Keeping Abreast of Ellen

I have officially been assimilated.  Last month, I was outfitted with the fantastic, amazingly ultra-modern, super-high-tech, state-of-the-art "Port-a-cath".  I didn't delve into too much detail at the time because, well, I was apprehensive about becoming a Borg.  But now that I've seen it in action, I'm ok with it and feel it is an important part of my...um...what are they calling it now? ...my "cancer journey".  Plus, as has always been the intent of my blog, I'm hoping that sharing my experiences will put some fears to rest. In case you are not familiar, the Port-a-cath is the newest technology in administering chemotherapy.  Instead of receiving chemo drugs via a traditional intravenous in your arm, the intravenous is connected to a little silicone stopper that has been implanted below the skin a few centimetres below your collarbone.  Attached to the stopper is a tube that is routed directly to your jugular vein.  When you go for c

Very exciting updates I have for you today, are you ready? My spinal MRI results are in and I'm all clear!  No metastases.  Huge relief :^) And I'm bald!  Nere' a hair'ee on my noggin.  And it feels wicked cool.  And alien like.  And quite chilly, in fact.  I can say without hesitation that I am no longer a fan of our ceiling fans. I first noticed things were changing last Thursday when I went to snip (not pluck, as Nelson had trained me) a white hair, and found to my astonishment that it came right out before I had so much as raised the shears.  I then proceeded to swiftly pluck the other 10 or so white strands without any remorse.  Then on Friday, I was gazing down at Imogen's head and remarked, "my, what long hair you have" - then realized I was actually shedding on the poor dear.  Soon after, my scalp became super sensitive, and even the wind rustling through my hair began to hurt.  On Saturday, I fashioned my favourite scarf around my

Me that is, not my blog (sadly)!  Well let's see, our story resumes when I returned home from the aforementioned fabulous makeover day with the girls on Saturday to a telltale scratchy throat.  I was a picture of health at 3pm but around 5pm developed an immensely sore throat, followed by aches, then fatigue and finally congestion and a cough.  All within a 12 hour time frame - very efficient, even for me!  Optimistic, normal me dismissed the fear of an approaching fever (fever is deemed the chemo patient's worst nightmare), but cautious, cancer me started monitoring my rising temperature hourly.  Not wanting to infect my kids, in particular, my newborn, I holed up in my bedroom and listened to them playing outside in the balmy summer-like weather while my husband tried his best to entertain them and care for the baby.  Now, not sure about you, but I personally have trouble minding two kids all day, much less a hungry newborn at the same time.  Super-human, my

When I was told my lovely long tresses had a shelf life of about another week or two as a result of chemo, I knew I had to seize the opportunity.  I mean, what better time for a drastic makeover?  I saw this as the perfect chance to go out and get a super-cute short haircut - if I didn't like it or later regretted it, I wouldn't have to suffer the inconvenience of growing it out! So I called my hair salon, sounded the "I need you" bell and gathered four of my closest peeps to accompany me.  My hairdresser, Nelson, who truly is a cut above all the rest was schoolgirl-giddy at the prospect of a makeover, and willingly humoured my mini entourage of supporters/paparazzi while he set to work with his razor.  About 90 minutes, one latté, a handful of photos and endless laughs later I emerged a newer (and substantially lighter) woman.  It felt wonderful! I didn't even have to part with my discarded hair as it had been carefully enclosed in a ziploc