Here people affected by cancer or family and friends of those with cancer, can hear from others with similar experiences and connect with leaders in the fight for cancer survivorship. Here we can share information and learn from each other. Here we can find ways to make things better for Eastern Ontario’s cancer community.
The Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation Team aims to give all those affected by cancer a VOICE. Through our blogger tool, we hope to connect with you – to find out what concerns you most. Be assured that we will do everything we can to make sure that your issues are addressed.
Above all the Cancer Foundation is the voice for cancer survivorship in our community. I invite you to be part of the growing conversation by engaging in our blog and visiting our new website often. www.ottawacancer.ca. This is an online community for cancer survivors, and their network of family and friends. On our website you can get the latest information on health news headlines, find out about the latest programs available through Wellspring Ottawa and hear stories from cancer survivors.
We welcome your feedback and want to hear from you.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Hair I.D
It’s an odd thing to run around the house moments before you leave frazzled because you can’t find your hair; only to remember you left it in the glove compartment box of your car! What happened to the good ol’ days when I used to misplace my car keys?
Losing my hair for the second time during what I call “Chemotherapy Part Duex – The Transplant”, was surprisingly just as easy for me as it was the first time in 2008; it’s my memory now fogged by chemo that I miss the most! Why would my wig be scrunched into a hairy ball next to my insurance and identification papers in the glove compartment box? Well it’s a long story, but I will say this – thank god I didn’t get pulled over and asked for my papers, and it’s becoming common for me to flip my wig in favour of a going bald these days.
When a young woman first loses her hair during treatment her first inclination is to run out and buy a pricy wig to replace it. Heaven help her if she buys a real hair wig, those hairy monsters are hot! Most of us buy a synthetic wig that looked alot like our old hair, and then do all kinds of funny things with it like take pictures of the cat in it and email it to our friends (or is that just me?) - well everything but wear it!
I think in the beginning there is this big fear of losing your identity when your head hair becomes temporarily “disabled” (aka bald). But then something happens during treatment, you get too tired to bother with it one day and you leave the house without it and lo and behold your identity still came with you!
When I lost my long red hair the first time I did my best to embrace it. I had a big party, shaved my head in front of a big crowd and donated the hair to Locks for Love. I felt so good about giving up my hair to help someone else. But as the months passed and I watched my eyebrows, eye lashes, arm hair and even nose hair go I would panic at the alien looking back at me in the mirror, I could no longer see I what I thought was my identity.
When I lost my hair the second time I thought it would be harder, like a visual set back that said the cancer is not gone. But as the treatment got started again I almost couldn’t wait to shave my head! I needed to see that bald head as a visual reminder that it was time to reach within and pull out the true characteristics of my identity, those that make me a lean, mean, cancer fightin machine... having a mop of red hair or cute wig was not on the “things you must have to fight cancer” list. Which got me thinking about the absurdity of ever letting hair be on my identity list in the first place.
It takes an experience like cancer to show you that you can’t see your identity, only the stuff you put on top of it. These days I often feel that’s what a wig is, just something I put on top of my identity and I think why bother... so I shove it in the glove compartment box with all my other paid for identities that don’t really identify me.
Losing my hair for the second time during what I call “Chemotherapy Part Duex – The Transplant”, was surprisingly just as easy for me as it was the first time in 2008; it’s my memory now fogged by chemo that I miss the most! Why would my wig be scrunched into a hairy ball next to my insurance and identification papers in the glove compartment box? Well it’s a long story, but I will say this – thank god I didn’t get pulled over and asked for my papers, and it’s becoming common for me to flip my wig in favour of a going bald these days.
When a young woman first loses her hair during treatment her first inclination is to run out and buy a pricy wig to replace it. Heaven help her if she buys a real hair wig, those hairy monsters are hot! Most of us buy a synthetic wig that looked alot like our old hair, and then do all kinds of funny things with it like take pictures of the cat in it and email it to our friends (or is that just me?) - well everything but wear it!
I think in the beginning there is this big fear of losing your identity when your head hair becomes temporarily “disabled” (aka bald). But then something happens during treatment, you get too tired to bother with it one day and you leave the house without it and lo and behold your identity still came with you!
When I lost my long red hair the first time I did my best to embrace it. I had a big party, shaved my head in front of a big crowd and donated the hair to Locks for Love. I felt so good about giving up my hair to help someone else. But as the months passed and I watched my eyebrows, eye lashes, arm hair and even nose hair go I would panic at the alien looking back at me in the mirror, I could no longer see I what I thought was my identity.
When I lost my hair the second time I thought it would be harder, like a visual set back that said the cancer is not gone. But as the treatment got started again I almost couldn’t wait to shave my head! I needed to see that bald head as a visual reminder that it was time to reach within and pull out the true characteristics of my identity, those that make me a lean, mean, cancer fightin machine... having a mop of red hair or cute wig was not on the “things you must have to fight cancer” list. Which got me thinking about the absurdity of ever letting hair be on my identity list in the first place.
It takes an experience like cancer to show you that you can’t see your identity, only the stuff you put on top of it. These days I often feel that’s what a wig is, just something I put on top of my identity and I think why bother... so I shove it in the glove compartment box with all my other paid for identities that don’t really identify me.
Monday, March 22, 2010
The more things change, the more they get to stay the same
What changes the week before a stem cell transplant that will change your life? Not much!
You would think a lot. You would think you would spend extra time doing the things you love, a special get together with friends, long walks in deep reflection, eat as much junk food as you want; okay well I did that one, but the rest of the week was life as usual.
I think when you have had cancer for so long, and been in treatment for so long it all becomes part of your normal. There are not many more cards in the mail, flower deliveries or long distance phone calls to ask “how that x-ray went?” Now it’s back to bills in the mailbox, Tuesday night pizza delivery and “can you pick up milk on the way home from your “umthinth” CAT scan?”
That’s not to say life is all bills to be paid, new chores upon old chores, or mundane; occasionally you still get presents. Why just this morning the cat left me a present on the front hall mat to thank me for forgetting to change his kitty box last night.
I tried to tell him that this was a very important stage in my life right now (as I scrubbed the floor), and that he ought to give me break, and that if my transplant was successful Id have the rest of my life to clean out his kitty box on time. His complacent stare told me he was unconvinced, not feeling guilty, and to get over it; today like every other day was going to be the usual mix of daily life and unexpected stuff.
Which makes a lot of sense really; how can one prepare for a life changing event while grumbling over current lack of change and unexpected change at the same time? I guess that’s why I haven’t done anything particularly special leading up to this life event. Life is always changing, and I think deep down the truly special change that will come from my stem cell transplant is that I get to go on with that life as usual.
You would think a lot. You would think you would spend extra time doing the things you love, a special get together with friends, long walks in deep reflection, eat as much junk food as you want; okay well I did that one, but the rest of the week was life as usual.
I think when you have had cancer for so long, and been in treatment for so long it all becomes part of your normal. There are not many more cards in the mail, flower deliveries or long distance phone calls to ask “how that x-ray went?” Now it’s back to bills in the mailbox, Tuesday night pizza delivery and “can you pick up milk on the way home from your “umthinth” CAT scan?”
That’s not to say life is all bills to be paid, new chores upon old chores, or mundane; occasionally you still get presents. Why just this morning the cat left me a present on the front hall mat to thank me for forgetting to change his kitty box last night.
I tried to tell him that this was a very important stage in my life right now (as I scrubbed the floor), and that he ought to give me break, and that if my transplant was successful Id have the rest of my life to clean out his kitty box on time. His complacent stare told me he was unconvinced, not feeling guilty, and to get over it; today like every other day was going to be the usual mix of daily life and unexpected stuff.
Which makes a lot of sense really; how can one prepare for a life changing event while grumbling over current lack of change and unexpected change at the same time? I guess that’s why I haven’t done anything particularly special leading up to this life event. Life is always changing, and I think deep down the truly special change that will come from my stem cell transplant is that I get to go on with that life as usual.
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