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Breast Cancer Journey – Three-Month Oncology follow-up

Thursday, 5 March, 2026

I had an oncology follow-up at 9am. It felt surreal. It had been ages since I’d had to go to the Cancer Care Clinic so early, but I got there in pretty good time. Going up in the elevator, I realised I didn’t remember what floor it was on. It’s 6? I trusted cell memory to know. The usual signing in with my health card, checking my details and giving me my armbands – the name one and the purple Risk of Fall one.  I looked around at all the people who I supposed were earlier in their journey. If they had hair…

It was 9:35 or so before they called me in to get bloodwork. Once at seat 18 a nurse who I’d never met before welcomed me. Yes, I still had a port. I’d been wondering if the long three months without using it would set me back. In the beginning, it was so difficult to access. When they first insert a cannula (OK, needle!) blood should flow into the catheter. It tells them everything is OK. In my case, it rarely did, not without much “jumping” about, waving my arms, changing position, and coughing. Then one day it suddenly behaved and continued that way. Today was back to callisthenics and “cough forcefully.” Joy! The nurses cheerfully guessed on which manoeuvre had done it, while I was just grateful it had. Bloodwork and saline flushing accomplished, I could go back to the waiting room. I looked again around the big room, everything familiar in a haunting way, the nurses all bustling or in some cases, gliding about as if no time had passed at all.

It’s oddly satisfying seeing the routine at every viist

It takes about 45 minutes for bloodwork to be analysed, and the doctor would see me after that. I went to the pantry for some orange juice and fresh water. There were digestive biscuits today, that’s nice.

Exam room 2. Needs some cheering up!

No sooner had I reached my seat back in the waiting room than they called my name to go see my oncologist. That’s back near the pantry! I waited in exam room 2 to await the doctor’s words. I had a few questions

Dr Watson told me I’d done an amazing job for the year. Had I? (No, that wasn’t one of the questions,) I’d had some bumps in the road, but I’d made it – well done! Now I’d be seeing Dr Lim, my surgeon, and he’d pass me along to the special clinic. My mammogram was clear; they were still there for me, but they hoped I wouldn’t see them again. Amen to that.  Answers to my questions – no, no need for the heart echogram since any heart damage reverses after treatment.  No, I wouldn’t need the mammogram ordered for May. And no, it wasn’t unusual that I felt I’d regressed. Moving is hard. Be patient. My aches and pains? Those weren’t necessarily from the medication, but did I want to try another? I decided no. Everyone, he said, gets the pain; it’s normal. Ha, “good” to know. Goodbye and thank you, doctor.

They’d left the cannula in my port in case the doctor were to decide I needed it for something else. Like what? I was glad not to ask. Tess, the doctor’s nurse, showed up to let me know they didn’t have all the results from the blood tests yet, so sit tight. I had just under an hour to get the results, get my cannula removed, pick my drugs up from the drugstore, and make my 11:35 ride out of there. At the nurse’s station, there were two containers of cookies and a box of doughnuts all pointed towards me. Could I have one? I was met with stares. I opted for no, but noticed no one was smiling. Well, who needs the calories? Certainly not me. Yes, I made it. Print-outs secured, cannula removed, drugstore visited, drugs procured. Out!

Abadoned nurses station from ny chair. This was Pre Treats

Only after I’d left did I realise, wait! I wasn’t seeing him again. No yearly follow-ups? That wasn’t my path the last time. Well, I am seeing Dr Lim in about five weeks, and there’ll be more questions and hopefully all the answers.

The last time I’ll wear my “lucky” chemo outfit? You can see where my port is covered high on my chest

I was surprised at how emotional I’d felt. In retrospect, I could have felt happy at leaving this behind, but instead I felt lonely and sad. Things flooded back to me. This part was over.

Yay me?

 

Index of all my Breast Cancer Journey Posts

 

 

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Moved – Back to the future

Saturday, 28 February, 2026

Business first: There’s an update on Live! if you’re following my breast cancer journey.

Moving is a strenuous thing. It taxes your body, your brain and your emotions. I didn’t have to do much physical work, but one week later, I am not back to my pre-move state of mind or body. I’m waiting for that feeling to pass, while grappling with all the clinging thoughts about ‘will i ever’ and ‘can I ever’ Probably yes, I will and can, but there are moments…There’s an overlap here with the BCJ, but someone in my group, when I asked if I’ve regressed, answered ‘recovery isn’t linear.’ Well stated.

The chaos of moving is slowly being tamed

The new place is also an old place, so there’s a ‘fitting back in’ feeling. There’s no strangeness to very much. It’s all familiar if slightly faded. There aren’t that many boxes and bags to unpack now, but where is my heating pad? I must have developed an addiction to getting up on any cold morning to that lovely heat source. This space is large, and down the long staircase to the outside is a glass door that lets in light but also the cold. And it’s been a very cold and snowy winter. We’re still working on how to keep the temperature pleasant. We had never been here in a cold month before. I imagine a little electric fire, the one I grew up with. To imagine a roaring fireplace would make me too sad. (Going to fill my hot water bottle now.)

Joy looks a little different here
Long view from the couch
View from the couch. The grey days are receding

Our space expanded from toytown to mansion proportions – well, not quite, but it feels like it. I’ve filled closets and drawers, and there’s still space. It feels weird to walk across two or three metres of wooden flooring to grab the salt – I’ve started creating an island on the island, where such things can sit within reach. Interestingly, the pantry filled up quickly. Where on earth did we put it all before (Answer – in boxes packed into a spare wardrobe). The luxury of space.

Pantry
How can our pantry be this full already? The bigger question is where did we put it all before? i

The snow and ice outside, the body pain and fatigue is keepign me indoors, but I can see ‘out there’ out there. Krish stands at the kitchen window looking out, moan-wailing ‘dead zone.’ He says the man opposite (occasionally joined by a woman) stands outside smoking in the cold, ‘waiting to die.’ Ouch, I think. Thanks, I say.

The corner. The house in the dead zone.

However, I was here in the Spring and Summer before, and I think about the flower-filled walks and hope to do them again. Only three months to go. There’s a coffee shop one block over and two up. It’s quiet there, maybe too quiet, but it’s ‘out.’ The restaurant downstairs is a reminder we’re not alone. It’s winter so they’re eating inside. Sunday through Tuesday, all is quiet. On Wednesday morning staff show up. They’re a friendly, chatty bunch, getting on with the preparation for the restaurant opening days ahead The bread person shows up with five or six sourdough loaves, placed on a metal shelf outside. People start arriving to eat, and music and chatter drift up through our floorboards. It’s not loud or rowdy, but like a cocktail party being held by neighbours. By 10pm there’s close to silence again except for the quiet clanking of cleaning up. I know that on Saturday night the staff sit down and eat and drink together. That can get noisier, and tonight we’ll find out. In the warmer months, the woodfire lights up, and everything moves outdoors to the back. It seems to bustle more. As I told someone yesterday, It can feel like I’m in the middle of a Bear episode. I do love the energy.

This is the last day of February, 2026. The world is out there, some of it more out there than others. Enough said. (Or not?)

I won’t say that we are happy here in Toronto. I will say that it’s brought its blessings. It feels stable compared to other places right now. It’s safe, polite, ‘nice,’ of course, the government is reasonable, people live somewhat without hate – debatable, always. Nice, safe, and reasonable can also feel dull. A friend told me, bloom where you’re planted, and it’s a bit harder to do that during the Toronto hibernation phase. Things tone down. Krish was rhapsodises yesterday about what he would eat if he were in the UK – go to Ambala almost every day for samosas, drink an Aspall at least once a week, buy chocolate eclairs a few times a week, gorge on sticky toffee pudding with cream, have a plate with cheese, pork pie and picallili, walk along the street with some chips and cod bites, eat LAMB. I could only smile. Here, there are smiles rather than excitement, that’s for sure. I have a couple of weeks of appointments coming up. I won’t feel like doing much else, but most of the year is ahead, so I’ll seek out some adventure, no matter how subdued.

I’m going to do Friday photos. Shots from the window to see the season changing. I’ll start here with the ones from yesterday.

From the front window. Beneath here the bus arrives, announcing the destination. We can’t hear much with the window closed but spring is coming
The oak tree at the window. It will be fun to watch itransform. It will fill with chirping birds and plump acorns
The side entrance. In the warmer months we’ll see diners down here. Meanwhile, it’s just one of our entrances
Back garden with snow
On the left, the awning over the back garden dining area. They put in that awning the last time we were here. On the right, the garden next door. It was really fun watching the neighbour tend to his garden every day. We hope he is still there.