My friend, Tammy Oxifen



Looking for a makeover



As part of my breast lottery winnings, I was awarded five years of daily use of Tamoxifen. I’ve been on them almost a month now, and I am relieved to say that I am one of the lucky ones with negligible side effects. On the other hand, I now have a perfect scapegoat on which to place all unsociable mental/physical symptoms. Did I hurt your feelings? Oh, sorry, it’s the Tamoxifen. Cramps in my feet? Oh, those are caused by Tamoxifen and now I need new shoes. Expensive ones. That sulphurous slip under the covers? So sorry honey… you guessed it!

I have come to think of Tammy as my really good buddy, not just because she’s my new social pariah, but because she truly is a magic scud missile that annihilates any breast estrogen, those pock-marked, leather-jacketed back-alley bad girls that might allow miscreant behaviour in the future.

I do have one big problem with Tammy, though, and I thought I’d appeal to all of you for ideas. This little vial rests on my bathroom counter, a stark reminder of our commitment to each other. But she is like a best friend that insists on wearing a butt-ugly dress. Ugh. Her colors are drug-store dreadful and unflattering; her accessories, a bold sticker proclaiming “Take with food” (which you don’t have to) and “BC Cancer Agency.” Now really, would you want to look at that dowdy friend 24/7 for the next five years?

Here’s a multi-million idea: Come up with a snazzy pill container. One that fits all the rigid requirements of pilldom - the child-proof cap, light-resistant, completely utilitarian. But! Then we tart it up. How about something reminiscent of a genie’s bottle, bedazzled and elegant? Or a hot pink sports model, that lights up and plays Adele or Jo Dee Messina with every twist of the cap? Maybe a Marilyn Munro-shaped bottle with ego-boosting, sexy affirmations all over it. C’mon, people, send me your Tammy makeover ideas.  She really, really needs it.

Some Techno Stuff

A few have mentioned that they've had trouble logging onto the blog for the second time around, and have requested re-invitation.  I've sent those off and if you are aware of anyone else in need of another invite, please let me know.  I'm not too sure why this is happening but I suspect if you log in as a "guest" then they may require you to log-in each time.  Those who have a Google password can just bookmark the site and you should not be asked to log in again, unless you have logged out of your Google account.  Sorry for the inconvience - this is a learning process for all of us!

I want to say a sincere thank you to all of you who have signed up to ride shotgun with me through this next part of the journey.  Your comments mean so much, as do your emails, calls and cards.  I feel very rich and incredibly strong having you all beside me.

It's just short of two weeks to go.  With luck, I've timed this to Victoria's beautiful May weather.  In the interim, here's a sure sign that spring's on its way to the Comox Valley.



Meet rubus spectabilis (salmonberry under construction)
 



GETTING READY




Daffs - Breast's Beacons of Hope

 
I always wondered what people thought about when they were encased in a CT scan sphere, after they were sternly warned not to move.  I was pretty sure I wasn't claustrophobic; I also knew I was going to have to employ a little self-discipline in order not to launch into some teeth whistling or try and engage the techs in some inane conversation.

You know what I thought about?  I thought about the fact that I couldn't think of anything to think about.  And it went on, and on, and on, for four or five long minutes while my body was gently parked, then reversed, then re-parked,  in and out of the scanner.   It was like a Class 5-thought hurricane, and at the epicentre was: Hurry up!  It's nearly done and you still haven't thought of anything to think about!

I emerged from the gentle ambience of BCCA freshly tattooed, duly photographed (naughty bits as well as my gritty grin)  and minus a couple of vials of blood (my contribution to science; it is for the PREDICT cancer study). I had my mug shot and tats done, and even though there was no finger-printing I tried to pull off a street swag as we left the building.  Hard for a menopausal white girl to pull that off, though.

This morning was spent scoping out Victoria, finding a superb farmer's market, a decent butcher shop, at least 15 Starbucks and the location of my new (temporary) gym.   I have programmed the car stereo with two of Victoria's best FM stations, with Lisa's guidance.    My lists are getting longer, my determination is getting stronger,  and I can only hope that my energy outlasts my expectations.  I'm ready for Victoria - is Victoria ready for me?

Here's what I know:  Only my graceful and loving daughter could take a 3 week stint of radiation therapy and magically transform it into Disneyland covered in Christmas glitter.   Let's get this party started! 

FORWARD HO



SUNRISE FLIGHT, QUADRA ISLAND

Finally, some news.  A "planning" CT scan next Thursday, then treatment to begin May 7th and last until the 25th.  I'm gathering ideas along with recipes, contact information, good books, addresses for my GPS, even my swimsuit.  The use of a new bluetooth keyboard with my IPad (and SD card reader for my camera) is going to make me highly portable - and a loyal customer of Starbucks or whoever else offers WiFi.  I'm going to be one of those wild-haired, furtive women who sit in the corner typing like mad and glaring at anyone who so much as looks as my table.  Eff off, dude.

Happy Easter

 

 

WHY AM I HERE?



Somewhere over Palermo, Sicily

I'm here writing this blog because you're here reading it.  This is my attempt to keep the communication flowing with my fantastic family and  fabulous friends while I undergo 3 weeks of radiation therapy in Victoria to blitzkrieg my early breast cancer.  Along the way I hope to find some humour, try some great new recipes and most of all, capture the beauty of spring in Victoria with my photography.   Although the dates for treatment  have not yet been formalized, I do know the journey will begin in a few weeks.  As so many of you have asked for frequent updates, I have chosen this format to share the days ahead with you all.

After all, my treatments only take about two minutes.  That leaves 23 hours and 58 minutes per day to fill.  Lucky you!