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.
We are moving again. It’s the way things have been since we got here. I’ve actualy lost count of the number of places. Let’s see – Stadium Road, Kingston Road (briefly) back to Stadium Road,, Margueretta (I;m going to lose the order now), Dowling, Ossington, Roxton downstairs, Roxton upstairs, Shanley, Cabdy Faciory, Euclid, Brock, Dufferin, St Clarens, King West. Fifeen! We’ve made thirteen moves in about three years. Being nomadic has pros and cons. What we haven’t liked – the packing and unpacking, the actual moving, the places that we wanted to leave but couldn’t, the bad landlords, the smelly places, the too-cold places, the poor selection of kitchenware, the places with no storage, no counter space, the noisy places, the two-steep staircases, the owner’s belongings encroaching everywhere, the too-small fridges or stoves, the ‘creatures,’ the list goes on.
In case you wondered, there have been good things. It’s quite exciting to be in different places, it can give you a taste of different decor, different architecture, different room arrangements, even different dishes can be interesting. You learn something from each place. What you like, what you don’t., and what you don’t is sometimes more important than what you do. We keep learning.
We’ve had our favourites. Three, in fact. This place has been one of them. The space is small but so economically designed. I’m a fan of that. We’ll also miss this view, which connected us to the world outside.
It was easy to be messy in a confined space, but it’s worked here. I’ll miss itI’ll miss this even more than the indoor space. The windows opposite with their individual, imagined stories were inspiring
There were two others. When we saw the ad for a place in The Candy Factory, Toronto’s first loft-condominium. The pictures were amazing and the price lower than we’d have imagined for such a place. We went over within the hour and were greeted by the current nomad-renter. Quite honestly, the apartment was stunning, the kitchen and living room wowed. We said yes, and within a day or so, we were approved and had it booked.
I can’t believe I didn’t blog while at the Candy Factory. It was a stunning place and the photos don’t show it well. We were there for two months and would have gone back – the owner goes away during the winter and again in the summer – but she raised the price by over $1,000 when she got some shelves affixed to the exposed brick wall.
The space was gorgeous, and the view was fantastic. It was a dream. And that kitchen…
The Candy Factory loft apartment was eye-wateringly gorgeous right from the start. That kitchen! The city view was opulent
Another place was an apartment above a restaurant, Actinolite (and how we named the apartment). We booked it on Airbnb. From the pictures Krish shared with me, I wasn’t keen, but with days to spare on our current rental, it was the only choice, so we took it. When we walked up the stairs from the backyard, I was shocked to see the space. I wasn’t expecting how large and well-furnished it was. The kitchen was a dream – the owner was the restaurateur downstairs. After the first month, we made a private arrangement, lowered the rent, and settled in until we had to move again.
One of the best things about the apartment was living upstairs from a busy restaurant. We couldn’t quite bring ourselves to eat there. It was a pricey menu.
Photos from the Actinolite apartment – and our next one. Captions are from our last stay. The living space was ‘grown up,’ as Krish said.
The living room never looks as spacious in a photo. Here we’ve already started to make ourselves at home (euphemism)The massive kitchen island overlooks the living room. oChef-owners get my vote. Also note – gas stove
We had come very close to booking a place for seven months, but weren’t happy at the prospect. The upsides were a good size, a bright living space, and a good long stay. The downsides were that the owners weren’t very warm and the location was problematic. On the very last few days before we needed to commit, I saw a new listing on Facebook. The location was good and the price cheaper than the one we were considering. We agreed to go over within a few hours. We liked the space, although we thought it a bit small, but the owners were warm and positive. We had a good feeling but took the weekend to think about it. Then we sealed the deal. We’ve loved being here. It isn’t too small at all. The location has been perfect. We’re close to a small supermarket (with a Starbucks counter) – so good for me when I’ve not been able to go very far, a large drugstore, hardware store, furniture store, and a bargain fashion store. I’ve even gone to the McDonalds a couple of times – I’m no fan. Just across the street, I’m in a neighbourhood with retail I can visit on my ‘good days.’ The streetcar stop is at the bottom of the road, just steps away. Perfect if I want to be independent.
But every place comes to an end when you’re a nomad. Telling the story of this rental’s ending will be cathartic.
We liked it here enough to want to stay in this building, if not in the actual apartment. We started looking at a few rentals here and even some in the next building. One was available too early to take advantage of, one of them was rented before I could view it, and then I saw one that might work. The problem was that it was in bad shape and needed some work before it could be released for rent. After a bit of thinking, I said that as long as I could see the place before signing, to make sure the work was done, I would make an offer, less than asking. There was some back and forth, the owners wouldn’t cave to a lower price, and I agreed to pay the asking rent. An agreement form arrived at 8:30 pm (how I wish I hadn’t opened or acknowledged it, but it said Congratulations, they’ve chosen you over another offer), and I was told I had until midnight to sign and return the form, after which I’d have 24 hours to go to the bank and get a bank draft for the deposit amount. I signed. We had a blizzard, and the city shut down. I let the real estate know that I couldn’t get to the bank, and it wasn’t open on a weekend anyway. Then Krish read what I signed and let me know I’d signed things that we should never have agreed to. Again, I asked to see if the repairs had been done before agreeing to anything else and was told, ‘it will be.’ Not good enough. I got an extension due to the weather, and the real estate agent said that Krish should decide what he wanted to change, but reminded us that we’d already agreed. I felt the blame and the shame. We never got to see the apartment with its work finished, we never got to change the agreement, and we never went to the bank. We let it fall through and the agent fell silent. The apartment was gone.
I enquired about a different apartment through a website. An agent called and spoke to Krish. We saw a few and liked one. It was the same brokerage, and we feared trouble. This agent heard our story and felt the first agent had let us down by not drawing our attention to the clauses we didn’t like or letting us have proof that the work was done. ‘Never take their word for it.’ The apartment we wanted had the same broker. We anticipated problems, but our new agent ran interference and felt positive. He said that our agent had thrown us under the bus. I was only slightly surprised. She remained silent, anyway. After signing a new offer, with this new agent vetting the wording, we waited. Silence. We asked about the one with the repairs and the agent said it wouldn’t hurt to ask, and he would. After two days, the agent let us know they ‘weren’t going forward with us.’ It hurt.
We decided not to try for anything else. If it was the same broker for this building and the one next door, it would be a useless exercise. It was 10 February, and we wanted to move on the 21st. Despair set in. I couldn’t move. I got in touch with Claudia, who owned the flat above the restaurants. We’d had to move out because they were moving in while their new house was being renovated. The 3-6 month renovation turned into a year, and then they had promised to rent the place to a friend for a while. Claudia had messaged me in the fall to ask if we were interested in renting for the new year. At that time I said I’d had a tough year and was not sure if I could manage the stairs again and would have to revisit it. So I revisited on the spot.
Chat with Claudia:
Jan: Hi Claudia, what’s the status now? We are looking for a stopgap rental.
Claudia Hi Janice. It’s vacant- I was going to post it tomorrow.
Jan: Can you show me the posting first? We can’t commit long-term. We want a one-year option, but our budget is XXX for the long-term option.
Claudia: If you would like to be there long term, we would be willing to have you and Krishna return and can accept XXX. You took such good care of the place and were a pleasure to have around.
Jan: Would you consider short-term at all? A few months… And maybe stretch it. I’m not as able as I was.
Claudia: Yes, we’re good with that. I remember you sharing that you had a tough year. Is there anything offhand that could help you in the apartment- besides an elevator!
Jan: Ha. I think it’s a wait-and-see to see how I cope.
Claudia : You can move in on the 21st. [I’ll touch base with you on Tuesday. Either way – you have a place. Yay! I’m so happy it finally all worked out!
Jan: You have no idea
Claudia: I was literally opening my laptop and starting to link photos for the post to rent.
I call this Serendipity.
Krish has doubts. Things he’s not happy about: The location – not near the stores he visits and he’ll need to take transit. The windows – they face west and ‘there’s no sky.’ The neighbourhood – it’s quiet, no people traffic to speak of and very residential. He knows the pluses. He really didn’t want to move out when we did. He does that thing before we move out of anywhere. He moan-wails the name of the place we’re living in, many times a year. Back then, he moan-wailed, Oh, Actinolite (the name of the restaurant) many times a day. This time, he’s moan-wailing, Oh, Joe Shuster. It’s pointless to stop him. It’s part of the ritual of moving. Are we making the right choice? he asks. Help me decide, he says. What are the bad things, he asks. He agonises. I tell him we’re moving, we have a place, and we will decide when we get there. I persevere. Oh, Joe Shuster.
Krish is obsessive about moving too. Once he starts, even a minute away is a crime. But I have to take a minute pr ten away. My fatigue level demands it. Yesterday I heard a shout from the bedroom, ‘There are still clothes in your drawers.’ ‘Yes, there are still days in the week.’
(There’s more to this, but as I tell Krish, I’ll wait to get into that when we’re there. I’m sad to leave here. It gave me such independence. But I see the advantages and serendipity has saved me once again.)
Familiar sight – the moving boxes. Oh, Joe Shuster
A note about serendipity. In 1990, I separated from my husband. It was an awful time, but the best decision. I was a single parent with a part-time job and nowhere to go. I had hoped that my friends would have reached out to me offering help. They knew I was in a bad position. No one did. Then I remembered something they taught us at my work at the hospital when we were being acquired by a bigger hospital and were told a third of us would be gone in a year. The lesson was this: you have to jump before your parachute will open. So I jumped, and my parachute opened. Two friends offered me places to stay and made sure Robin could get to school, and we were safe. Then a friend of a friend needed a summer housesitter, no charge. Then a friend of another friend was going away to study and offered their house at a low rent. With only a few weeks left in my short lease, a friend told me she had a letter for me. The letter said that if I called, I would be offered a new apartment on a rent-geared-to-income basis. I had been on the list for eight years, the letter had reached my friend just days before my mail forwarding service expired, and I’d received the letter just days before the housing offer expired. The apartment was fantastic in the best neighbourhood possible. Serendipity became my friend.)
Today was my follow-up mammogram – at last. I got ready, remembering not to wear deodorant and choosing clothes that were easy to take off. The scan was at Women’s College Hospital, where I worked for so long – although this is a new building now. Continuing from the Live Page:
I love WheelTrans. Even when they are late, I still love them. They’ve opened up my life. Today it sped me down to the hospital, no delays. In fact, the driver was, I told Krish, ‘driving like a bat out of hell. Great, he said. What? But I got there alive so that’s OK.
Proud of Women’s College, always a champion for women, although all genders are welcome here
The breast centre is on the 5th floor. I was early and thought maybe that would mean I’d have time afterwards to get some shopping. They sent me off to the changing room. This was all so familiar. Grabbing a gown, undressing, putting the gown on, throwing everything in a locker, and off to the waiting room. There I need to fill out a form, considering carefully how to show all my surgeries, all my results…and all the time thinking, why can’t I have done this at home, online, ready for me when I got here? There are always questions I falter on: When was your last menstruation? Hmm… Some things don’t change.
The technician came to get me. I was pleased to see that she was the same person who had done my last three scans. She’s an older lady with a calm manner. I let her know that I was worried this might hurt more than usual, since it already hurt anyway. She promised she’d be careful. She was. All the turning and arranging myself, it’s all familiar, yet the technician has to push and pull and shift your body and breasts as if you’ve never done this before. I had forgotten I was concerned about my port getting squished when the right breast was scanned, but she noticed it and said it would only be a little pinch. She was right.
Instruments of torture, I mean breast (squishing) plates for the machineTechnician’s area, safe from the scan raysMammogram machine. Many women fear it. Luckily, I’ve never found it difficult.
And I was done. The technician took me back to the changing room and as she said goodbye she lightly stroked my arm. I went into overdrive. What did that mean? Was she consoling or reassuring me? I pushed off the feeling and got dressed.
Emails from and to Denise:
Denise
12:56
Xx Jan
13:04
Thanks. Waiting. I’m not usually scared. This one might hurt. Hope hope hope 💕
Denise
13:07
I just want the best news in the world please. xxxxxxxx Did you take any Clonazepam before? Marla gave me a morphine pain killer for before! (it made me sick so now I do MRIs) Jan
13:11
Don’t have any drugs except Tylenol. I meant to take one. Oh well. It doesn’t last long. I’ll warn them
Jan
13:13
Took a Tylenol. It won’t kick in in time but I took it anyway
Jan
13:49
Will blog about it. The worst part is the food prices downstairs while I wait for my ride
Denise Grant
13:52
You’re still thinking of food??
Of course I am. That’s me. My cab arrived to take me home, this time more slowly.
View from the front door of Women’s College Hospital. In the background to the left, the Ontario Legislative Buildings (Queen’s Park), to the right, government offices. The Women’s sign in the centreWheel-Trans accessible taxi
I had just sat down to check something in email when I saw there was already a test result:
BILATERAL MAMMOGRAM
INDICATION: Surveillance. Status post left lumpectomy.
COMPARISON: Multiple priors, most recent May 2025.
FINDINGS:
The breasts show scattered fibroglandular densities. Stable post therapeutic changes are seen in the left breast.
There are no dominant nodules or suspicious calcifications seen in either breast.
IMPRESSION: No evidence of malignancy. Routine follow-up is recommended.
There it is. And the aftermath:
Judy that’s most excellent Jan congratulations❤️ Me Celebrations. Not sure when. First a nap
Moving took so much out of me. I had no idea that it would take this long to recover. Day six and I’m still slammed. Body pain, heavy fatigue, brain fog. I haven’t stepped outside, and I haven’t done more than a couple of half hours of organisational stuff each day. Blam!
I haven’t talked much about catch-up, or have I? That’s all the things you don’t have time or permission for while you are in treatment. So next week I begin my catch-up phase, with more to come. Week one, I see the eye doctor to restart my journey towards cataract surgery, and I go back to the cancer care clinic for my three-month (!) follow-up.. At that appointment, I get bloodwork and “onco-care,” which I assume is flushing out my port. Then I see the oncologist. Not sure what the agenda is there, but I will have questions. I also wonder if there will be more scans or the like to check how I’m doing. This seems inconsistent across the people I’ve spoken to or read about. Some oncologists or hospitals seem to do much more than others. I think in my case, there will be very little, if anything. Week two I will see someone for a knee and hip assessment in view of looking towards a knee replacement – at least I think so.
The GP visit went well. While I thought we were having two separate 15-min appointments an hour apart, instead we went in together for a full hour to see a resident. Every single thing on my list was covered, then our GP came in to talk to us further. The resident was very thorough, and I had forgotten how engaging my GP is. That and his good looks and striking tattoos made the visit feel informal … yet productive. Everything is in hand. I got a follow-up phone call on Wednesday, and I go back in a couple of weeks to tie up some ends. Done!
Monday, 9 February, 2026
Today was my follow-up mammogram – at last. I got ready, remembering not to wear deodorant and choosing clothes that were easy to take off. The scan was at Women’s College Hospital, where I worked for so long – although this is a new building now. I”m continuing this on its own page
Saturday, 31 January, 2026
Apparently, I can’t send out update reminders without paying the big bucks for a blog that, quite honestly, also costs big bucks I question each year – no matter. I have another evil plan for updating you.
Just when I thought the confusion was over, I had part whatevernumberitis the other day. While I’d been told that the surgeon’s office would be sending a referral for a mammogram to the Women’s College Breast Centre, I heard nothing. I emailed them on Wednesday (was it?) and mentioned I’d heard nothing. Back came the reply that I had to phone the Breast Centre myself for the appointment. So I did. Whatever.
The receptionist told me there was nothing until March 10, I suggested there might be something before my oncology visit on the 5th and, surprise, there was magically an opening for the 9th at 1pm. Go me!
However, here’s the funny thing — She told me that last bilateral mammogram was in September 2024. Oh, My. God. I have another breast! The one on the right! Good grief. I forgot it was even there. It’s gone without a scan for almost 18 months while my brain was focussed entirely on the left. Well, I do lean left. Did you know? Anyway, that makes for double scanxiety for the 9th. Never mind. Onward.
Thursday, 22 January, 2026
I’m going to do this LIVE style (Thanks, BBC) That is, I’ll add to the top of the page each time. I just have to find out if WordPress sends out Update notifications. It makes sense!
I haven’t heard about a mammogram yet despite waiting more than a week to hear anything. I’m not going to chase this because.
I’m a little fearful of how much a mammogram might hurt when you have lymphoedema – minor reason really. It’s such a brief time
I don’t want to have my result too far away from my follow-up oncology appointment on 5th March. My surgeon oncologist would book me for two weeks after the test. So, maths-head on and working backwards — a mid February date would work well.
I sent my doctor’s nurse, Tess, another email about getting a heart echo test. Supposed to be done every three months while getting Herceptin. This was my third or fourth attempt to get answers. She had told me in December Dr Watson said no echo because my Herceptin was done. I was concerned.
Hello Tess, re the echo, my last one was August 21. My Herceptin ended Dec 11 plus I had 25 radiotherapy sessions over the summer. Because all of this can damage my heart, I’m not sure why there’s been no follow-up since August to at least tell me if there’s anything to be concerned about. Please follow this up for me so that Dr Watson has some results for me before my appointment on 5th March. Thank you.
She called me. Yes, she said, You should have had a test in November. I didn’t get a call, I said. Then you should have one, we’ll set it up and I’ll let you know what Dr Watson says. Result! Or not. She called me less than half an hour later to say, Dr Watson says you don’t need an echo because your Herceptin is over. Sigh, I will push getting a second opinion. My friend in Ottawa who was on the same chemo and Herceptin regime along with me had one in November, and will have another in February — she finished her Herceptin one week after me (held up by the Christmas and New YEAR schedule at the hospital.) Why such a difference in opinion?
Stay tuned for the next chapter on each.
Neurosis corner: My eye, the one the optician uttered the awful word ‘melanoma’ about, is hurting. What? Can I stop obsessing? Hmm. My body aches from the Letrozole (famously). My nose has started bleeding again. A friend from my Support Group has started losing her hair again some time after finishing chemo. I’m OK on that score (did I just jinx myself?) And I’m experimenting a little with the causes of my diarrhoea. La la la.
Comfort food. Asked Krish if he felt Jewish enough while eating it. A tease since he doesn’t understand the appeal. That’s how it is, though. I don’t get the appeal of bitter melon or breadfruit either… Montreal-style bagel. I’m Team Montreal, but I get the appeal of New York. Brick Lane? Maybe sometimes, but when it comes to the Beigel Bakery, I go for the cheesecake, and I miss it
You know, one of the hardest things about having cancer was the admin.
There were so many appointments. In-person. Zoom. By email. Surveys. Online check-ins. Appointments to be made, appointments to be changed. Waiting for referral appointments to happen. With radiation, constantly checking the schedule to see if something had moved, and if it had making sure it worked and then rescheduling it or fixing whatever else was on the calendar that caused a conflict. The phone calls to get support. The intake sessions. The follow-up. The schedule of event commitments. I don’t know how many times I would say, I need a secretary! It’s a big job for anyone, but when you’re feeling sick and full of fog and fatigue, it’s overwhelming, There were often weeks with three appointments, sometimes a day with more than one – each carefully orchestrated – by me – not to clash and allow enough time to get from one to the other. It was a bit like booking connecting flights. Four hospitals were involved. They were all in the same Toronto ‘hospital corridor’ but far enough apart to cause more fatigue. There was even one appointment on each of Christmas week and New Year’s week. Last week I had no appointments. It was glorious. This week there are three again, followed by a quiet stretch until early February.
On the other hand, I’m expecting a call to get a mammogram. This has been one of the most confusing things ever. Over the course of seven months, I have had three separate dates given me for the mammogram and five separate doctors’ names attached to those dates. Every time I tried to ask what is going on, the story would change. Yesterday I was determined to sort it out. I asked if I could type out my dilemma in an email. I carefully explained all the different stories I’d been given and then asked if someone could please tell me what was the correct one. Today someone called me with all the answers. Such a relief. Yet I’m the one with brain fog or chemo brain, as they call it.
You really do have to stay on top of things no matter how dizzy, tired, sore, aching, or confused you feel. My last day of immunotherapy was such a day. On that day I was to see the oncologist. He was away and a resident (?) saw me instead. I had been asking for some time when my last session would be and had had no answer. By my reckoning today was the day. I asked the resident, is today my last session? He looked at me and said, no, your immunotherapy is for two years. Another year? My heart sank but I was prepared to accept it. He left the room. Krish and I looked at each other. Two years? OK and what now? Was I to leave now? We waited a few minutes and no one showed up. I wandered out to see if anyone knew what was happening. Eventually, I saw someone with a badge and asked if I needed to stay. They went away and came back with Tess, the oncology nurse. She wanted to weigh me. I had emailed her to see if I could get a blood test if this was my last session and she’d agreed to book it. The nursing station staff had told me it wasn’t booked. I asked her again, am I getting a blood test? Yes, she said. Back at the treatment pod I mentioned it again. They nodded. It didn’t happen and I was done with asking. Nobody acknowledged I had finished. This was my last day. No one asked me if I wanted to ring the celebration bell. I sighed and decided to leave. My follow-up appointment slip showed a March follow-up with the doctor with bloodwork, and a May mammogram. It made no sense, but I was so happy to leave. The whole thing felt anticlimactic, but it was done. D. O. N. E. I was out of there.
No celebration and no will to push for it either.
What happens next? I’m not sure. A mammogram is coming up. Any other scans, I don’t know. Something to talk to the oncologist about. I also haven’t been scheduled a final heart imaging test. After months of Herceptin and radiology, both heart-damaging treatments, I hope I can get a clear picture of where things stand right now.
And I have two confessions. No, three.
I had to put off my cataract surgery and have only just got another referral to start the process. I’m scared. I feel like my body has been invaded enough. I’ve had too much scary recovery time. And the surgery may be two, one for each eye. I know my vision is poor. I must do it. My appointment is on 3rd March.
I was scared when my eyes got bad and wondered if my cancer had spread to my brain. I asked for a CT Scan and got an appointment. When they called me to set the date, I deferred it to ‘I’ll call you.’ As soon as they’d asked if I was allergic to the contrast dye, my mind went NO, I can’t do this. Enough scanxiety. Now I know I have to reconsider. I have a nevus in one eye, and the optometrist had to mention the word ‘melanoma’ when they were scanning. I know I’ve had this forever but it’s got a heftier weight now. Can I do it?
My anaemia and diarrhoea (both common side effects of chemotherapy) do need some investigation. I went to see a GI specialist and we talked about a colonoscopy. Even though he didn’t think it urgent, I worry that I need to get this done. Again, more body invasion worries are holding me back, and I hope there’s nothing going on that I should have hurried up on.
I do have a plan, though — to discuss it all (the longer list) with my GP in a few weeks and see if I can prioritise it all. It really is a longer list than I’m sharing here. I’m sticking to the peripheral cancer worries and, believe me, that’s enough. I’ve never claimed to not have health anxiety!
Where are you, secretary?
Maybe I need an ambassador!
I went back to Princess Margaret on Tuesday. Krish had an appointment at Women’s College Hospital, and I used Wheeltrans to get us over there. I visited the Rehab and Survivorship department, where my Lymphoedema specialist, Niki, had made me a “pressure pad” which helps drain fluid from my breast. My last one was wearing out, and how kind of her to just present me with another. I looked down from the second floor into the lobby and noticed some white objects down there so went to look. They were some of the Butterflies for Hope fundraising butterflies, each >representing hope, transformation, and remembrance for those affected by cancer.
Butterflies of Hope, each with a dedication. I didn’t read them. I will next time.
I went next door to Mount Sinai to get a prescription and explained to them that I needed different tops for my medication containers. My treatment has made my nails fragile, and they were tearing as I opened the tops I had now. They replaced the top on the new container and gave me others so I could change the ones at home.
Then I went upstairs to the Cancer Care Clinic. My heart was in my mouth a bit. There weren’t many people in the waiting room, but I looked at everyone and imagined how they were feeling and what was happening for them. A receptionist printed out my next visit reminders – I’d lost them – March 5 for bloodwork, something called ONC CHEMO CARE (added to the confusion list), and follow-up with Dr Watson. I popped around to the exam room area and visited the fridge for a snack. There were people sitting there, masked and expectant. I thought about the year behind me and how familiar everything looked, moving on without me for all the people who were to follow. This is how life is.
