A trip to Portland's Beervana!

To say I've missed our much-loved campervan this summer would be an understatement. I'm really quite sad that we sold it - not least because it's been fantastic camping weather for the past 4-6 weeks, sunny, hot and dry. I sure miss those easy, last-minute ventures out of town to relax and hang out amid the mountains, lakeside campsites and black bear territory just a couple of hours' drive from Vancouver. Sunbathing, kayaking, walking, picnicing, eating outdoors and chilling out by the campfire with a cigar, a beer and a sky chockablock with stars, satellites and galaxies far, far away.

That said, Lorne and I promised ourselves that, even without the van, we'd still make a few trips away and so this past weekend (and as a belated wedding anniversary gift to ourselves) we enjoyed our fourth visit to the fabulous city of Portland, Oregon. One of my favourite cities - laid back, funky, excellent low-key bars and restaurants, good atmosphere, great music scene, outstanding craft beers and a rich supply of well-maintained or rejuvenated heritage buildings and converted warehouses. Oh Vancouver, you could have learnt soooo much from Portland's urban planning and transit network before you went throwing up such an ugly abundance of generic, glass-walled, shoe-box-condo towers. Devouring every last trace of the city's history, character and skyline in your voracious appetite for wealth. Yup, given the opportunity, I'd happily move to Portland in a heartbeat!

Hard to believe then, that this was our first time back since 2009, when we drove down the Oregon coast in our trusty campervan (did I mention how much I misst the van?) and rounded off the trip with a night at the incredibly cool "Kennedy School" - a former elementary school creatively converted by McMenamins into a fabulous hotel and brewery. If you ever go to Portland, I highly recommend a stay or, at the very least a visit, to the Kennedy School.

We booked this latest trip a few months ago, having found a deal on Expedia.ca that gave us direct flights and 2 nights at a really nice hotel for about $500 each (incl. taxes), little more than a lower-rate hotel and a 10-hr journey each way by train. Bit of a no-brainer at that point really, even though our original plan was to travel down by train just for the adventure. Unfortunately the flights were with Alaska Airlines, apparently notorious for last-minute cancellations, which is exactly what they did this time. Our plans to fly out at 7am Friday morning and be in Portland by 8:15am for 3 full days were quickly scuppered by a text at 6pm the night before informing us the flight had been cancelled, "due to mechanical circumstances". After a frustrating 45mins on the phone and a lot of negotiating, Lorne managed to get us booked on an Air Canada flight - albeit leaving at 5:30pm Friday evening, i.e. a full 10.5 hours later than originally planned. To say we were disappointed & completely p'd off would be an understatement, hence pushing for further compensation which has been offered to us in the form of a $250 voucher each against our next Alaska Airlines reservation. Heck, at this rate we could keep booking trips with them and simply accumulating more vouchers for the next trip.

That aside, the travel plans went smoothly and our 2-night stay at Hotel deLuxe was wonderful, with its rich art-deco and golden era of Hollywood decor and beautifully maintained original features from 100 years ago. I'd happily stay there again. And ironically, in that 'small world' kinda way, the hotel's name was inspired in the 40's by the Deluxe film laboratories that brought colour to the silver screen. The same Deluxe I worked for here in Vancouver until they laid off at least 20 of us from Post Production in July 2008.
We got to the hotel around 7:45pm, after a 45min cab ride from the airport - Vancouver's airport seems so close and easily accessible by comparison. Our room was lovely, with modern but elegant art deco features right down to the bathroom taps.

We quickly got changed and then headed out to explore the delights of the nearby Pearl District in search of a drink and dinner. The Pearl District is very similar to Vancouver's Yaletown neighbourhood, with its converted warehouses, cobbled streets and a wide variety of shops, restaurants and bars with patios to enjoy good food and a drink. The main difference being that PD is fabulous and funky but doesn't feel nearly as pretentious and is not suffocated by a throng of monotonous 20 to 30-storey condo towers that stare in on one-another and devour any natural light.

I've always found Yaletown to be incredibly ostentatious, a place where Vancouver's wannabe-elite strutt around comparing their designer labels, fancy cars, bejewelled purse-dogs and over-priced nail salons. If you want to remind yourself of just how obnoxious yuppies can be, then look no further. (And for anyone too young to remember, here's a defnition.)

Thankfully this does not seem to be the case (at least no so much so) in Portland's Pearl District, where I enjoyed THE most orgasmic Mac & Cheese ever, courtesy of Brix Tavern. Wow, simply outstanding - I needed a flippin' cigarette afterwards! (And I don't even smoke.) Unfortunately the menu neglects to mention that it comes sprinkled with a topping of real bacon bits, so I had to send back the first plate, but it was well worth the little extra wait, I promise you. Heck, I'm already planning a return trip to Portland just for this delectable dish!

Another thing I love about Portland is Happy Hour at bars and restaurants, which is actually longer than an hour and happens twice a day, at most places from 3pm - 6pm and again from 9:30pm - 12:30am. (The Happy Hour concept of is long-since banned in Vancouver by the Fun Police who felt it simply encouraged binge drinking and, heavens forbid, the threat of people eating, laughing and generally having a good time.)

Another cool McMenamins hotel/restaurant
- as long as you escape the disgusting troll
clipping his nails at the next table! 

Have no fear, Lorne and I made a valiant commitment to partake of this rogue concept during our visit! In fact, after dinner, we got quite happy with a few delicious local beers, followed by a flight of Edgefield Whiskies in the downstairs 'Cellar' bar at another fine McMenamins establishment, Ringlers Annex - part of their Crystal Hotel (which we'd also considered for our stay but it was fully booked).

We actually had lunch here too - well, it was a late lunch during the afternoon Happy Hour at the upstair Zeus Cafe, before leaving on Sunday. A delicious portabello mushroom burger and tasty beer (of course) spoiled only by the repulsive troglodite at the neighbouring table who literally started clipping his nails at the table!!! I can't stand that awful sound at the best of times. Especially when it's in public and especially at the dining table!!! Seriously???? I was utterly disgusted and irate. Lorne had to hold me back from saying something (I wish he hadn't). I could not believe my cringeing ears, especially when I saw he was doing it right there - at the table!!! How bloody revolting - and yet the woman with him said nothing, even when I turned and gave her the look! (Unfortunately he had his back to me though he must've felt my eyes boring into him in horror and nauseated disbelief.) And I swear he had a hundred nails because he just kept on clipping...and clipping...and clipping, pinging shards of dirty nail across the restaurant, for close to 10 minutes! Who does that??!!! I very nearly threw up! Dirty, scuzzy, revolting freak!

(Daffodils and meadows.....daffodils and meadows....daffodils and meadows!)

Anyway, without further ado, let me try and wrap up this post since I´ll have plenty more to waffle on about once we´re back from our upcoming trip to Germany.

After a delicious breakfast at the hotel Saturday, we wandered around the city center and did a little shopping before finally giving in at 1pm to our desire to join the beer festival crowd  (Oregon Brewers Festival) - and WHAT a crowd there was too! Rumour has it, about 35,000 of us turned out on Saturday - it was a great party atmosphere, but still none of the lines were too long. We never waited more than 15mins to refill our 0.4l festival glass full of more delicious, hoppy goodness. The more beers we drank, the more they suited their rather creative names: Transgression.....Clusterf$ck.....

84 featured breweries and 85,000 visitors over 4 days!
So many outstanding beers, so little time :-(

This was only half the beers on offer but, as the
hoppier selection, they were our pick!

Just a portion of the 35,000 people that shared our
enthusiasm for fantastic brews - Saturday, July 27.

Lorne looking pretty 'chill' and ready to taste another beer.

Does this beer make my nose look fat?
(Yes, I'd have to say it does.)

We were somewhat blurred by the time we left there, about 4;30pm. I vaguely remember grabbing a bite to eat before we headed back to the hotel and took the essential afternoon-drinking nap. Bliss!

We headed out for dinner and just a single beer later but Lorne was particularly pooped, so we didn't make it a late one that night.

Next morning we wandered over to Lloyd Centre for a bit of shopping, but not much- then headed off to the fabulous Saturday Market by the bridge (yes, even when it's Sunday). So many talented craftspeople in Oregon, I marvel at their talents.

On the way to the market we passed this place, Voodoo Doughnuts - and could NOT believe the line of about 150 people. What makes a doughnut that good, I wonder....not being much of a doughnut-eater myself and especially not a fan of Canada´s freakishly renowned Tim Horton's dounuts at all!

Admittedly, it's a pretty funky sign...

...but I can't imagine what could possibly be sooo special about
Voodoo doughnuts that'd make me endure a 90-min wait in line! 

So, after a slow day meandering the market and around town, it was time to collect our bags from the hotel and head to the airport - thankfully our homeward flight wasn't cancelled!

All-in-all another wonderfully enjoyable stay in Portland - I love it there, really I do. And, with the $250 voucher we each got from Air Alaska, we're already planning on when to go back :-)

Various Updates on This 'n' That

I thought I'd do an update on a few things I've posted about over recent months, not that I've anything massive or particularly mind-blowing to report, just the usual blather, I guess:

Tamoxifen Update - 8 months on
I first started taking Tamoxifen mid-November last year and was quite panicked about potential side-effects; primarily, being pushed into early menopause and also possible weight gain. In January I was pleased to post a positive two-month update on just how the treatment was going. And suddenly here we are, last day of July, and I realize I meant to do a 6-month update....two months ago! So, for anyone interested, here's how it's going:

1. Overall: On the whole, still feeling pretty good and no strong or particularly adverse side-effects. Yay!
2. Eyesight: I do feel like my eyesight's deteriorated quite a lot, I'm struggling to read menus, labels, texts and other such small print, which I'm finding incredibly frustrating. Admittedly it might purely be age (having hit the mid-forties point in May - eeek), but I also know that it can definitely be a side-effect of the medication and I intend to mention it at my next appointment with the oncologist in September.
3. Hot flashes: Thankfully still no hot flashes to report, nothing really noticeable anyway, and even the night sweats are taking a welcome break at the moment, which is odd since the weather's been so hot and the nights very muggy lately.
4. Monthlies: My periods have stretched from being every 32 days to about 37 lately, but no noticeable difference otherwise.
5. Weight: I've gained weight lately. Well, it's more that I appear to have re-gained the 7 or so pounds that I lost in the first few months of this year and similarly the inches are creeping back up too. I'm still working out regularly and haven't changed my eating but I've certainly felt pudgier and generally bloated for the last several months which may/may not be down to being on Tamoxifen that bit longer. Bugger - because I was really enjoying looking and feeling much leaner, energetic and in great shape. I felt better in my clothes (although some were getting a bit too big on me). Even my ex-figure-skater bubble-bum is visibly making a comeback. I wasn't trying to get rid of it but, now that it's making a re-apperance, I'm not too happy about it. Besides, if I known I'd add back the 7lbs then I would have at least stuffed my face full of cakes, muffins & fish 'n' chips! Nothing more frustrating than inexplicable weight gain :-(
6. Skin/acne: I don't know if it's related to hormones or tamoxifen, since I always believed testosterone not estrogen to be the main hormonal culprit of acne breakouts, but I'm tentatively pleased to say my skin has been noticeably clearer the past 6 months or so - perhaps the longest I've gone without using some sort of prescription cream, tablets or stinky tea-tree oil. I've suffered breakouts to a lesser or much greater degree my whole life (so much for 'growing out of it when you're 18'!). Believe me, I've had some ugly and severe bouts of acne in my time (though thankfully bear very few physical scars) and wonder if this significant improvement is in any part due to the Tamoxifen or else the amazing natural product 'Pure Tamanu Oil' that I discovered early this year, which makes my skin feel great and is quite possibly delivering its well-reputed and very gentle acne-fighting properties. I don't know for sure but I'm certainly thrilled with my skin lately and it's a huge novelty to report that I very rarely have breakouts lately. I'd highly recommend pure Tamanu Oil (I've tried the Aura Cacia brand at approx CAD $17 to $30 for a 30ml bottle, which I find lasts 4-6 months even using it twice a day).

Other than that, no real change on Tamoxifen. Admittedly I'm disappointed about the weight thing, which might seem a little odd given that I've maintained the same weight (132 to 134lbs) for over 15 years but, being 7lbs lighter felt so good, that I'm now feeling uncomfortably chunky being back at my usual weight.

Oh well - so long as the meds are still doing their cancer-fighting job, that's really all I ask.

False Economy? - when thrift store shoes go bad
Back in February I confessed my clandestine penchant for popping tags at thrift stores - 'cos I loves me bargains along with recycling wherever possible. Now that we've moved back to Kits, I have not one, but two Salvation Army thrift stores within a short walk as well as several consignment stores and an SPCA thrift store that I've regularly donated to for years. I've had some great finds for summer clothes; shorts, a dress, jeans, t-shirts etc. despite the fact prices at the Sally Ann are getting ridiculous - name-brand jeans at more than $25 or shoes/boots averaging $20-$45. ("Hellooooo, you do realize you get this stuff donated, right?....as in FREE! And that you're a thrift store not a consignment store.").

Anyhooo, I recently got a bargain-buzz when I found a fabulous pair of brand new, incredibly comfortable, funky black sandals with a cute kitten heel for just $6 at the SPCA store! I got lots of compliments the first day I wore them and knew they'd look great with most everything in my wardrobe. Alas, much to my chagrin, by the end of that first day, a strap on each shoe had clearly started to come away, revealing the glue and elastic underneath. I was so disappointed but remained hopeful it wouldn't get any worse - besides, it's not like the shoes feel tight or pinch my foot anywhere. But.... they are in fact falling apart. Darn, you just can't get good quality for a whole $6 these days, eh?

Since they cost next to nothing and I really like them AND I want to take them on holiday with me next week, I decided to get them repaired....which apparently entailed all 4 thinning straps (2 on each shoe) to be re-stitched at $10/strap. I hesitated but then determined that, even totaling $46, they'd still be worth it...or so I thought. Let's just say it's all turning out to be a grand false economy on my part, the repair looked okay but in reality gave them little more than an hour's extra life. First wear post-repair (I'm a poet) and the exact same thing happened all over again, a design flaw and shoddy work in the shoes' original manufacture I'd say:

Broken straps and dollar-store nail tattoos.

But, not feeling ready to give up on them just yet (especially after spending the additional $40 hoping they'd be fixed), I decided on one last ditch attempt that wouldn't cost me a single penny. Et voilà, the high-tech tools of my latest and greatest shoe repair endeavours:

High-tech tools of the trade.

That's right, I stapled the straps back in place, then used a black permanent marker to colour over the silver staples so they wouldn't show....much. (Blue Peter eat your heart out!)

Staples? Are you kidding me? Like I'd seriously stick my
shoes together with staples! Haha. Whatever next?

And you know what? It worked! You can hardly see the staples at all, the straps have so far stayed put and naturally I'm kicking myself (with said shoes) that I didn't just try this before and save myself the $40 on a wasted repair. Hey, it could be worse, I could have used duct tape!  I don't expect they'll last long and, quite honestly, I don't need them to. I just hope to wear them at least a couple of evenings while we're on holiday, that's all. And if anyone's looking close enough to see I've actually stapled my shoes back together and covered this wardrobe malfunction with black marker pen, then chances are my foot's in their face and there's a whole bigger situation going on anyway, so who cares?

It's not even the first time I've done my own shoe repairs either - I recently discovered I had a pale pink nail-polish that matched an unfortunate scuff in a cute pair of shoes so perfectly that, when I put it on, the scuff simply disappeared from view, just like that! You would honestly never know!

Anyhow, so far it's working much better for me than the time I tried desperately to hold up my lace-top 'stay-up' stockings which simply refused to actually...stay up! Since I could hardly go jabbing staples into my thigh, I cleverly lined up a row of sticking plasters/band-aids around the otherwise sexy lace-top, to get them to stay stuck to my thigh and it did the trick....for all of about 15 minutes. Yes, definitely one of those days where the little voice in your head begs and pleads that you don't get run over for fear handsome paramedics discover the abstract mess you've got going on underneath that elegant dress.

So...moving right on to my next update:

Ella (aka Ella-Bella) - the latest addition to our feline family
Remember that terrible dilemma and crippling guilt I blubbed about back in May, when we welcomed little Ella (formerly known as Mudd) into our home? I'm pleased to say she's settled in wonderfully and is a truly adorable, easy-going and fearless little girl. She seems to love her new home and quickly took up residence in the top level of the kitty condo from where she likes to do that bizarre feline chirpy/clicky thing as she 'stalks' crows and other birds on the neighbouring rooftops. Our cats are strictly indoor cats so she doesn't get to test her claws and teeth - other than the way she's helped Mel shred the fabric off one corner of the couch and has started on a second. Not too impressed with that part.

Ella (left) sharing the top of the condo with Mel.

Mel's tried to join her in the condo a couple of times (as you can see - very cute) but mostly he likes to swing from it like a demented monkey and swat at Ella's tail to get her to play. He's sometimes a little too forthright for her but on the whole they play well together, especially when it's Tube-Time ie the cat tunnel - the best $20 spent on a cat toy ever!

While Mel and Louis definitely seem quite fond of Ella, we've recently had to install an extra Feliway plug around the house because Louis has not only taken to being a little too aggressive with Ella and stares her down/chases her just for fun and intimidation tactics, but he's also taken to overgrooming on one of his forelegs to the point of creating a bald patch. Ordinarily he's a friendly, lazy and pretty docile cat, though he's evidently in a bid to assert some level of being Alpha cat that wasn't necessary before Ella came along. Perhaps because they had immediately accepted Mishka as alpha-cat and matriarch without further question. (Oh Mishka, we still miss you!)

On the whole everything is really good, Lorne loves Ella just as much as me, the boys love playing with her (she and Mel play a lot together) but just sometimes they get a little rough and purposefully chase her into a corner or until she hides behind the TV (Louis moreso than Mel, although Mel's taken to doing it too lately), so we're having to keep an eye on them and use a water spritzer to dissuade the boys from picking on her.

She's such a sweetheart and very affectionate, it'd be awful to see her become timid and anxious because of her rowdy brothers but so far she's handling it well. (Men, eh?!!!)

And, like Mishka before her, 'twould appear Ella's also a sun-worshipper. Here she is thoroughly enjoying the sunny spot created by the skylight just above our bedroom door.

Meanwhile, in the ongoing state of flux that is my professional life.....

Drifting from contract to contract
I'm very pleased to wave goodbye to my current contract - which ended today - wohooo! Grateful to be moving from the bum-wiping life of an Executive Assistant (EA) back to the world of marketing, writing/editing, desktop publishing and more creativity. Hard to believe I've only been in this current position two months, it certainly feels l-o-n-g-e-r! But it's served as a true reminder that my days as an EA are (and should stay) far behind me. I've moved onto greater and more challenging things, where I have my own job rather than existing simply to make someone else look good. It took a while to break the type-cast of being an EA several years ago and these past 9 weeks have been a distinct reminder of just why that role is not for me (far too much temptation to verbalize inner thoughts of "book your own stupid flights, you know when/where you want to travel, not me!" or "Instead of telling me to tell her to call me to set up an appointment with you so I can tell her your schedule and get her calendar to book her to speak with you and confirm it works for you then invite you and her to the meeting of you both - just pick up the Goddamn phone and call her yourself!" Half an EA's day is spent as a gofer, the other half as a go-between. While the person I've worked for this time has actually been pleasant, appreciative and easy to reach, I've previously been an EA for complete pigs who seemed to have the attitude I should do EVERYTHING for them and stick a broom up my arse to sweep as I go along.

As of tomorrow I'll be back to my old haunt, Omicron - full time contract and better $ - at least until late October anyway, so that nicely buys me more time to get on that whole job-hunting thaaang.

Anyway, that's my not-so-short jibber-jabber update. Now that I have a wee dram of Cask Strength Bowmore at hand, it's time for me to sign off and savour the rather delectable taste of Islay before bed.

Nighty-Night.

It's all in the genes......or is it?

Last month I posted about my fears/concerns regarding ovarian cancer and the BRCA1 and BCRA2 genes - which, ordinarily, are tumour supressors and work to ensure the stability of a cell's DNA. A mutation of these genes has been linked to hereditary breast and ovarian cancer.

This time last year, my sister Victoria underwent surgery to remove a small piece of breast tissue which (thankfully!!!) turned out to be benign fibrous tissue. At that time her surgeon recommended that, since Vicky was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009 and I too had just had surgery for it (also in my early 40's), we would qualify for genetic testing. Vicky received and submitted the forms several months later and actually had her first consultation just last week. From the conversation I had with her after the appointment, it would appear that neither of us is yet out of the woods from this whole breast cancer scenario nor potential ovarian and/or other cancers. 

It could be purely a random and unfortunate coincidence that two sisters, both in their early forties, get diagnosed with breast cancer just 18 months apart, despite having no previous family history that we know of regarding breast cancer. It could still be hereditary. And there's a small percentage risk that it is indeed related to a mutation of the BCRA1/2 genes. (As it turns out, the fact that my cancer was determined to be estrogen receptor positive (ER+) and Vicky's was negative actually has no bearing on whether or not our cancers are hereditary or have the mutated gene.) 

Since Vicky was the first of us both to be diagnosed and at a slightly younger age, they will concentrate the DNA/gene testing on her. During her appointment she was encouraged to provide a blood sample to be sent for a full DNA mapping - an intense laboratory process that can take up to 6 months. The outcome of her DNA testing will be pretty conclusive as to whether we both have more to worry about and whether I should also get tested, as well as indicating any potential implications for my niece, Brownyn.

I've only had a fairly brief phone conversation with Vicky thus far about her consultation and, from what I understand, there are many factors related to our family medical history - on both my mum and dad's side - that could have implications for us both. Of course it's always difficult to get anyone of an older generation to share that kind of information (and most of those we'd need to ask have already passed on). These things were always kept hush-hush and us Brits are renowned for being terribly evasive around matters related to health (be it physical, mental or emotional) and family history. So, while the lab does their DNA testing for various genetic markers, there is a certain amount of family history that we need to investigate to help piece together the big picture.

We both still find it awkwardly surreal and disconcerting to be in this position; involved in tests, conversations, medical jargon and related statistics that seem so third-person. It's definitely worrying, I won't deny that, yet we both share an odd feeling of detachment from it too, like an out-of-body experience. A sensation of drifting, somewhat dazed and removed, that we can't quite put our finger on. But what we do know is that we're in good hands, medically. We're talking with the right doctors and experts, who are proactively performing tests and further investigations into our genetic make-up and from there they will advise us on what to expect going forward and whether it might involve considering preventive surgery. A thought I'm not ready to entertain just yet, not until we know all the facts.

Just when you think you can breathe a sigh of relief and thank your lucky stars that your cancer was small, caught very early and removed by simple surgery. That's it n'that's all - right? Yeah - not so fast. We're now beginning to realize that, in our case, it's not always quite as simple as that and a little further investigation is needed before we can say we've kicked this thing to the curb.

Hence I cannot find words to express my gratitude for living where we do, for being fortunate enough to have Vicky here, and for access to such high-level medical expertise available to us. Living under different social and economic circumstances, or in a different part of the world, would almost certainly limit - or even deny us - any such help or insight.

Phew!

Well, that's a relief - nothing too much out of the ordinary in the report from last week's pelvic ultrasound - Yay!!! Although I did learn two new words today: subserosal and pedunculated. Pedunculated (from the word peduncle....which is actually not an uncle who's a pedo) means attached by a stem or stalk.

What I imagine a pedunculated 
fibroid to look like.

My ultrasound revealed a 'pedunculated mass' of about 1.5 x 1.3 x 1.8cm behind my uterine fundus which is almost certainly a fibroid, of the kind that has a stalk, the idea of which is pretty gross if you ask me and makes me think of an ugly, magic mushroom type fungus growing inside of me. Best I don't dwell on that idea.

Actually, referring to it as pedunculated or having a peduncle sounds better than fibroid on a stalk. Pedunculated sounds almost comical and makes me think of how the AT-ATs walk in Star Wars;  'pedunc...pedunc...pedunc...' i.e. she has a pedunculated gait when she walks.

Anyhow, back to the ultrasound. They also reported a 'linear echogenic structure measuring 1.4cm in diameter' within my right ovary but apparently, when trying to get a better look at it with the endovaginal scan (too much information?) they actually couldn't see the right ovary at all and basically suspect the 'structure' is probably just a dermoid. Nevertheless, my GP gave me a referral for a follow-up ultrasound in a couple of months to see if they can get a better look at the mysteriously disappearing right ovary.

Overall it certainly explains some of the bloatedness and discomfort but I'm also going to do an H. pylori breath test in case that's part of the problem (Lorne was diagnosed with H.pylori bacteria just a couple of months ago himself and says his symptoms were very similar to those I've been describing). I'm personally not convinced that's my problem, since I haven't really experienced the burning pain/ulcer like symptoms normally associated with it, but I'll still do the test regardless.

So, overall, the best part of today's results is, I don't have cancer - and any day without a Big-C diagnosis is a good one! While a fibroid might be/become uncomfortable, it's a helluva-lot less scary, thank you very much.

Waiting....and bloating.

So I had my pelvic ultrasound last Friday along with an internal ultrasound, 'just to get a better look'. Look at what??? Naturally the radiologist (or whatever it is you call the person carrying out said ultrasound) didn't give me any information, they never really do. At least she was warmer and more polite that the arrogant pig at BC Cancer Agency who's done a couple of the ultrasounds on my boobs before now - he can hardly bring his monosyllabic 'conversation' to anything more than a perturbed grunt.

The whole appointment lasted about 30-40 mins and at some points the discomfort of the exam was exactly the discomfort I've been having on and off for months, concentrated on the right side. I mentioned that both my mum and sister have previously had fibroids, in case that's what I have too. "Nope, I'm not seeing any fibroids," came the response. She was clearly focusing on the right side and asked me at least three times, "you say you haven't had any surgery on your right ovary?....Nothing at all? Not even during the laparoscopy in 2006?"
"No, certainly not that I am aware of," I answered. "The laparoscopy was purely exploratory and identified a small cyst but nothing more than that. There wasn't any surgery involved."

And with only that minimal exchange to go on, I have to wait for my follow-up appointment with my GP this Friday. At least my doctor's pragmatic - if there's anything to report she'll no doubt throw it right at me. I'm trying hard not to bite or pick at my nails in the interim but the ongoing bloating - which seems worse again today - is my football-sized niggling reminder of the wait...

Coming Clean About a Dirty Habit

Onychophagia! That's what they call it people - my dirty little habit. I am a self-confessed, chronic nail-biter and have been all my life! The stupid thing is, I've hated that fact all my life too. I think it's a dirty, ugly, unhygienic and generally revolting habit. I'm permanently embarrassed about my hands and their stubby, half-mangled fingertips, but I just can't seem to stop. I'm seriously considering hypnosis, I think it's going to be the only thing that will (hopefully) cure me once and for all. I've tried the yukky-tasting treatments, to no avail, and I've managed periods of abstinence where pride of having nice nails overwhelmed the subconscious obsession to gnaw them down to their usual torn-up mess.

I started biting them as a child at around 6 or 7 years old, probably due to emotional stress and anxiety - textbook psychological case study really. But here I am..... 30-ahem-something years later - still going hard at it! While I've definitely had periods in that time where I stopped completely, sometimes for months on end, I nevertheless seem to start up again eventually and, in the past 8 months or so it's been worse than ever. Not only do I chew my nails but I pick at the skin around the edges too, until my fingertips are sore and bleeding. It often hurts to get dressed, prepare food, scratch my skin (which is almost impossible when you have no nails), peeling an orange burns like hell and I've lost count of how many new stockings I've ruined simply trying to put them on. It takes me a while to undo knots and shoelaces, open envelopes, peel off price tags/labels, pick up a dropped coin (dimes and pennies are especially difficult). I'm always discreetly hiding my fingernails from view and I'm terribly embarrassed if I have to point to something on my computer screen - with my blobby, scabby finger and half-shredded nail remnants. Similarly, I'm horribly self-conscious holding a glass of wine, or pointing at something on the menu of a fancy restaurant. And, what's bugging me lately, is that I have a lot of jewellery, especially rings, that I like but am hesitant to wear for fear of drawing attention to my hands and their sad, beaten-up digits.

So without further ado, here are the offending items.

Not too bad here, you might think

But look! Urrgghhh - "you're a MONSTER!"

As a child my family teased me about my nail-biting, joking that they'd serve me up a pie baked full of finger and toe nails or that I could have nails on toast for dinner. (For the record, I have NEVER bitten or eaten my toe nails....even I have limits!) So I learnt to be discreet in my nail-biting so as not to get caught. Actually, when my younger brother, Graham, was a toddler I was determined to surreptitiously teach him to start biting his, that way I'd at least have a partner in crime and the onus would maybe even shift to him instead of me. Luckily for him though, he failed miserably.

With the exception of the past few years, I would never bite my nails if anyone else was around, I was just too mortified by how ugly it must (and does) look - especially as a grown woman, fingers halfway down my gob, chomping down with frenetic nervousness. Such as the woman in her 50s that I once witnessed devouring her fingers in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Admittedly she might have been anxiously anticipating test results or bad news, but witnessing that display, on a woman who seemed otherwise elegant and normal, shocked me - especially knowing that I must look just as ugly and repulsive when I do it. Not to mention that awful sound of someone literally crunching on their chewed naily bits. I personally hate that sound as much as I hate someone publicly clipping their nails (knowing they're pinging off all over the place...potentially landing in your food or hair etc.). But even that doesn't stop me, I just try not to do it within earshot of anyone else and hate it when Lorne sometimes catches me as I watch TV (when I do 80% of my chewing). I sometimes wonder if he's trying to discreetly turn away slightly so that (a) he can't hear me or (b) doesn't have to see me out the corner of his eye, contorting my fingers, hand and arm to get at every last remaining shred of nail that'll bug the hell out of me if I don't rip it out. (Now I see where the OCD element of the onychophagia definition comes in.)

On the whole, while my nails are pretty gross, especially at the moment, though they're still not quite as gnarly as some people's - such as this habitual nail-biter (and believe me, there are many, far uglier onychophagia photos where this one came from):

My nails often feel this sore, but
these are thankfully not mine.

This time last summer I actually had lovely, long nails - all beautifully shiny, healthy and painted. I was proud to show them off. For about 8 months I never touched them, not even to pick at or nibble. Quite possibly the longest I've ever gone without gnawing on them to some degree and that was despite the anxieties of losing my job and the whole breast cancer thing. Ironic, no?

The additional habit of picking the skin around my nails started quite a few years ago as a semi-subconscious attempt to avoid actually chewing my nails, only now I simply do both in hideous tandem until my fingers literally hurt - and bleed. It's not pretty, that's for sure.

I tried that nasty-tasting product, Stop 'n' Grow, years ago but the effect was minimal, it's bitter taste wasn't foul enough to deter me. But then, Buckley's cough medicine doesn't make me gag either, so maybe I just have tough taste buds. I've tried using clear nail polish but end up picking it off. I've made countless New Year's resolutions, promises to quit on my birthday or at lent or 'if I get that job offer' etc. etc. While I come across as confident, diligent and professional, I worry that revealing bitten nails at a job interview will give the impression of underlying nervousness, insecurity and lack of effectively handling stress.

It tastes bad......but just not bad enough.

I don't feel particularly stressed at the moment, though I also nibble/pick when I'm bored or deliberating and trying to put off doing something. Having to make a phonecall often has me picking at my nails beforehand, I'm not a huge fan of the phone, especially at work - a nervous disposition created perhaps from working at Intrawest when I first moved to Vancouver, where the Member Services position I was hired to do soon became much more of in-bound call centre job. Headset glued on 9-5 and enduring a relentless stream of phonecalls, often from extremely irate people calling too late to get the exact reservation they wanted. God I hated that job.

Of course it doesn't help any that I currently work with a young woman who has the most beautiful hands - and nails - that I have ever seen. No word of a lie, she literally could/should be a hand model. They're stunning, like a piece of art; long, slender, smooth, so incredibly feminine and elegant. Her nails are lovely - 100% real, flawlessly manicured and simply gorgeous, with or without nail polish - whereas mine look like I just tore down a brick wall with my bare hands. Being next to this colleague and her perfectly-porcelain hands is the nail-biter's equivalent of being the spotty, fat wallflower beside the glamorous Prom Queen. (Well, I suppose anyway, since we never actually did that whole Prom Queen thing back in England, but you get my point, right?)

And so, perhaps by admitting my shame somewhat, vaguely 'publicly' (if anyone actually reads this blog), I can push myself into giving up this yukky, ugly habit once again. Just 3 weeks to break a habit they say. And I'm seriously going to look into that hypnotherapy thing too, because if it cures me of my onychophagia, maybe it can do the same for my horrendous arachnophobia. 

Bunch of Arse!!!

Time for some Argufying and Grumbulating, as my Dad would say

Bunch of Arse! - one of the more eloquent expressions my brother, Graham, always used (and probably still does) when something really pissed him off. Needless to say, it seems incredibly apt for this rant - both figuratively and literally - because it's exactly the ridiculous abundance of arse everywhere, flopping below super-short-shorts and crotch-level hemlines all over Vancouver this summer, that is annoying me no end!

Obviously there are millions of men who, with drooly tongues hanging out, would vehemently contradict me here and demand a LOT of photographic/video evidence. But I can honestly tell you that I, personally, am sick of having to witness so many females - of varying shapes and sizes - parading their crotch and their pert, dimpley, wibbly-wobbly or otherwise, arse cheeks all over the place on a daily basis as this summer's 'hottest' trend. Since I work downtown, I know for a fact that many of them are actually going to the office dressed like that! They're certainly not all working at peeler bars. Seriously - are these fashionistas all so hopelessly insecure and void of brains, personality, intellect and the bare minimum (excuse the pun) of decorum, that they believe hanging out their arse cheeks for everyone to endure is the best way to be noticed? Alas, I know that's a rhetorical question - of course they do! How very sad. Is this really what we've come to? Is this the new 'equality'? Well, hopefully not because the last thing I need to witness is a similar trend of men's dingley-dangley bits flopping, flapping and dingle-dangling everywhere. Ewwww no thank you. And that's not even being sexist because, in case you're still in any doubt, I'd really rather not see women's bits on parade either thank you very much. Call me crazy and old-fashioned n'all that......

And how bitterly ironic then to hear the ongoing legal saga of Lululemon, provider of your (ridiculously over-priced) staple Kitsilano-babe wear, being sued for it's "see-through pants", especially since - see-through or not - they still give better rear-end coverage than most summer clothing out there right now.

Perhaps I simply missed the memo that declared women/girls should start going out in their underwear. Although, in many cases, even underwear would be more modest than much (too much) of what I've seen lately! Heck, I have Victoria Secret briefs that cover more than most of these micro-shorts and so-called 'dresses' and the flimsy lingerie now commonplace on the street, at work, on public transit, at the grocery store.....

A relatively modest take
on most of the streetwear
lingerie I've witnessed

Just the other morning I was heading to catch the bus to work and a woman of about 35 or so was walking ahead of me and tugging frantically at the hem of her "dress" - the length of your average blouse - to cover her bum, which was on full view as she tried to lady-run her way to the approaching bus. And as I quickly passed her (for obvious reasons) I fought the urge to say, "Pssst! You forgot your skirt. Your arse is all hanging out back there." Needless to say, she missed the bus and I can only hope she went home to finish getting dressed while waiting for the next one.

The ultimate fashion victims, that I'm seeing in frighteningly increasing numbers, are those wearing ugly, shredded, denim cut-offs so barely-there that even their front pockets hang below the leg-length, flapping around like redundant toilet paper and emphasizing the crotch. Because if it's all hanging out at the back, you can bet your bottom dollar there's a pretty nasty view from the front too.

Sooo sick of seeing this....and worse!

Or, to add insult to injury, there's always the above look coupled with chunky, slovenly UGG boots! Ughhh!

No this is not me but it is the 'look'
that I'm seeing everywhere lately.

Coming in close behind (get it?) is the soft-porn hideousness of the t-shirt/blouse-and-no-bottoms look (as mentioned earlier). Well, bottoms are included but only of the fleshy variety. Maybe I imagined it, but surely women used to at least add a skirt or trousers or something between their belly-button and shoes. Didn't they??? With the amount of flesh on display that has already seared my retinas around Vancouver, 'twould appear I'm hopelessly out of touch, because they sure aren't wearing anything to cover their lower half lately. And that includes the mandatory thong (aka g-string) bikinis prevalent on the volleyball courts that monopolize Vancouver's beaches.

As I mentioned in a recent post, this same god-awful bunch of arse trend is being sold in most stores and to girls as young as 3 - quite literally! Now tell me that's not perverse! What do the strong, forthright, bra-burning heroes of the Women's Liberation Movement make of all this? Surely, alive or twisting in their graves, they must despair of having wasted so much time and effort in fighting an admirable battle to bring us this far only to have us slide all the way backwards.....or, to be more specific, to turn years of equal rights efforts completely on their arse?

I don't get it. I juuuust don't get it. It goes intellectually way beneath my comprehension - a level of intelligence that I'm thankfully just too smart to grasp. How can women ever legitimately expect to be taken seriously when they simply parade themselves as slutty, dumb-ass, slabs of meat. Pampering to a bunch of fashion and marketing gurus (predominantly male at a guess) who decided we should all model ourselves on the utterly pointless existence of the Kardashian clan. And, as this New York Times article also agrees, you can tell within seconds of perusing the average children's/girl's clothing department, they're aiming to start them younger and younger. It's pretty disgusting - on so many levels!

Probably just as well that I don't have a daughter - I swear I'd be dressing her in a burka by now!

Dr. Google and the C-Word Legacy

I'm quickly beginning to understand the mental 'legacy' that comes with ever having been diagnosed with the dreaded C-word. While I'd like to say I try not to think about it, since I had a lucky escape with such a small, very early stage and easily-removed breast cancer, the what-ifs and maybes nevertheless continue to nag once-in-a-while at the back of my mind. Such as they did when, earlier this year, my GP got me all worried with her insistence that a tiny lump in my left armpit felt very suspicious....though thankfully it turned out to be nothing out of the ordinary.

The latest nagging fear, is that I'm now into about the third month of having daily abdominal bloating and a pressure/pulling feeling in my lower abdomen. (And no, I'm definitely not pregnant. I'd have some serious explaining to do to Lorne if that were the case.)

Of course I made the general mistake of turning to Dr. Google who seems to repeatedly indicate that it could be symptomatic of ovarian cancer - especially in view of my age, having already had breast cancer (plus my sister having it), the fact I've never had children and taking into account that I've no previous history of abdominal bloating and this all started just a few months ago and has occurred every single day since. In fact I'd even say it's getting worse although I'd have to wonder if that might be somewhat psychosomatic, since I've now convinced myself just about 90% that is what's wrong with me.

If I look at the Signs and Symptoms, I have 7 of the 13 listed. While I initially put the bloating down to being maybe a low-lying stomach bug or even the crackers/cereal bars I eat at work causing digestive issues, even I can't deny it seemed to start out of nowhere a few short months ago, doesn't appear to go away, except for very brief spells and, for the past week, has been worse, constant and definitely more pain/pressure in my lower abdomen. Aaarrrgggh - a new worry instills itself into my little brain. Thanks cancer - the gift of mental anguish that just keeps on bloody well giving!!!

So when I saw my GP, Dr Y, last week - (to get a requisition for the 6-month follow-up ultrasound of my left-breast since Dr M's dopey assistant has YET to confirm, even though I've followed up with her 4 times since my last appointment with Dr M at the end of March. In fact she's never even returned the calls!) - I decided to mention about the bloating and discomfort from the past couple of months. Without hesitation she gave me a requisition for a pelvic ultrasound, with the form carefully marked "Hx of Breast CA. New onset pelvic/abdo bloating".

"They'll know exactly where I'm going with this," she added, in her usual direct and not-so-subtle manner that unnerves me every time. On the one hand I like it that she's pro-active. On the other hand, she makes me worry when she's so forthright and on the ball. Mind you, from what I've read (having scoured Dr. Google's many ovarian cancer sites) the initial symptoms of OC are frequently so vague and could easily be put down to a number of other causes, that most women are not usually diagnosed until the much later stages. So I should be grateful that I have a GP willing to get right to the point and send me for an ultrasound rather than one who fobs me off with, "It's probably just gas/indigestion/something you ate/possible irritable bowel syndrome/nothing to worry about. Just watch what you eat, fart up a storm, take a couple of Advil and come back in 3 years if nothing changes."

So now I have a flurry of thoughts, concerns and fears floating around inside my preeety leetle heed while my abdomen continues to look and feel like a football with the familiar heavy, dragging sensation that you get on the first day of your period. Could it even be something endometrial, which can be a side-effect of taking Tamoxifen? Added to that I'm also wondering about the genetic testing that the BC Cancer Agency is supposed to be following up on for Vicky and I. Apparently she's finally been scheduled for an initial appointment with them July 25th. If it turns out we have a mutation of the BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene then the risk of being predisposed to OC(as well as bilateral breast cancer) increases significantly. Bloody marvellous. Although even that is really quite rare so I'm hoping we're not that special!

My pelvic ultrasound is booked for July 12 - still two more weeks and I'm already a nervous wreck. I just booked to see Dr. Y a week later for the results but how am I going to get through the next 3 weeks????  What's more, I don't even know how I'm going to drink several glasses of water and then be expected to hang onto my pee for 2 to 4 hours prior to the ultrasound, especially since I'm having to pee all the time lately anyway, at least every 45-60 minutes, with or without drinking so much. (Yes, that's listed among the symptoms too.)

Ughhh. And so the legacy continues.....the questions, the wondering, the nail-biting and nervously mulling over a multitude of what ifs every time something with my body feels a little different to usual. Which makes me wonder, does Vicky go through this too? Well, I know she does actually. And does my younger brother, Graham, ever feel scared if he gets chest pains, indigestion or shortness of breath? Especially since he had a full on heart attack in 2007 that scared the crap out of all of us and he wasn't even 34 years old! Does the fear of a recurrence ever really go away?

Ordinarily three weeks wouldn't be a long time. But when you're afraid of another whack of the cancer baseball bat, it feels like an eternity.


**Update: July 10, 2013**
I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that I should be safe, I very much doubt my abdominal/stomach issues of late are in fact related to ovarian cancer - I think I'm just gaining weight. While tummy ache and bloating has been pretty persistent the last few months, I seem to have gained back most of the weight (& size) that I initially lost in the first few months of starting Tamoxifen, despite the fact I don't eat much,almost never eat junk/fatty food and have still been working out for 90mins-2hrs every other day. I mean, I know I'm not 'fat' but it's demoralizing nevertheless to have trimmed down, become really lean, felt great and yet now I can tell my clothes are getting tighter again even though I haven't changed anything and my thighs (yes I measure my thighs) have crept up a half inch, so now my shorts/jeans etc feel smaller on me again. Humpf! Not impressed and having PMS isn't helping. Still, if it means I don't have OC, then I'm definitely ok with that, I just hope this blubbery feeling isn't a continuing trend going forward ...or should I say 'outward'.

Ninth Anniversary and Birthday

Last week, June 19th, Lorne and I celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary and I'd have to say, I am just as much - if not more - in love with him now as I was in this lovely photograph of our amazing and incredibly beautiful big day, nine years ago. He is evermore my strength, my love, my hope, my future and my wonderful ever after and this past year/15 months he has proved himself over and over to be the incredibly supportive, caring, loving and amazing person that I knew him to be the day I married him. My very own, and very cherished, Mr. (W)Right! Heck, I even find it hard to believe myself most days - that I could be lucky enough to have found someone so giving and loving, not to mention downright hilarious, with whom to share my life. Right down to the fact he's just as much a big softy animal lover as I am. A true and wonderful match for which I am ever grateful, more with each passing day and especially with the cancer events and such of this past year.

Okay, enough of the heartfelt mushiness, before I have to start handing out the airline sick bags ;-)

So, with a dry and sarcastic sense of humour being among Lorne's many qualities that I love dearly, he is very imaginative when it comes to gift giving and this anniversary was no different but with the 'traditional' 9th anniversary gift theme of willow/pottery/leather being somewhat mundane, it was a struggle to even know what to buy.

He and I are scarily in tune with one another and frequently think/say the very same thing at the exact same time (does that make us one of those couples?), so it was no surprise to either of us that, for the willow part of the theme, we each ended up buying the other a bottle of this rather pleasant BC Shiraz: Red Willow by Prospect Winery. (In fact we did the same on our 7th anniversary with Copper Moon cabernet sauvignon.) Red Willow's not a bad wine, although it suffers the usual exaggerated BC duty that inflates the price to $16.99! It's actually nicer than the supposedly 'premium' red wine that we ordered earlier this year through a local U-Brew, namely Broadway Brewing Company, which is proving to be extremely underwhelming, and even that's being generous. But I digress.....

For the leather part - which is not so easy with me being a long-time vegetarian - Lorne found the perfect, tongue-in-cheek, veggie-friendly compromise, complete with explanation of his quirky rationale:

Not sure I'll actually eat them, although I think
it's all fake flavouring anyway, isn't it?

And of course, having already married Mr. Wright, it was only fair that - as the pottery gift - I acknowledge the fact he is also my Mr. Perfect. Aaaahhhh - barf bag anyone? ;-)

Though he's not quite as blueberry-coloured,
this does kind of resemble Lorne nonetheless :-)

And this is very fitting for the day 

we got married, June 19, 2004.

That aside, another celebration very close to our wedding is Bronwyn's birthday and I'm still incredibly impressed how Vicky managed to stay the duration on our wedding day, outlasting many other guests, despite having given birth to Bronnie by C-section just 5 days prior! Now that's determination!

While I joined in Bronwyn's birthday celebration- and delicious homemade cake - that she had on the Sunday, June 16th, I also offered to take her downtown as an extra birthday treat, to do a bit of shopping. She's now at that age where she wants to pick her own clothes and so, last Sunday, we headed for H&M where we spent about an hour or so looking at just about everything and both feeling disturbed by the perversely skimpy clothing geared towards girls her age and even younger. Honestly, it gives me the creeps. The 'in' fashion for girls in Vancouver this summer seems to be super-micro-cropped/shredded shorts that have both your crotch and arse hanging out and the front pockets flapping lower than the actual shorts. Needless to say it's not a good look and, maybe I'm getting old, but I find it pretty sad to see young women parading themselves like cheap meat in this way. Thankfully Bronwyn agrees and we both rolled our eyes at similar hot-pants and underwear-sold-as-shorts that are geared to such young girls, not just teenagers! We struggled to find a pair of shorts that even came below her bum. And anything longer than your backside was - ironically - twice the price of that with half the amount of fabric and even less bum-cheek coverage! I shake my head, really I do!

For the none girly-girl, I was surprised
Bronnie picked this outfit out herself!
That said, she looks adorable!

Anyway, thankfully - after carefully scouring the store - Bronwyn picked out this lovely little outfit, complete with glittery shoes (even though you can't see the cute sparkle so much in this fitting room photograph). The pink jacket is very BRIGHT and a little bit big on her, but it was the last one and she just fell in love with it. I could hardly say no, could I?

We had a really nice afternoon, she's such a thoughtful and complex girl with so many questions and really interesting perspectives, way beyond her years. I love her for her strength, independence and modesty and sharing a little of her new self-awareness and, at times, self-consciousness, was a pleasure. I could see her weighing up in her mind what her peers might think of her outfit...hence the pink jacket was vital and the shoes an absolute must-have.

After H&M we went over to Claire's Accessories where she deliberated over earrings for at least 40 minutes, weighing up how she was going to afford them, since she had only $5 of her own money and had just spent half of that on a bracelet at the Dollar Store and was now bitterly regretting the choice. On top of that, I could tell she was aware she had already just scored a lot of stuff at H&M and shouldn't really expect more (I'd say, shouldn't be 'greedy' except that I can't say that word without feeling awful in my stomach, it's such a loaded term in my mind and comes with a horribly overwhelming sense of shame.) She even offered to pay me back from the $8 or so she has in an account, bless her. So I let her sit with her decision-making for a little bit as she debated which earrings she wanted most and then we compromised, thanks to the store's 'Buy 2 pairs, get a 3rd pair free' offer, and decided we'd both get one pair and that'd mean her second pair would be free.

One the bus home she seemed really tired - that girly downtown shopping takes it out of you - but we'd had a great time, I loved spoiling her and it was a pleasure to let her decide what she really wanted to get and pick things out together. Vicky says I should definitely do the same for her when her birthday rolls around later this year! Hmmm, nice try! ;-)

Wohoo, I did it again!

I can't believe I forgot to post this. I'm so pleased that another of my photographs made it as the poster for this year's Art in the Garden event, put on by North Vancouver Arts Council! That's twice in three years.

Even though the actual event took place a couple of weeks ago already, I'm thrilled that another of my favourite photographs was used and both the website banner and the poster look amazing. BIG SMILE :-)

What's more, I even found it featured on a different website too, Alliance for Arts and Culture.

Unfortunately the images below are fairly low res versions, but are all I have at this point though my friend has apparently saved a couple of the printed posters for me.