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
There’s a LIVE update to my Breast Cancer journey here *This is how I’ll handle updates to my Live, putting them at the top of any new publications. If you love me that much (awww) you can bookmark that page and visit it every few weeks if you see nothing here. This feels like a vanity post. No excuses, although I’m longing to make a few.
(That’s that done.)
We had a lot of snow. The most recorded. That isn’t to say there weren’t larger, deeper snowfalls before, but we didn’t record them back then. Things shut down. I didn’t hear any traffic- none! Schools, universities, and community centres closed their doors. Some of the bus routes couldn’t run – too hilly – or were diverted. Sections of the subway system that were above ground just stopped. Our north-south highway, the Don Valley Parkway (DVP) wasn’t accessible. We’re used to it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy or that everything carries on as normal. There’s a modestly grumbling, politely Canadian. acceptance and that’s it.
The snow kept me indoors and, when I did go out, it was ‘interesting.’ Not easy to get through the snow with a walker, even when paths had been dug through the deepest areas. I had definitely been feeling housebound and fidgety, so it was worth the trip.
I got as far as Longo’s, the local supermarket. We managed by buying markdowns in the otherwise pricey store. It’s a habit we acquired in the early London days when we had little money, heading straight for the ‘on offer’ stickers and often amassing really great buys at very low prices. It’s not as much fun here, the reductions not nearly as generous, the selection not as ‘exotic,’ but we still do it. At Longo’s I check the ready meals first (rarely find anything) then head to the meat counter for anything best by today or tomorrow, then off to the bakery mark-downs. That’s almost a story of its own, so I won’t. Food shopping is very expensive in Toronto and we’ve found our pattern to survive it and try not to think too hard about the adventure which is M&S Food Hall shopping. To be fair, we now think longingly about Tesco, Sainsburys, Waitrose, Morrisons, and yes, Co-Op. (We never had an Asda close by, or we might have considered it.) I did appreciate them when I was in London, but of course would sometimes weary of them, and now they’ve moved into the nostalgia pile. Last week, trying to watch Whitechapel (we didn’t last) the scene shifted to the Turkish store on Ridley Road. We recognised it right away. Our jaws dropped as we remembered the shelves full of treasures.
The little piece of cambazola was $10. We have had it once or twice, at someone else’s house, and can’t figure out why it lacks flavour if it’s the same as we had in London. Krish has pointed out that unpasteurised milk can’t be sold here, and that may be part of why there really isn’t any ‘stinky’ cheese. Or is it the travel time, etc? It took us a couple of years to discover a cheddar worth eating so the search for another variety that we can enjoy continues.
Piece of soft cheese 3.5x5cn at how much? (It’s around $7. Welcome to Canada.
It made for lots of snowmageddon posts. It always does when it really snows. I imagine all those souls in the snowier parts laughing at us, pretty much the way we laugh at the UK when they come to a standstill with what we’d consider ‘nothing.’ It’s all what you’re used to and set up for, of course. This isn’t Iqualuit and the UK isn’t Toronto, let alone Montreal, Edmonton or Winnipeg (it’s much worse there). We sort of have fun with it even if we aren’t the sporty type who owns snowshoes, skis or skates. We curse and feel weirdly a little proud and heroic. I wasn’t on public transport to hear the gossip, but the WheelTrans drivers had a few stories.
There seemed to be ‘nothing’ on our streaming services. We watched what we could. We just finished Black Bird. Powerful stuff that gave me one sleepless night and a creepy feeling of finding such empathy for the serial killer at the centre of the story. It was hard to sleep that first night.
The light in the winter can make everything goldenAfter days and days of pearly white cloud cover and grey days that made me sleepy, the sky turned blueBack again to what I call Hospital Row in Toronto. Discovery District is its actual name. I was there to talk about my knee and pick up medication. It will be a good day when I’m not there anymore. A visit to get my knee examined and pick up some medication
After the hospital, I had them drop me at Churrasqueira do Sardinha – Portuguese chicken shop just to buy some potatoes and bread. It felt decadent, like I was back to normal. Then I planned to get a streetcar over to the next major street, but the wait was too long. I walked. The cold was incredible, and even though I didn’t have far to go (400m) I had to stop halfway for a hot drink. When I got to the store I needed to visit to pick up my blackening spices, it was gated and closed for ‘vacation.’ Oh no! I’d have to come back another day and pray the set-aside spices were still there. My ride home wasn’t for at least an hour, and it was freezing. I looked around for somewhere warm to wait and decided it would have to be where I could buy a quick snack. So there I was in a burger place (A&W) with a bag of French fries and a coffee. OK, I was seduced by the Pret name. $8.99 for this. I noticed a sign in the window that promised a burger, fries and a large soft drink for the same price. Duped. The coffee wasn’t good. I saw my ride arriving across the street, and I dumped everything and hurried towards it. Temperatures were heading lower, the lowest so far, minus 29. The only way is up.
Blah. When do I start feeling like me again? OK, I do, sometimes. I’m now in a support group over Zoom for Post Treatment people. At first, I thought I was the only one not doing well, then the stories started coming out. We are all sad, angry, and so so tired.
I had a follow-up for my lymphoedema. I’m now dismissed from that clinic. I can get massages through a funding program. I am checking into it. The amount of admin and paperwork is punitive, so yeah, I haven’t started. First, I have to pay $90 for an assessment. Cancer is too expensive.
My therapist told me that her boss said I need to end my sessions soon. Sigh. I expected that, but it stings. I like Sarah, and I’ll miss her. We will meet three more times, and then I’m flung out into the world and then where can I kvetch and worry. I know — here, right? (Sorry.)
Someone told me my posts have too much detail. OK, I’ll address that, maybe, soon?
Sunday, 19th April, 2026
I realised yesterday that I have no appointments in the coming weeks. Very happy about that and going to plan some fun things, or at least one or two. Meanwhile, on the medical front (complaining alert):
Tired of having diarrhoea – the weakness it causes, and the mess
Tired of having body pain and will consider taking something to counteract this side effect of Letrozole. I know I need to take it, but the effort needed to do simple things like turning over in bed, getting off the couch, or walking anywhere is enormous. I thought it was age-related until I started reading about even young survivors suffering in the same way
My port wound is healing, but my body loves to hold on to the stitches. The one closest to my sternum was still there and poking through, so I pulled it out—the usual. The stitch at the other end of the wound is stuck in there fast. The area is red and sticky, but I don’t think it’s infected. It’s getting lots of Germolene, and I’m keeping my eye on it.
My nails are a ragged mess, and I have been cutting and filing them often to keep them from catching and tearing. I will ask the doctor about a bone-strengthening drug that’s not IV
I have many mornings when I’m weak and dizzy. It usually passes by late afternoon. Today I’m going out, so crossing fingers
Tuesday, 14th April, 2026
Yesterday was my one-year follow-up with the surgeon. He saw me early, always a plus. My mammogram was clear he said, I’m good to attend the Transitions Clinic, which would take over my oncology care and survivorship, including booking my mammograms. He felt my breast and said there were no problems. Krish asked me if he had been the one to sew me up, and he nodded. Good job, Krish said. The one before that was terrible. The surgeon explained that, before the surgery, they had worried they would have trouble finding the ‘cavity,’ which would have made it harder to do the revision. But it had been visible, and this made the surgery much easier. I asked if my mammograms would really be once a year, and he said that there was no evidence to show that doing them more frequently affects the outcome. Milestone.
Friday, 28 February, 2026
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.
This section may not interest anyone but I think it’s important. Feel free to skip it. Also feel free to poach from it and ask me anything if you know someone who could benefit.
The last time there was a lot of support. Thinking back, I know I was in touch with an agency or charity that phoned me every day and who visited me in my home, leaving me with a little care package. I had an online group that was somewhere in Nova Scotia, a very supportive group of women at various stages of breast cancer. I also went to relaxation sessions at Wellspring who had a satellite office near where I worked.
After my surgery, I went to the UK. I sent an email to the appropriate Department at St Bart’s Hospital asking them what the procedure was for getting radiation therapy and they responded quite quickly, letting me know that they were registering me with one of their doctors and when and where to come. The UK system, well supported by various departments and charities, could not have been more rewarding. There were home visits, free complementary Therapies at The Haven in Fulham and in-person support groups through the local hospital. Going to radiation was tiring but interesting, since the hospital was in a very historical area which I was able to explore as I could. I liked to walk from Liverpool Street Station and through the tunnel at London Wall. If I had time I could go look at the wall ruins. London felt new, although familiar, and the first few times I got a bit lost.
The radiation department at Barts was away from the main buildings. The waiting room was old, but the nurses were helpful and friendly, and ready with tea and biscuits at each visit. A hospital worker called me to explain that I could get all of my fare money refunded, and if necessary I could get Hospital transportation. I also received two gifts during my treatment time. One was a gift to buy a new mattress, and the other a gift to fund a short holiday.
My support group met weekly at St Joseph’s Hospice in Hackney, where we were served a delicious vegetarian lunch and were treated to complementary therapies such as Reiki, reflexology, and pilates classes. At the Haven I also had interviews with a herbalist, a homeopath, a masseuse, and more Reiki. When this all ended after ten years (We don’t need to see you anymore) I felt bereft.
Fast forward to 2024. Whether it’s Canada or these more stringent times, things are quite different. I contacted the Cancer Society who sent me resources and chatted with me at some length. I haven’t heard from them again.
I gpt in touch with two organisations- Gilda’s Club and Wellspring. I spoke to counsellors in both places-all support, or most of it, is virtual thanks to Covid. Things haven’t returned to pre-pandemic rules yet. I’ve taken one Wellspring class, which was an online visualisation session. I will do more with Wellspring once I have time to check their offerings. For Gilda’s I’ve had two phone calls and filled out several forms. Many of their classes are not until the new year but I’m expecting to fill in with things in the meantime. There are other organisations I have yet to contact. I can arrange individual counselling sessions but one step at a time.
Update January 2026: There’s so much support if you look for it. It’s odd to me that many don’t know or don’t care, but that’s me.
Gilda’s – there are many virtual offerings. I’ve taken meditation, yoga nidra, support group, art therapy, reiki, and perhaps more. One of the best things was called Prep Talk where all of my questions about seeing the doctor were considered, curated and fed back to me in a format I could use.
Wellspring – a mix of virtual and in-person groups. I’ve taken only the virtual. Wellspring programs feel more ‘serious’ and I’ve been a bit more selective. There was a cancer support group (Healing Journey) that is multi-part and educational – so interesting but I did feel I was on a medical school course. I stopped after part 1, not sure if I’ll go back.) I’ve also taken the writing workshop, where it felt more like learning how to write, rather than focussing on our own writing. Money Matters has been a great program, still in progress. A counselor will help you analyse your financial situation and help you get the best support possible. I need to follow up on this. In the future I could consider some in-person visits and double up with a visit to my friend, Leslie, who is running the childbirth education program that I was once part of.
Talking of money, I was eligible for EI (Employment Insurance) Sickness benefits. Every two weeks for six months I would receive 60% of my median salary from the government and could earn up to $100 on my own. I kept three hours of work to keep my foot in the door and my mind sharp after a few weeks off. My company has no sick benefit or insurance so I could just keep my head above water. I haven’t returned to my 20-hour schedule yet. I feel just about ready but some of my projects are slow to take me back. It was always a risk. My pay has halved and there’s no extra help.
Look Good Feel Better: This is such a great group. I have taken four workshops with them, all virtual. The best was the makeup and skincare workshop. The host demonstrated skincare and make up techniques specifically for people in treatment and about a week later I received a good-sized kit of makeup and skincare samples of my own. I also took the headwear and wig session and gained confidence I could be happy with no hair. Advanced skincare was more serious and gave me a lot of information that I might not have thought of.
After Breast Cancer: This store has been so helpful. I met with Natasha at a lingerie store that includes ABC. I was fitted for a prosthetic and a bra all funded by a charity. In the end I walked away with the heavier-than-expected fake breast that fits inside my pocketed bra – no more lopsided profile – and two bras at no charge. Well, not exactly. I applied to the government for help and paid the difference. I also ordered a heavy compression bra from one of their suppliers and got help with the fitting. Fantastic charity.
After finishing radiation I was eligible for a program called ELLICSR: Health, Wellness & Cancer Survivorship Centre run by Princess Margaret Hospital and taking place at Toronto General Hospital. Here for eight weeks every Friday morning I had 90 minutes of education to help me rehabilitate and 30 mins of strengthening and cardio exercise especially designed for me.
I also have help for the arthritis in my knee and for Lymphoedema at Princess Margaret Rehabilitation and Survivorship program. All in progress.
Let’s not forget social media. I belong to three Facebook groups. They’re great for asking questions and feeling less alone. It’s also good to be able to answer questions from those who come later. I had an unexpected connection from TikTok! A lady in Texas was blogging about her breast cancer journey (@foolshmortal999). When she mentioned that she was starting Taxol on the same day that I was, I messaged her. I had already made a connection with someone from a Facebook group who shared that start date. The three of us have chatted back and forth and we’ve shared the milestones. We’re called the Taxol Triplets. From Theresa, I’ve learned about the financial challenges of those in the USA with cancer. I’m so grateful for universal healthcare.
Finally, every two to three weeks I have counselling sessions in the Geriatric (that took me a while to swallow) Psychiatric Program at Mount Sinai Hospital. I love my therapist, Sarah, and have the option of Zoom sessions when I can’t make it down in person.
Mount Sinai also gave me a grant after I’d asked them questions about help with getting some medical equipment while I wasn’t earning.
My Gilda’s support group has now become a WhatsApp chat group. We talk every day and have met three times. When I was still in treatment I’d have a chance to meet up with some of them if they were there at the same time. Friends for life, maybe. My ELLICSR group also has become a WhatsApp group, not as bonded but definitely in touch and hoping for an in-person coffee meeting before the summer. Meeting new friends with similar ties is a big plus for me.
I’ve hesitated to talk about the support from friends and family. I’ve been mostly alone. While many like privacy and to be left alone, I’m the sort of person who needs a bit of pampering and fuss when sick or in pain. Thank you, Denise, for the cake! Is it bad I forget the second gift? Ouch. But I do remember chocolate-covered strawberries, yum. A most touching gift came from an unexpected source. The people who lived upstairs when I was going through surgery and chemo sent a gift of flowers and an Uber gift certificate. Othewise, It’s been quiet. No casseroles, no cards, no gifts, and the usual barrage of ‘how are you feeling?’ from people on chat. Always hard to know how to answer that – honestly or not? What I’ve learned is that lots of people, probably mercifully, have no idea what cancer or its treatment or recovery are like. I try to gently educate but how much does anyone need to know when they’re removed from it?
