause. I had been warned that the side effects were more brutal than chemo but I also believed that it would be worth it...that it could save my life to radically reduce the amount of estrogen that my body could produce. The fabulous thing is that I did overcome it. My body adapted and I was healthy and happy once again.

One of the things that I did to recontexualize my experience was to have a kick-ass tattoo of a yogini inked over my mastectomy scar--a not-so charming railroad track of staples that were used to join the tissue back together. I also discovered that there is an ideal pursued in many Eastern traditions of union between the divine masculine and the divine feminine--a balance of the energies of shiva and shakti. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that in art--be it paintings or bronze, this deity--Ardhanarishvara--is always depicted as half man/half woman and that the male side is the right side and the female side is the left. It didn't make me feel any closer to enlightenment to discover that my body now had exactly that form but it does intrigue me and--on lucky days--inspires me.

I had my annual follow-up with my oncologist in May 2008 and casually mentioned a little cough I'd been having (slightly tearfully which I guess means I actually knew what was up) and on the spot she had me go up for a chest x-ray just to rule out any recurrence. She said that I could come back with the x-rays and see her again. I have mentioned how fabulous she is, right?

The chest-x-ray indicated that there was a recurrence and a CT Scan was ordered to confirm. Not that there is a good time to get a cancer recurrence but this was definitely not good timing. My son was moving back to Canada to live with me and his sister after 3 1/2 years of living primarily with his Dad. I had a huge jewellery show coming up. I was basically asymptomatic so I decided just to tell a few of my intimates, make my diet sparklingly clean, start seeing a naturopath who specializes in cancer, up my exercise, receive more acupuncture treatments and hang tough.

Just days prior to my son Zack arriving in Vancouver I ended up in the Emergency with what turned out to be a very dangerous amount of fluid around my heart. I had it drained and hightailed it out of there as quickly as I could to get ready for my son. I went to see my oncologist the day before Zack was due to arrive and she took one look at me and sent me upstairs for a chest x-ray and then gave me the bad news that I needed to be admitted into the hospital to have an operation to prevent the fluid from building up again around the heart. I was in the hospital for 8 days and left 12 pounds lighter and feeling like a little, old granny with advanced heart disease. I thought that that was it, that I would never be able to ride by bike on the hills near Spanish Banks or up at Whistler. My friends and my kids were terrifically supportive and little by little I regained my strength and stamina to the point that in two short months I was back cycling up steep hills. I was insanely grateful for my body's strength and stamina.

My buddies have been reminding me of all of this as I await the chemo assault. I have an incredibly strong constitution--notwithstanding the rather paradoxical fact that my body is trying to kill itself--and I can and will get through this latest in-and-through-the-body opportunity. My aim, of course, is to do more than just survive chemo. My aim is to actually eke out some kind of insight-rich experience . That said, I forgive myself in advance if I just manage to endure it with a minimum of whining and poor-me-ing.

Internet Intimacy

2009-01-23T16:13:00.000-08:00

Depending on how your mind works, Internet Intimacy either sounds rather racy or like an oxymoron. Given that my kids and Mom read this blog sometimes, I'm planning on keeping things relatively tame on the racy front. What I wanted to talk about was my experience of starting this blog. I started it on a whim last weekend. Basically I just wanted to write a bit about my decision to do chemo--a pretty momentous decision for me given how opposed I had been to doing it during Round 1 of my cancer adventure. The reason I decided to start a blog is that I wanted my friends to know how I was doing and what was up with me but I knew that I wouldn't always have the time to do that either by individual phone calls or emails.

My experience so far is that by giving people access to me and my process via my blog, I am receiving way more support and good wishes than I would be otherwise. Friends, close and not-as-close, can know for sure that I do not want my privacy respected, that I do want contact, that I do want them to be involved.

I am a big believer in the power of good wishes--those of a religious bent would say prayer--but my big fat opinion is that you don't have to believe in God to be caring, kind and compassionate and you don't have to believe in God to be able to wish someone well from afar and actually be able to lighten their load by doing so. Not that it's not a good or even wonderful thing to believe in God/Goddess/the Divine/the Universe, I don't mean that at all. It's just that I happen to think that non-believer's good wishes count as much as believer's prayers and I am wildly appreciative of it all.

I know that it's still early days, that I haven't begun chemo yet, that I am still strong and appear healthy even though I have millions of cells that are behaving really badly. That said, I'm thoroughly enjoying writing this blog. I'm completely touched by people's comments on the blog and their private emails to me. Thank you. Also, just so you know, I love, love, love having "followers." Does that make me a raving egomaniac? Will it go to my head and I'll grow a beard, get a bible and start preaching at the corner or Granville and Robson? I give advance permission for an intervention if that occurs but frankly it's more likely that I'll need an intervention from buying any more boots from the Fluevog that just so happens to be in the same block.

The Mind: A Fabulous and Fearsome Thing to Watch

2009-01-22T02:46:00.000-08:00

I was jarred awake. Mind still thick and groggy from what clearly was not a lengthy enough time passage from last night's lights out. Something was terribly wrong. I did a body scan. Was it the fact that my breathing is already a bit crackly and wheezy even though I just had fluid drained from my lungs on Monday? No. Was it the pressure building from still-too-much-but-not-enough-to-do-anything-about-it amount of fluid in my abdomen? No. Then I remembered,the poorly timed--i.e. just before bed--research that I had done about the chemo that I'm going to be taking as and when I get my start date (another blog, another day). Yes. The "problem" as it so often is was with the mind.

I'll speed-reverse back to the beginning of the day to fill you in. As always, before I go to appointments at the Cancer Agency, I spent a bit of time thinking about what I wanted to wear. My goal over the years is to not look like someone who is sick and has cancer but today called for something else--the inaugural wearing of my new hat--a Solstice gift from Kelly. I even managed amidst the morning mayhem to email Kelly the picture so that she could participate vicariously.

Kids off to school, I set off for my double-header day at the Agency. An IV of Pamidronate to keep my bones happy and an appointment with my oncologist. I had my usual lucky parking karma and as I plugged the meter I met the gaze of a middle-aged guy who had just navigated himself from car to wheelchair and who clearly was headed to the same location as I was. He took one look at my hat and was transformed from a crouched-over man mired in the challenges he was facing to a vibrantly alive, handsome guy. He flashed me a mega-watt smile which I did my best to return.

"This hat has seriously fun possibilities," I decided as I walked--with a bit of a jaunt--into the Clinic. First stop, top floor to the chemo and IV zone. I had been here once before and had been completely traumatized by the experience. In maybe a dozen rooms, all with their doors open, people in varying degrees of health, receive their medications or blood transfusions. Some people are clearly very, very ill and in pain. It is hard to see and harder still not to take on some of their suffering. The first time I asked to have my chair turned around so that I could look out over False Creek and the North Shore mountains rather than at my room-mates. This time though I was better prepared: water, green tea, rescue remedy and an IPOD chock-full of the latest "Q" podcasts and "The Daily Show." My room-mates were very pleasant...a chatty Brit who had a friend along and a woman who was clearly not feeling that well. An uneventful, even restful 90 minutes were spent, the last 25 of which with me trying to stifle my giggles as I watched my comedic hero, Jon Stewart.

So why was the first experience on the chemo floor so intense that my oncologist put me on oral pills so that I didn't need to have monthly IV's and then today's experience be so different? It's still the same place, still full of very ill people. The only thing that has changed is me or I should say, my state of mind. And of course with a different state of mind I noticed different things, how lovely all of the nurses were, including the one whom I asked to do some sleuthing about why I was not yet showing up in their system with a chemo start date and the lovely way that both my room-mates looked me in the eye as I left and wished me "Good Luck."

I am choosing that I want to have the IV and I have chosen that I want to have the chemo. It is no longer the boogey-man in the closet, the horror of horrors. I have changed my mind and because of that my experience is/will be/could be completely different.

Next stop, second floor, the large waiting room for patients with appointments to see their medical oncologists. Again, for years, I found being in this room to be traumatic. Almost always I would be the youngest person in the waiting room and I would sit therethinking--amidst a crowd of people with a wide array of creative attempts to cover up their chemo-induced baldness--"I don't belong here. I don't belong here. I don't belong here." Today though I just walk in, sit down and pull out my knitting. Klick-klack-klick-klack. I've just discovered that pulling out knitting is just as effective as lighting a cigarette at a busstop (just for the record I haven't smoked in over 20 years) and sure enough mid-first row of knit one, purl one, I was called in.

Karen came in after a bit of a lag and commented on how well I was looking. I had just seen her 5 days before and as well as having the chemo conversation with me she had put me on thyroid medication as my blood work indicated that it was really not working properly and that this would at least partially explain why I had been feeling really blue and low-energy in the fall. I agreed that I was feeling really good. "I'm at my best for some reason when I face adversity. It get's me all feisty and full-of-life." She asked me if I was feeling creative and thinking to the starting of this blog and the jewellery designing I've been doing and planning and, I said "Yes." We talked about how artists often describe happy events such as a new love relationship as being problematic for their art. We laughed at how messed up that it is and I said with my audaciously hopeful state of mind that perhaps it was possible to hang onto the creativity without needing the angst and that I looked forward to investigating that possibility post-chemo.

Karen went on to say that she had me on the wait-list as urgent but that she still did not know when I could start. I pulled out my list of questions and reviewed with her what she had given me as my chemo options. I had originally chosen one drug--Taxotere--to be administered every three weeks but in doing some more research wondered if I should reconsider and take a sister drug--Taxol--once every week. I told her that I was almost as scared of the steroid drug that is administered prior to the chemo to try to alleviate allergic reactions, nausea and inflammation. The contra-indications read like a carbon copy of my family medical history and I was concerned. Karen said that the efficacy of the two are essentially identical. Some people find that coming in less often preferable she explained but the up side of the weekly treatments is that they are less toxic as you receive a smaller dose and therefore don't have as strong side effects. When I added my concerns about taking a lot of steroid medication she explained that with the weekly dose I would take much less and we agreed that was the way to go. I asked with the weekly dose when I would feel the worst and she said about Day 2 or 3 but and started to say something else. Mid-sentence she stopped herself and as she left the room that I was going to do great. I knew that she was helping me to manage my mind and I replied that good as that sounds that I needed to be prepared for anything and to line up support just in case.

The rest of the day was happy and uneventful. As I've been doing lately I got to bed as quickly as I could, the kids joining me to hang out for a while and me being the first one to go to sleep...except that I didn't. I thought to myself...I'll just take a quick peek on the computer and read up on Taxol so that I'm prepared for any side effects there might be.

I ended up on a site where women who have taken Taxol have posted their experiences with the drug, here's a glimpse:

"I would start feeling sick the day after I got it, and this sick feeling would last about 5 days, and then I would recover day 6 and 7, and then it was time for the next dose. I got severe fatigue that felt like a horrible flu, very serious weakness, digestion problems, acid reflux, diarrhea, lost menstrual cycles after 4 weeks, some mild tinging in toes and hands. Some itching. At the end, serious muscle and joint stiffness - that felt weird and annoying. A lot of taste distortion and lack of appetite sometimes."

"I have not had any of the normal side effects - no nausea, fatigue, body aches. I work 32+ hrs. a week (75% on my feet)and have not missed a day of work. I take myself to and from treatments. My treatment effectiveness is being monitored by CT scans and CA125 blood tests for tumor markers. Both show my tumors are rapidly shrinking. I was determined not to let Taxol get the better of me."

"Numbness in feet and hands, joint pain, short term memory loss, confusion, can't add or subtract although I was a math whiz before Taxol. I was sick. After a year of being off Taxol, I still have numb feet and hands, confusion, no short term memory, can't talk many days, I feel like a complete idiot. Taxol was a high price to pay for my life."

"I am now 2-1/2 months into treatment. Side effects are predictable. Day 2,3,4 post treatment some fatique, loss of hair, including nasal lining, I always had osteoarthritis so I can not attribute joint & muscle pain to taxol. Taxol was prescibed as pallative, but I now am almost normal, scan show the cancer has stopped progressing and bone mass in regenerating."

"I suppose since Taxol saved my life I have that to be thankful for, but the side effects are devastating. My neuropathy is getting worse as time goes on and I'm 5 months post chemo. I have had to change positions at my job to a desk job from a job that I was on my feet all day. I'm 45 and feel like a 90 yr old woman. My quality of life sucks!!!!

"The side effects quite predictable.Day one and 2 fine, symptoms appeared on day 3 lasting 4 to 5 days. Numbness in feet,hands constantly.Each session it seems more pronounced.Red face on day 2 and body rash for a few days.A HUGE amount of pain throughout body FOR A GOOD 4 TO 5 DAYS.Knees and hands of late have permanent discomfort.Joints in hands feel arthritic and are swollen. My CA125 LEVELS HAVE DROPPED PROMISINGLY WELL.Have had 6 Taxol sessions every 3 weeks and started another set of 3 every 4 weeks.Last one in 3 weeks time.Hair loss, but fabulous wigs to be found.Eyebrow and eyelash loss.Chest pains on 8th dose of Taxol.Nauseous each time but abated with drugs,Tastes different.Tiredness.Have found excercise( walking)as soon after as possible improves my condition. Wonder if I will ever get feeling in my extremities again?"

"Mostly just a little tired the day of and after taking Taxol. Very little nausea. At the end of the treatments however, I experienced severe leg cramps, and neuropathy in hands and feet."

"Fatigue was the only important one; one day mostly in bed for each weekly cycle. My hair fell out, but who cares? None of the nausea/vomiting I've experienced with other chemo drugs. No peripheral neuropathy. Only very mild and occasional joint pain."

Clearly this was not the best thing to ingest right before bed. It explains the sudden wake up in the middle of the night. It makes me feel shaky. How can a jewellery designer work with numb fingers? I was psyched up for whatever lousy symptoms I might have during treatment but symptoms that keep getting worse after treatment? I hadn't even contemplated that. Can I just be like the woman who decided not to let Taxol get the better of her and sail through? Clearly that's the mind-set of my oncologist and naturopath. Is it that easy? Here I am ...writing in the middle of the night...with the rest of the household sound asleep...all alone with my mind. How do I want to frame this foray into the unknown? Will I apply the principles that I have studied and practiced with my spiritual mentor Lalitha for over a dozen years? Will I just observe what my mind is wanting to do with these women's accounts and not get hooked into what-if hysteria? Will I give in to fear? Will I remember how resourceful I am at finding the help I need when I need it? Will I stop these machinations, turn out the light and go back to sleep for a couple hours so that I'm not a complete wreck for the rest of the day? Yes.

I just have one last thing to say: Fuck Cancer.

Straight Talk About Death. Chard In My Son's Sandwich, Not So Much.

2009-01-20T20:26:00.000-08:00

Our friend Tom came by this morning to help create a guest room/rec room in the basement. He arrived just after my 13-year-old son Zack had asked whether there would be enough money available whenever I might die for Sadie to be able to continue her raw food diet as he wasn't sure he'd be able to make enough money working at Tim Horton's to pay for her food. I was just reassuring him when Tom walked in the room and I filled him in on the topic of conversation.

Tom said something like: "Wow, I'm a bit startled that you guys are talking about you dying in that way but I think that it's great." I responded by saying that I figure that dying is a part of living and then the kids and I started cracking wise with our pet-peeve euphemisms...I said that I certainly had no plans to get "lost" or "pass away." That I would just die. Be dead.

The pre-school bustle continued and I began to make Zack a sandwich while Charlotte, his 11-year-old sister, grumbled that she didn't understand why she had to make her own lunch. Right or wrong, it has something to do with the fact that Zack generally wouldn't take the time and would starve or eat junk food if I didn't. But I digress.

Tom sat at a kitchen stool while I sliced a large piece of focaccia, smeared mayo on one side and mustard on the other, lay down organic turkey, then sliced tomatoes and then ruby chard and began to wrap it up. "I'm impressed Zack!" commented Tom on observing me put chard into my teenage son's sandwich. I desperately tried to catch Tom's eye to cease and desist but it was too late.

"What!" exclaimed Zack. "You put chard in my sandwich! Oh my God Mom!" his eyes rolling around and practically popping out of his head and onto the kitchen floor. Tom made an earnest attempt to mitigate the damage but finally gave up, commenting that given how forthcoming I was about death and dying it hadn't occurred to him that I might surreptitiously be sneaking extra nutrients into my son's lunch. "That's because your child is still three months away from being born," I replied.

Straight talk about death. Chard in Zack's sandwich, not so much.

The Audacity of Hope, The Power of Kindness

2009-01-19T07:45:00.000-08:00

It is the eve of Barack Obama's inauguration and the mood on both sides of the border is palpably celebratory and hopeful. The collective conscious mood of doom and gloom resulting from the churning of the 24/7 media machine: wars, genocide, starvation, corruption, disease, torture, environmental idiocy and economic free-fall that is taking a such a toll on our psyches has shifted as we put aside our fears, doubts and cynicism for at least a day or two. One giant combined breath of hope with fingers crossed for good luck. "Yes we can," Obama said the night of the New Hampshire primary and perhaps enough of us are are willing to become involved in our community that truly we can--together--make the seemingly impossible, possible.

In my little middle-class, middle-age microcosm, I too am experiencing the audacity of hope, strengthened faith and profound gratitude at the outpouring of goodwill, prayers and support for my kids and me. I am thunderstruck by the generosity of my intimates and their willingness to re-jig their very busy, already full-to-the-brim lives in order to do whatever it takes, whenever it takes and however long it takes to support us.

I can never, ever, ever again contemplate for a split-second the notion that I am not dearly loved and closely held. The power of their kindness is the fuel that will see me through whatever challenges lay ahead.

I am humbled. I am elated. I am not alone.

The Chemo Conversation

2009-01-18T06:21:00.000-08:00

January 16, 2009

Today at 9:20 am, I had an appointment with my oncologist to review the results of my latest CT Scan and bloodwork. I had last seen her a month ago and we had agreed that I would take a month off--go have fun with my kids, play in the snow and enjoy life. I had done just that but was now feeling the effects of increasing fluid in my lungs and a clear knowing that I was going to be having the long-awaited and rejected chemo conversation with her.

Just to back-track for a moment: I was first diagnosed with locally-advanced breast cancer in 2000. I had all sorts of treatments--allopathic and complementary. Really you could say that I had done everything except that is for chemo.

Okay, so back to today. Karen was her usual caring, compassionate and no-nonsense self. The tumour markers were up and there was disease progression. She recommended chemo and she presented a couple of different options. I asked her what she would expect my prognosis to be if I did nothing and I did not like the answer she gave me though it would make for a good book title--actually it's already the title of a book.

I told her that my highest priority is to live and die with dignity and that my greatest fear is to undergo treatments that rob me of that ability. We agreed that I would investigate the chemo option further by talking my trusted coterie of heathcare providers and spiritual inspirers and let her know.

My naturopath agreed that I needed chemo and had all sorts of great arguments for why I should do it: the best time to do chemo is when the cancer is really active, never having done chemo increased my chance of a response (something my oncologist had also said), the chemo could act as a catalyst to make all of the complementary treatments work even better, there were all sorts of ways to mitigate the unsavoury symptoms of chemo etc. etc. etc.

I spoke with to my counsellor friend who has devoted several decades to supporting people living with and dying from cancer. Knowing how much quality of live means to me, she pointed out that I could embark on chemo one step at a time, assessing at each phase whether I wished to continue.

I spoke to my spiritual mentor. I told her that as far I could tell I wasn't scared of dying (though I definitely have some apprehension about pain and suffering) and that I don't really believe that choosing one treatment over another is what will prolong my life. The oncologist had said that she didn't want me to end up having regrets at the end of my life and that she wanted me to be there for my kids. I have the same desires though perhaps not the same ideas of how to accomplish that. My mentor mostly listened as I worked my way through my biases.

As I spent the afternoon taking in all this input and trying to digest and assimilate the situation I was in and the choices I was facing I started to think about how rigid my point-of-view is to allopathic medicine. It struck me as funny that I had never before considered that one could "embrace the unknown" via cyto-toxic therapies. My oncologist had suggested that this was a possibility but it took me a couple of hours to be able to even grokk that what she was talking about never mind contemplate this notion. There's also the desire to be able to tell my kids that I did "everything I could" and for them not to be vulnerable to conventionally-minded well-wishers who might at some point indicate to them that it sure was too bad that I had never done chemo. Finally, I got to thinking that doing chemo would be a good way to practice dying with dignity. I may be pleasantly surprised but I have the sense that there will be times during chemo that my body will feel like it is dying and I will get to see what my mental response is and get to practice having the response that I wish to have down the road.

So I decided "Yes" and am waiting to hear when I will begin.