There are some things you may not know about prosthetics.
For example, did you know that the plural of "prosthesis" is "prostheses".
I know!
Ka-BOOM!
Mind blown, right?
I mean, these words are even pronounced differently. Say it with me: "prosthesis"......"prostheses".
What a world!
Also, have you ever heard someone say, "Man, if my head wasn't attached to my body, I would totally lose it too!"
Because people misplace things.
Sometimes people lose their keys.
Sometimes people lose their sunglasses.
Or wallets.
And sometimes people lose their prosthetics.
Can we all say, "AWKWARD!"
Nothing like hearing mommy hollering from upstairs, "Hey, has anyone seen my boob?!"
Yes, I'm sorry.
This is a blog about boobs.
Fake ones, though, so no one should be offended.
And if you are, I heartily apologize, because I do hate to offend anyone.
Ask my mom. Offending others makes me feel like I need to hide in a corner, rocking back and forth with my eyes squeezed shut pretending I'm in my happy place. I'm in my happy place. I'm in my happy place.
There are unicorns and rainbows and pink fluffy things there.
And they all exist in perfect harmony.
La la la la la la.
Now, where were we?
Ah, yes. Prosthetics. The booby kind.
See, this past January, I had a mastectomy. Due to breast cancer.
I asked the doctor if I should have a double mastectomy but he said,"There was no medical reason for that to occur."
What a man thing to say, I thought, scoffing inside my head but keeping a smile pasted onto the outside of my head due to the whole "I-don't-want-to-offend-anyone" thing I have got going. Whee!
See, a double mastectomy would have kept things all symmetrical, I thought, but NOOOOOO we were in for crazy un-symmetrical surgery, weren't we?
But surgery was successful and that is a wonderful wonderful thing! The cancer was removed!
Out out dang cancer!
I am truly so thankful!
But then I healed. I spent several weeks in sweatpants and zip up sweaters because this healing thing is hard work, I tell ya!
I should make a workout video about it.
We could call it the "Cool Kids Convalescing Workout Video or CKCWV".
You could hang with me in your sweatpants.
There'd be cool music to go with it.
Probably written by my hubby. Or my kids, who incidentally downloaded some weird music-making app that enables them to put together sounds and make actual songs.
But let's stop getting off topic, shall we?
Healing occurred.
The sweatpants were exchanged for everyday clothes but then....
....there was a lack of symmetry.
Uni-booby is not my look, I decided.
"Let's go shopping!" my mom and my sister urged eagerly.
"But I don't wanna!" I whined over and over again, "I don't like shopping. I'm disfigured. It's too depressing...." I had all the excuses in the world and I dug in my stubborn heels.
But my mom and my sister pressed on.
"We'll get you some nice bathing suits," they gently prodded.
"You'll feel good getting out, "they assured.
"We'll go with you. It'll be a girls' night out," they comforted.
"We can help you pick out a prosthetic so you look more symmetrical," they pressed patiently.
And then my sister-in-law chimed in, "I want to buy you something that you need..."
Their gentle and patient kindness wore me down.
Gentleness.
Patience.
Kindness.
And love.
The best healing salve in the world.
My mom took me to the first mastectomy shop on Hamilton Mountain.
When I was there, the owner was very open about that fact that she was a breast cancer survivor. She also had had a single mastectomy and there she was standing there looking all symmetrical.
She showed me a colourful mold that an artist had made of her. It was a mold of her....that's right....her boob before her mastectomy surgery.
That boob mold was hanging on the wall with a bright, purple and white flower painted right onto it.
Because suffering, sorrows, scars and sadness often become a launchpad for art.
Haven't you noticed that?
I have.
So many times.
That's so like God. Taking the horrible and making something beautiful out of it.
Like that phoenix rising from the ashes....
A piece of art on the wall of a successful mastectomy lingerie store.
These are the kind of stories that give me hope. So much hope.
I would like to pause to pass on some hope to you.
You got sadness?
Tears?
Pain and suffering?
I'm not suggesting that some artist is going to pop out of the foliage just ahead of you and offer to make a mold of it.....but God's got some plans for you. Plans to prosper you.
Hang in there, dear friend.
While I was at this particular store...."Mastectomy Lingerie" it is called....the owner beckoned me to the back.
"Check this out," she motioned proudly to a glass case.
"I call it my Booby Case," she said and we both giggled.
Because sometimes you just gotta laugh.
Life brings on some powerful punches, doesn't it?
And laughter lightens the mood.
Take that, cancer! I thought as we stood together, uni-boobed both but chuckling.
I gazed into the glass case and saw many different prostheses available for sale. (note the plural form used there!)
Did you know that you can purchase all kinds of different booby prosthetics?
I sure didn't!
But now you do and your life is so much richer for that knowledge!
You're welcome.
There's the Been-A-Boob which is essentially a bean-bag shaped like a boob. The beans shift with gravity for a more life-like look and this prosthetic can be used in a bathing suit because the water will just flow right on outta there and not get all absorbed by the prosthetic.
Can we all say Handy-Dandy!? I mean, no one wants to swim with a prosthetic that will go and absorb all the water that everyone is swimming in.
Awkward!
Do you also just love the play on words with the Been-A-Boob....... been / bean? Get it?
Sigh....I love plays on words.
Then there's the Knitted Knockers.
You can actually get a knitting pattern for these. A friend of mine knit me one; she's so sweet. But....then her dog ate the knocker so I didn't actually get it.
I went ahead and ordered one because you can get a knitted knocker for free if you are a breast cancer survivor and go to knittedknockers.org.
Check 'em out.
They are comfy, soft and accurately shaped.
You can even pick the colour you would like it to come in.
Next, we get into all types of silicone breast forms which warm to your body temperature, flatten when you lie down, come in all sorts of skin colours to match your own skin colour, have built in nipples and can even adhere to your skin.
There is one called "Almost U". Awwww. So clever!
The Mastectomy Lingerie shopkeeper showed me one of these such silicone breast forms that can adhere to your skin.
That means stick.
The breast form or prosthetic is designed to stick to your skin.
I don't know why, but when I was holding and considering this particular prosthetic I had an immediate vision of my kids running around with it ADHERED to their forehead and me running behind them shouting, "Come on, guys! Cut it out and give me back my boob!"
So....I put that one back. Because I am a realist and I could realistically see that happening in my household.
Bean-A-Boob.....Knitted Knockers....Almost U....man, there are people out there having some great fun with marketing plans.
Can you just picture them around a table?
Sharing stories, tears and giggles;
coming up with some great word-play to sell a product?
A product that is so beneficial to others.
I love it.
Gain rising up out of pain.
I'm glad my mom, my sister, and my sister-in-law dragged my whining butt out to these mastectomy stores.
Because I've come to realize that these mastectomy-store-people are my people.
Proudly posing in prosthetics.
Scarred but surviving.
Living loud and laughing lots.
Because cancer can take away so much .... but now I have a whole drawer full of prosthetics.
Oh yeah!
Gain outta pain, I tell ya, dear friends.
Gain outta pain.
Much love and cheers to you all.
Brigette V
Wednesday 31 August 2016
Friday 19 August 2016
Grocery Drama
This morning we needed to go grocery shopping.
This put a little "ugh" into the morning for several reasons; all of them having to do with the fact that I despise grocery shopping.
But we ate the last egg yesterday.
And the cupboards were looking a little sparse.
And my mom and dad are coming over for lunch tomorrow and they may not appreciate the culinary culmination of leftovers that I currently have in my kitchen.
"Anyone care for some residual Kraft Dinner, lightly ketchupped?
And we have half a can of tuna?
Oooh, this would be greatly enhanced with a side of slightly stale tostitoes!
And lightly bruised peaches!"
So, off to the grocery store we went.
Me and the four kidlets.
There was a time when I would avoid this outing like monkeys-allergic-to-peanut-butter would avoid peanut butter!
Because grocery shopping with four young children usually meant there would be a whole lotta crazy happening in a teeny-tiny period of time: someone needing to pee, at least one awkward meltdown involving ear-splitting, ulcer-inducing screeching, someone racing a grocery cart down an aisle and clipping a tottering senior citizen, someone ripping open a bag of something expensive and repulsive that was not on the grocery list and a final someone climbing towering stacks of canned goods whilst disapproving onlookers looked on.
Grocery shopping just a few years ago meant organizing the kids into grocery carts and baby snugglis so that there was actual room leftover in the cart for groceries. Bringing snacks and drinks. Having the diaper bag along so that I was prepared for the explosive bowels that erupted, I could swear, EVERY single time we grocery shopped! And then dragging at least one child around because there was no room in the cart for him and he would whine louder and louder that "he was TIRED and could I carry him already!"
Grocery shopping with four little ones usually meant that the entire city of Hamilton would have fodder for conversations for the rest of the week based on the entertainment we were bringing to the store. Just by being there. A giant, crazy gong show. With groceries.
"Didja see that lady with ALL the kids hanging on to her cart?"
"What do you mean ALL those groceries will ONLY last her one week?"
"Her kids were CLIMBING the stacks of pop! My kids would NEVER do that!"
But now, bringing four kids to the grocery store is a special sort of wonderful. Truly.
We are a well-oiled machine, I tell you.
We come. We see. We conquer.
We park. We spill forth and connect-hands-for-safety-sake while we cross the treacherous parking lot.
We disengage two shopping carts with our quarter-keys and roll into the store.
We pause for dramatic effect and also because the kids like to stare at themselves on the overhead television-camera thingy.
I pass off one grocery list to the big boys and keep one for myself. I go over some of the details and then we rev our grocery cart engines and BEGIN!
The list for the big boys takes them far far far to the opposite end of the store and I get to shop in relative PEACE. I usually have one or two wee ones with me but one or two is so much quieter than four.
We quietly contemplate carrots.
Placidly peruse pasta.
Silently scan and scrutinize strawberries.
Test toilet paper prices tranquilly.
Inhale. Exhale.
So. Calm.
I knew my children would love the challenge of grocery shopping. I began challenging them last year in the form of SECRET MISSIONS.
"Today," I would hiss like we were co-conspirators on some top-secret mission, "your mission is to get ........ the MILK! GO!"
The kids....usually the older boys.... would channel their energy into bolting in the generic direction of dairy.
"Careful...don't run...." I would weakly call after their fleeing forms.
And then..........milk would be there.
In my cart.
Like some strange sort of grocery store magic. Abracadabra-style!
Hmmmm....I mentally fist pumped, which is sorta weird to do...this is super handy.
The kids were bouncing on the balls of their feet.
"What's our next mission? Huh, mom? What is it?" they would pant, all hyper-sweaty boy energy.
"Your next mission.....is....to get the CREAM!" I would triumphantly state and then they were gone.
After several grocery shopping trips like this one, I decided they were ready for :
The Top Top Top Secret Mission: The Grocery List.
And they are.
Today, I gave them their list and in less than ten minutes they were back. We reviewed the list. So that I don't go home to find that we have a year's supply of chocolate mint ice cream in lieu of milk, eggs and bread.
"Did you get cheese?"
"Yep. It's right here!"
"Was it the cheese that was on sale?" says I with squinting eyes and suspicious tone.
"Yep, it was $4.88. Oh and I got this cereal because Dad likes it and Life cereal was on sale for $2.99 so I got it too. Is that okay?"
"Sounds good." I nod approvingly and that's when I see someone standing off and staring.
Oh, here we go again, I mentally sigh, what is it now? Are the kids wrestling? Is someone peeing in a corner? I hope they are not starting a food fight in the grape section....
But this lady waits until my kids have set off to capture cauliflower and round up raspberries.
"Are those your kids?"
"Yeeeeesss....." I say hesitantly, drawing out the response as I am reluctant to admit full responsibility until I know where this conversation is going.
"They're grocery shopping?" the lady continues, incredulity dripping off her like sweat off a sweaty person after a hot yoga class.
"Yeeeeesssss......." I remain non-committal.
"They were comparing prices and everything! That was awesome! Wow! Good for them!" The praise was rolling off her lips like there was no tomorrow and it just felt so good.
I mean, my original intention of these Top Secret Grocery Mission Trips was very selfishly based. I just wanted a little quiet at the store. A little quiet so that I could think and not just wildly throw the nearest cans into my cart and then careen down the aisles like a mad woman. I just wanted to stop the crazy from getting crazier when we needed to get stuff done. This lady was right, though. The kids were amazing: comparing prices, considering products, working together and learning. Nice.
I stood a little taller.
The kids crowded about and I shared the lady's praise with them. They smiled and high-fived each other. Then they grinned some more.
They are great kids, I tell ya.
Crazy, but cute and an amazing blessing all of the time.
We gripped our carts and with a tingle of pride lightening our step, we left the grocery store.
After paying, of course.
Because we are not thieves.
What we are is a bunch of lean, mean, Grocery-Shopping Machines!
This put a little "ugh" into the morning for several reasons; all of them having to do with the fact that I despise grocery shopping.
But we ate the last egg yesterday.
And the cupboards were looking a little sparse.
And my mom and dad are coming over for lunch tomorrow and they may not appreciate the culinary culmination of leftovers that I currently have in my kitchen.
"Anyone care for some residual Kraft Dinner, lightly ketchupped?
And we have half a can of tuna?
Oooh, this would be greatly enhanced with a side of slightly stale tostitoes!
And lightly bruised peaches!"
So, off to the grocery store we went.
Me and the four kidlets.
There was a time when I would avoid this outing like monkeys-allergic-to-peanut-butter would avoid peanut butter!
Because grocery shopping with four young children usually meant there would be a whole lotta crazy happening in a teeny-tiny period of time: someone needing to pee, at least one awkward meltdown involving ear-splitting, ulcer-inducing screeching, someone racing a grocery cart down an aisle and clipping a tottering senior citizen, someone ripping open a bag of something expensive and repulsive that was not on the grocery list and a final someone climbing towering stacks of canned goods whilst disapproving onlookers looked on.
Grocery shopping just a few years ago meant organizing the kids into grocery carts and baby snugglis so that there was actual room leftover in the cart for groceries. Bringing snacks and drinks. Having the diaper bag along so that I was prepared for the explosive bowels that erupted, I could swear, EVERY single time we grocery shopped! And then dragging at least one child around because there was no room in the cart for him and he would whine louder and louder that "he was TIRED and could I carry him already!"
Grocery shopping with four little ones usually meant that the entire city of Hamilton would have fodder for conversations for the rest of the week based on the entertainment we were bringing to the store. Just by being there. A giant, crazy gong show. With groceries.
"Didja see that lady with ALL the kids hanging on to her cart?"
"What do you mean ALL those groceries will ONLY last her one week?"
"Her kids were CLIMBING the stacks of pop! My kids would NEVER do that!"
But now, bringing four kids to the grocery store is a special sort of wonderful. Truly.
We are a well-oiled machine, I tell you.
We come. We see. We conquer.
We park. We spill forth and connect-hands-for-safety-sake while we cross the treacherous parking lot.
We disengage two shopping carts with our quarter-keys and roll into the store.
We pause for dramatic effect and also because the kids like to stare at themselves on the overhead television-camera thingy.
I pass off one grocery list to the big boys and keep one for myself. I go over some of the details and then we rev our grocery cart engines and BEGIN!
The list for the big boys takes them far far far to the opposite end of the store and I get to shop in relative PEACE. I usually have one or two wee ones with me but one or two is so much quieter than four.
We quietly contemplate carrots.
Placidly peruse pasta.
Silently scan and scrutinize strawberries.
Test toilet paper prices tranquilly.
Inhale. Exhale.
So. Calm.
I knew my children would love the challenge of grocery shopping. I began challenging them last year in the form of SECRET MISSIONS.
"Today," I would hiss like we were co-conspirators on some top-secret mission, "your mission is to get ........ the MILK! GO!"
The kids....usually the older boys.... would channel their energy into bolting in the generic direction of dairy.
"Careful...don't run...." I would weakly call after their fleeing forms.
And then..........milk would be there.
In my cart.
Like some strange sort of grocery store magic. Abracadabra-style!
Hmmmm....I mentally fist pumped, which is sorta weird to do...this is super handy.
The kids were bouncing on the balls of their feet.
"What's our next mission? Huh, mom? What is it?" they would pant, all hyper-sweaty boy energy.
"Your next mission.....is....to get the CREAM!" I would triumphantly state and then they were gone.
After several grocery shopping trips like this one, I decided they were ready for :
The Top Top Top Secret Mission: The Grocery List.
And they are.
Today, I gave them their list and in less than ten minutes they were back. We reviewed the list. So that I don't go home to find that we have a year's supply of chocolate mint ice cream in lieu of milk, eggs and bread.
"Did you get cheese?"
"Yep. It's right here!"
"Was it the cheese that was on sale?" says I with squinting eyes and suspicious tone.
"Yep, it was $4.88. Oh and I got this cereal because Dad likes it and Life cereal was on sale for $2.99 so I got it too. Is that okay?"
"Sounds good." I nod approvingly and that's when I see someone standing off and staring.
Oh, here we go again, I mentally sigh, what is it now? Are the kids wrestling? Is someone peeing in a corner? I hope they are not starting a food fight in the grape section....
But this lady waits until my kids have set off to capture cauliflower and round up raspberries.
"Are those your kids?"
"Yeeeeesss....." I say hesitantly, drawing out the response as I am reluctant to admit full responsibility until I know where this conversation is going.
"They're grocery shopping?" the lady continues, incredulity dripping off her like sweat off a sweaty person after a hot yoga class.
"Yeeeeesssss......." I remain non-committal.
"They were comparing prices and everything! That was awesome! Wow! Good for them!" The praise was rolling off her lips like there was no tomorrow and it just felt so good.
I mean, my original intention of these Top Secret Grocery Mission Trips was very selfishly based. I just wanted a little quiet at the store. A little quiet so that I could think and not just wildly throw the nearest cans into my cart and then careen down the aisles like a mad woman. I just wanted to stop the crazy from getting crazier when we needed to get stuff done. This lady was right, though. The kids were amazing: comparing prices, considering products, working together and learning. Nice.
I stood a little taller.
The kids crowded about and I shared the lady's praise with them. They smiled and high-fived each other. Then they grinned some more.
They are great kids, I tell ya.
Crazy, but cute and an amazing blessing all of the time.
We gripped our carts and with a tingle of pride lightening our step, we left the grocery store.
After paying, of course.
Because we are not thieves.
What we are is a bunch of lean, mean, Grocery-Shopping Machines!
Wednesday 10 August 2016
Spreading the News!
My kids have a paper route.
This is because my children wanted to find a way to earn money and I heartily encourage an industrious spirit like that. This is also because I got tired of paying these industrious children for their version of cleaning our car. Their cleaning-version lasted about 5ish minutes and seemed to involve large amounts of spraying each other with the hose and little amounts of actual cleaning said car.
So, back to the paper route.
This is a once-a-week paper route. I am thankful that the paper route is only once a week. Once a week, we haul in the stacks of papers. Once a week I encourage, cajole, strive-to-motivate and threaten the kids to put the papers together. Bag them. Put bagged papers into carry-out bags.
Once a week I listen to arguments that stem from someone bagging a paper and throwing it ACCIDENTALLY at someone else's head. This accidental whacking with papers happens about 98 times each week. It's great fun. Yelling usually ensues.
I often end the yelling and paper-whacking with intelligent parenting skills that involve me raising my voice above the din to say: "Stop hitting your sister with the papers or I will throw a paper at you!" I'm a good parent like that. I promise. My intentions and motivations are through the roof, I tell ya. But sometimes, I'm worn thin.
But the paper route seemed like such a good idea.
It will teach them responsibility, I keep telling myself.
It will teach them about earning and saving money.
It will teach them to work hard. The experience will look great on a resume.
It will teach them about perseverance.
It's a great idea, I remind myself....each week as a paper sails through the air and smacks someone upside the head. "Ooops," says the thrower, but I distinctly saw him aiming his projectile.
Yet today, one of my babies woke himself up at 6:30am to begin putting the papers together. Because he knew we had a busy day ahead of us and he wanted to plan ahead. Then the other three babies wandered downstairs, yawning and with the coolest bed-heads ever, and they set to work. Only about 90 papers sailed through the air and smacked people this morning. There was minimal yelling. We even got most of the papers delivered with temperatures soaring at 33 degrees Celcius.
The kids worked hard even though it was hot and they were tired. They worked together - Yeah for cooperation!
Tonight, I waded through the remaining papers that lay abandoned and spewed across our floor. I cleared a narrow path through the room - kicking papers to each side - so that I could reach the computer desk and began to ruminate on this paper route of ours. It IS a good idea, I thought.
It gives us more time together, I told myself.
It's fun and helps us get to know our neighbours more.
It's good for the kids. We all get some exercise.
Even though sometimes it is so exhausting:
Listening to the senseless arguing.
Motivating them to get going. Even though it is over 40 degrees with the humidity. Or the snow is knee-high and it is nostril-freezing-cold out there.
Putting half the papers together myself because, frankly, I am seven thousand times more efficient than these crazy offsprings of mine.
Pretending I am totally cool with my house being overtaken by slippery bagged papers.
There's a learning moment in there, though.
I am sure of it.
Somewhere.
In the meantime, we will bravely face the blazing heat and blistering cold.
We will bravely toss our papers to the doorstep of our neighbours. Our aim is tried and true. That's what comes with practising on one another EVERY single week.
We WILL press on.
Have a great day!
BV
This is because my children wanted to find a way to earn money and I heartily encourage an industrious spirit like that. This is also because I got tired of paying these industrious children for their version of cleaning our car. Their cleaning-version lasted about 5ish minutes and seemed to involve large amounts of spraying each other with the hose and little amounts of actual cleaning said car.
So, back to the paper route.
This is a once-a-week paper route. I am thankful that the paper route is only once a week. Once a week, we haul in the stacks of papers. Once a week I encourage, cajole, strive-to-motivate and threaten the kids to put the papers together. Bag them. Put bagged papers into carry-out bags.
Once a week I listen to arguments that stem from someone bagging a paper and throwing it ACCIDENTALLY at someone else's head. This accidental whacking with papers happens about 98 times each week. It's great fun. Yelling usually ensues.
I often end the yelling and paper-whacking with intelligent parenting skills that involve me raising my voice above the din to say: "Stop hitting your sister with the papers or I will throw a paper at you!" I'm a good parent like that. I promise. My intentions and motivations are through the roof, I tell ya. But sometimes, I'm worn thin.
But the paper route seemed like such a good idea.
It will teach them responsibility, I keep telling myself.
It will teach them about earning and saving money.
It will teach them to work hard. The experience will look great on a resume.
It will teach them about perseverance.
It's a great idea, I remind myself....each week as a paper sails through the air and smacks someone upside the head. "Ooops," says the thrower, but I distinctly saw him aiming his projectile.
Yet today, one of my babies woke himself up at 6:30am to begin putting the papers together. Because he knew we had a busy day ahead of us and he wanted to plan ahead. Then the other three babies wandered downstairs, yawning and with the coolest bed-heads ever, and they set to work. Only about 90 papers sailed through the air and smacked people this morning. There was minimal yelling. We even got most of the papers delivered with temperatures soaring at 33 degrees Celcius.
The kids worked hard even though it was hot and they were tired. They worked together - Yeah for cooperation!
Tonight, I waded through the remaining papers that lay abandoned and spewed across our floor. I cleared a narrow path through the room - kicking papers to each side - so that I could reach the computer desk and began to ruminate on this paper route of ours. It IS a good idea, I thought.
It gives us more time together, I told myself.
It's fun and helps us get to know our neighbours more.
It's good for the kids. We all get some exercise.
Even though sometimes it is so exhausting:
Listening to the senseless arguing.
Motivating them to get going. Even though it is over 40 degrees with the humidity. Or the snow is knee-high and it is nostril-freezing-cold out there.
Putting half the papers together myself because, frankly, I am seven thousand times more efficient than these crazy offsprings of mine.
Pretending I am totally cool with my house being overtaken by slippery bagged papers.
There's a learning moment in there, though.
I am sure of it.
Somewhere.
In the meantime, we will bravely face the blazing heat and blistering cold.
We will bravely toss our papers to the doorstep of our neighbours. Our aim is tried and true. That's what comes with practising on one another EVERY single week.
We WILL press on.
Have a great day!
BV
Wednesday 3 August 2016
It's An Update!
It's really about time for an update.
Because Time has been racing forward and things have been a-changing.
But I have been keeping pace with Time with the busy-ness that is Summer! Busy busy busy with swimming, hiking, walking-zee-dog, applying sunscreen to all my little people, cottaging, watching/ driving to/ coaching soccer, building castles in the sand, biking, reading, sleeping in. Ahh......summer!
Intermingled in all that nut-house summer activity, there have been doctor's appointments.
Because apparently the fun hasn't yet come to an end.
whoopee.
I have been wanting to update you all on the new normalcy that is anything BUT normal.
I have been wanting to update you all on the post-chemo curls that are ridiculously huge. On a hot, humid day I have a giant afro haloing my head so that I resemble some sort of Ronald McDonald / Kramer love child.
I have been wanting to update you on all things fun with prosthetics. Whee!
And we WILL get there.
When I stop running around like that proverbial chicken with her head cut off.
(On an interesting side-note, my grandfather used to do said chicken-head-cutting-off and it was my mom's job to race after the headless-clucker and bring her DOWN. Blood spurting forth like some sort of macabre fountain of devastation and ick!
So glad that my childhood chores more resembled vacuuming the stairs and less resembled wrestling decapitated creatures! Thanks, mom and dad!)
Back to the point at hand.
Doctor's appointments.
We had a doctor's appointment some time ago at the Juravinski Centre to address the issue of my raging hormones.
My Estrogen was up and running and working over time. I secretly think my Estrogen was trying to make up for some lost Estrogen time. She DID get shut down during chemo. She was most likely feeling a little sad about that lost time. She is part of a Type A personality, so most likely texted herself to arrange making up for the lost time already. Because apparently my Estrogen texts.
Anyhow, my cancer is Estrogen-fed so it is not a good thing that she is up and running and working overtime.
"We need to shut down your ovaries," my oncologist firmly informed me at the appointment some time ago, "sooner rather than later!"
We discussed what this would mean.
Drugs for immediate shut-down.
Surgery for permanent shut-down.
So, this is where today's update takes us. I just wanted you all to know. Some of you have known this already but there were a lot of unknowns up in the air. What? When? Where? Why? What would this mean?
What we do know right now is that Estrogen in my body will feed any rogue cancer cells lingering about. So, a laparoscopic hysterectomy surgery has been set for September 22.
You have carried Paul, me, Liam, Donovan, Gwen and Lochlan in your thoughts and prayers for so long.
We are so thankful.
On a good day, I crack jokes about feeling like a Human Pez-Dispenser spewing forth body parts: Adios Appendix! Bye-bye Boobie! Au Revoir Ovaries! Auf Wiedersehen Uterus!
On a sad day, I wonder when/ if it will all end. Isn't a Whole the Sum of it's Parts? What does that mean when so many parts are....gone....?
I'm thankful for that busy busy busy that is Summer.
Hike! Hike! Hike! Swim! Paddle! Cottage! Apply sunscreen! Play soccer! Hike!
The busy keeps me and Paul and the kids distracted.
And sometimes it is nice to be distracted from reality.
Know-what-I'm-saying?
Maybe you don't.
But if you do, YOU DO!
I'll say a prayer for you. Can you say one for me and my family?
Dear Lord, this life is busy and can be so crazy out-of-control. You see us rushing around so busy, trying to drown out our worries. Please help us TRUST that you are there, loving us and guiding us through this life. Please help us bring our giant pile of anxieties to the foot of Your cross....and LEAVE them there! In Your Name, Amen.
Enjoy your Summer.
Brigette VH
Because Time has been racing forward and things have been a-changing.
But I have been keeping pace with Time with the busy-ness that is Summer! Busy busy busy with swimming, hiking, walking-zee-dog, applying sunscreen to all my little people, cottaging, watching/ driving to/ coaching soccer, building castles in the sand, biking, reading, sleeping in. Ahh......summer!
Intermingled in all that nut-house summer activity, there have been doctor's appointments.
Because apparently the fun hasn't yet come to an end.
whoopee.
I have been wanting to update you all on the new normalcy that is anything BUT normal.
I have been wanting to update you all on the post-chemo curls that are ridiculously huge. On a hot, humid day I have a giant afro haloing my head so that I resemble some sort of Ronald McDonald / Kramer love child.
I have been wanting to update you on all things fun with prosthetics. Whee!
And we WILL get there.
When I stop running around like that proverbial chicken with her head cut off.
(On an interesting side-note, my grandfather used to do said chicken-head-cutting-off and it was my mom's job to race after the headless-clucker and bring her DOWN. Blood spurting forth like some sort of macabre fountain of devastation and ick!
So glad that my childhood chores more resembled vacuuming the stairs and less resembled wrestling decapitated creatures! Thanks, mom and dad!)
Back to the point at hand.
Doctor's appointments.
We had a doctor's appointment some time ago at the Juravinski Centre to address the issue of my raging hormones.
My Estrogen was up and running and working over time. I secretly think my Estrogen was trying to make up for some lost Estrogen time. She DID get shut down during chemo. She was most likely feeling a little sad about that lost time. She is part of a Type A personality, so most likely texted herself to arrange making up for the lost time already. Because apparently my Estrogen texts.
Anyhow, my cancer is Estrogen-fed so it is not a good thing that she is up and running and working overtime.
"We need to shut down your ovaries," my oncologist firmly informed me at the appointment some time ago, "sooner rather than later!"
We discussed what this would mean.
Drugs for immediate shut-down.
Surgery for permanent shut-down.
So, this is where today's update takes us. I just wanted you all to know. Some of you have known this already but there were a lot of unknowns up in the air. What? When? Where? Why? What would this mean?
What we do know right now is that Estrogen in my body will feed any rogue cancer cells lingering about. So, a laparoscopic hysterectomy surgery has been set for September 22.
You have carried Paul, me, Liam, Donovan, Gwen and Lochlan in your thoughts and prayers for so long.
We are so thankful.
On a good day, I crack jokes about feeling like a Human Pez-Dispenser spewing forth body parts: Adios Appendix! Bye-bye Boobie! Au Revoir Ovaries! Auf Wiedersehen Uterus!
On a sad day, I wonder when/ if it will all end. Isn't a Whole the Sum of it's Parts? What does that mean when so many parts are....gone....?
I'm thankful for that busy busy busy that is Summer.
Hike! Hike! Hike! Swim! Paddle! Cottage! Apply sunscreen! Play soccer! Hike!
The busy keeps me and Paul and the kids distracted.
And sometimes it is nice to be distracted from reality.
Know-what-I'm-saying?
Maybe you don't.
But if you do, YOU DO!
I'll say a prayer for you. Can you say one for me and my family?
Dear Lord, this life is busy and can be so crazy out-of-control. You see us rushing around so busy, trying to drown out our worries. Please help us TRUST that you are there, loving us and guiding us through this life. Please help us bring our giant pile of anxieties to the foot of Your cross....and LEAVE them there! In Your Name, Amen.
Enjoy your Summer.
Brigette VH
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