I was going to post about Blog Out Loud Ottawa (#boloottawa) but that's going to have to wait because I want to tell you all about something that's happening tomorrow.

The text reads:

"The Honourable Dr. Hedy Fry, Member of Parliament for Vancouver Centre and Federal Liberal  Health Critic, will be joined by the Canadian Breast Cancer Network to discuss the tabling of her Private Member’s Bill calling for a National Metastatic Breast Cancer Day on October 13th of each year. The Canadian Breast Cancer Network will be represented by Ms. Niya Chari, Government Relations Manager. Ms. Laurie Kingston will represent the Metastatic Breast Cancer community."

I paused for a moment at the description of my role at the table but then realized how very accurate it is. As much as I wish I didn't have metastatic breast cancer, I am very proud to consider myself part of the MBC community. I'm among some very good, smart, organized, supportive, strong advocates for change.

Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day has already been designated by the US Congress and Senate. A Canadian MBC Awareness Day won't effect change on its own but it's a step in the right direction.

I'm still feeling crappy, so I thought I would share something that really makes me smile.

I met Claudia at the 2009 Conference for Young Women Affected By Breast Cancer. Every time I saw her, she was wearing a very different and very funky hat.

This one, made from coffee filters was one of my favourites:




When Claudia was diagnosed with breast cancer, she launched the She Arts Project: "a collaboration with 30+ Artists with photographs from Meg Luther Lindholm."

The photographs eventually became part of an travelling exhibit. You can see more of them here.

I love this kind of thing.

And I posted about it for BlogHer.

I won't say the search wasn't traumatic:

I rejected suits that didn't cover my scars, that were two big, too small or both at the same time. I worked up a sweat trying to get tangled bathing suit straps over my shoulders, often resulting in a look that was reminiscent of a wrestling uniform. I cried a little bit. Regular suits left me feeling too exposed and mastectomy suits bagged on the chest when I was not wearing a breast form.

You can read the rest of the post here. I even posted a picture of myself, wearing the swimsuit.

I didn't get to far on my to-do list this month but these are accomplishments (the doing and the writing) of which I am proud.

Few topics are as controversial as assisted suicide. It's currently illegal in Canada but recently, a Canadian woman with an irreversible debilitating illness travelled to Switzerland, where the group Dignitas provides assistance with suicide, legally.

I think most of us have contemplated our own deaths. When you live with metastatic cancer, it's impossible not to do so. I'm hoping that moment for me is in the distant future, but I find the prospect of a long, lingering death from cancer to be terrifying. However, is it more terrifying than the prospect of death itself?


I differentiate that from euthanasia because I think the term I use clarifies the willing and conscious participation of the person facing death. Am I kidding myself that this is a distinction that can be maintained? 

What would you want to do when the end comes? 

I'm certain that I believe assisted suicide should be legal. I don't know what I would do, if faced with a choice.

My baby turned 8 on Friday. I love him so much.

I am wiped.

I had a CT scan at 7:15 this morning (and we got back late from family adventures in Toronto), so of course I didn't sleep last night, worrying about over-sleeping (as it turned out I had made a mistake setting the alarm but I woke up anyway) and of course about some horrible mass that could be growing on my innards (I have no reason to anticipate bad news but this never stops me from being anxious).

S. and D. were BOTH home today with different viruses picked up over the week end. One is hacking and coughing and sneezing and one has a stomach bug. My immune system feels very threatened.

I am so tired that I'm hysterical and letting my inner hypochondriac run wild (I am half-convinced I have swine flu).

So, instead of words of wisdom, I give you some other wise women's words:



I first saw this video at the conference I went to recently, for women with advanced breast cancer, when Living Beyond Breast Cancer unveiled it there. With several women in the video present for the viewing (and several others represented were women I met in Dallas).

It was very, very moving.

I was talking to my friend Nicole today and she told me she'd seen the video online. I cried again today when I watched it. It also makes me realize that nothing I have to say on living with metastatic breast cancer is remotely original.

Watch it. These women are more inspiring then Susan Boyle.

Seriously.

Tomorrow is a chemo day. Hope to be writing again by Wednesday.

Exactly how often should someone living with metastatic breast cancer undergo the tests that monitor our health?

These CT scans, ultrasounds and MRIs are inevitably nerve-wracking, expensive (even if we don't pay for them out of pocket) and sometimes come with a risk of cancer inherent in the test itself. Cancer patients waiting for tests results refer to being in a state of "scanxiety." 

It's impossible to describe what it feels like to wait for test results, unless you've been there.

And those of us with metastatic breast cancer go through it over and over again. It's brutal.

When you live with metastatic cancer, one of your greatest challenges is balancing potentially life-saving interventions with the quality of the life you're keen on saving. It's important to check often enough that you catch any change quickly but not so often that you spend your entire life waiting for tests, undergoing tests and then waiting for results. 

Because that can be paralyzing.

I was speaking to a friend last week who was considering delaying scheduled scans by a few weeks. She said that it  had been implied that she wasn't fighting the way she once had. This made me furious on her behalf, as I can completely understand her need for a period of sanity, when cancer isn't always at top of mind.

In my case, I have the advantage of being in remission and the disadvantage of having an un-protected brain. I know it could just be a matter of time until the next brain tumour. I want to be able to catch it quickly. I also want to stop living my life from scan to scan.

I currently have brain MRIs every three months, at the suggestion of my surgeon. My oncologist would like me to wait until I'm symptomatic but I just can't do that. I have symptoms all the time. Symptoms of brain tumours include headaches, irritability, nausea and clumsiness. Who doesn't feel any of those things from time to time? 

My last scan was April 10. On April 14 my lovely GP called me and opened with the line, "Want to hear the good news?" 

All is well and I can wait another three months until I go through all of this again. 

Or maybe I'll let it stretch to four.

I had a breakthrough moment a few weeks ago. I've written quite a few posts over the last few years about the loss of identity I experienced as a result of having to leave the full-time work force. Letting go of my identity as a long-hour-working-communications-research-professional-activist-labour-staffer was really hard.

Since going into remission (and no longer feeling that fighting for my life was my main job) I've done an awful lot of navel gazing and spent a lot of hours in therapy trying to figure out who I am, since I no longer define myself by The Job.

Sacha, my perceptive and thoughtful son sent me a link to a wonderful article and inspiring article by Jesse Thorn. His instincts were right- I've been looking for my Thing.

I think I've been putting too much weight on each new idea, though. Every potential project would need to give me a new identity - provide the answer for when someone asks "What do you do?" 

But the truth is that no project can fulfill all of anyone's needs. And I was scaring myself off of trying new stuff because I was afraid that it wouldn't work out and that I'd be searching all over again. 

My "aha!" moment came with what should have been a pretty straightforward realization. I'm not looking to redefine myself. Overall, I'm pretty happy with who I am. What I want is to feel fulfilled, purposeful and happy.

I will never be able to define myself with just one word. I am a mother, wife, friend, writer, lover of dogs and books, social observer, activist in and out of the armchair and, occasionally, an opinionated bitch.

My Thing doesn't have to be my everything. I just need to figure out the things I love to do and allow myself the time to do them. I need to be brave and take risks but if today's Thing doesn't work out in the long run, that's OK too.

I may never have a few short words with which I can define myself at cocktail parties but I hardly every go to those anyway. Life isn't about creating an identity that others can understand and judge. Life is about living in the best way that I possibly can.

A few years ago, I worked my way through the Artist's Way. I found the process to be extremely helpful in getting me past my writer's block and I followed the program dilligently - except for one component. In all twelve weeks, I did the Artist's Date exactly once.

I know in my head that play time fills the soul. And I know that the repetitive motions of knitting can spark creativity and be enormously soothing. Yet I seldom set aside time just to knit unless I'm watching a movie with my kids,out on a knit date or on a road trip. And I know, too that I chose knitting as my play because I usually have a product at the end that someone can use. This makes the time easier to justify.

But human beings need to play in order to be happy. And the benefits of creative time spill over in to so many other aspects of our lives. Blondie, one of my favourite bloggers wrote in a recent post she wrote after a night of insomnia:

...I got up and went to the couch. Sitting on the footrest was the latest cross stitch project I've been working on. It hadn't been touched since sometime last week. I can't even remember when I started it? I picked it up and worked on a little flower. In no time at all, I felt my body and spirit relaxing. I realized I was holding my entire body slightly UP and in a very unusual and stiff way. I was wound up TIGHT. If you touched me, I probably would have zapped you with a long, blue, electric arc. But after a half hour of stitching, I was much more calm. Even the kittehs seemed more relaxed. Collectively, we were detoxing. And after I made some good stitching progress, I made myself go lie back down and try to sleep. Eventually, I did.

Blondie called her post "Prescription for Art." I think this is perfect. Indulging our creative needs should not be an afterthought but a prescription for mental health and happiness. As Blondie points out in her post, art is good for our bodies and our spirits. We should all make time for it. The product need not be perfect. It's the process that matters.

We can't all make great, or even good art. But perhaps this prescription applies most of all to those of us who would never call ourselves "artists." We can all seek inspiration in the world (and from art of all kinds) to make stuff and make ourselves a little happier.

Are you getting tired of the relentless self-promotion? Well, like the book, I am Not Done Yet.

I do, however, promise a return to regular programming (at least temporarily) very soon.

Folks have been asking where they can buy my book so I thought I should pull that info together in to one post:

• You can buy the book directly from the publisher (the glitch on the order form has been fixed and it should work easily now). You can link to Women's Press any time, by clicking the photo of the book on the right.

• You can order from Octopus books (or drop in and buy it if you live in Ottawa). And, if you live in Canada, ask your local book store to order the book (this may even work in the US). Please support your local independent book store.

• You can also place an order through Chapters (although the statement that the books usually ships in 3-5 weeks is a bit disconcerting

• The book can be ordered from Amazon.com but not, for some reason, through Amazon.ca.

• Finally, you can order the book directly from me (I have run out but have ordered more). This is the way to get a signed copy. I charge the price of the book and whatever it costs me to mail it (plus GST, in Canada). If you want to go this route, you can email me at "laurie DOT kingston AT gmail DOT com.

Please do let me know if you encounter any bumps when you try to buy the book, so that I can make things right.

Dear Daniel,

Yesterday, you turned 10. In honour of this momentous event, I thought I would list just a few of the things I love about you:

You cherish being funny. Your humour ranges from the brilliantly witty to jokes that have a lot to do with farts.

You are sensitive and full of empathy.

You are fully awake from the moment you open your eyes, every day. Sometimes, you complete the sentence at dawn that you started before you fell asleep the night before.

You revel in making others smile. You take great pride in being "a nice guy."

You will make up silly walks the whole way to school.

Some mornings, you say "I'm awesome" or "I love being me." These words fill my heart to bursting with happiness.

You have your own sense of style and the confidence to be yourself.

Your enthusiasm for life and it's adventures is completely contagious. I enjoy almost everything more when I do it with you.

You are a voracious reader. You love words and language and you use them with great dexterity (if you don't know this word, you can go look it up).

You wear you heart on your sleeve. The people you care about know they are loved.

You make me happy every day of my life.

I love you to the edge of the universe and back, multiplied by infinity.

I have some good but also personally nerve-wracking news. I'm going to be reading next week at Blog Out Loud. That means I'm going to be reading a post I wrote on this blog OUT LOUD. In front of people.

What was I thinking?

Actually, I am very proud of myself for submitting a post to this annual event and prouder still for having been chosen (although this pride is mixed liberally with "why me?"). Blog Out Loud is organized by the fabulous Lynn Jatania and this year the event will be part of Ottawa Writers Festival. So after next Tuesday, I get to say that I've read at Writers Fest. How cool is that?

Here are the details:

What: 11 bloggers read their favourite post of the past year

Who: Anyone who likes to hear good stories or see amazing images is invited to attend

When: April 29, 2014, 6:30 p.m. SHARP
Where: Knox Presbyterian Church, 120 Lisgar Street, Ottawa.

There is no charge to attend.

I'd love to tell you which post I'll be reading but I've been asked to make it a surprise. You'll have to come to Blog Out Loud to find out.

Mary Beth Volpini kindly agreed to review my book for our group blog, Mothers With Cancer:

There were entries that I laughed while reading… Monday, July 3, 2006 as her boys pretended to be Wolverine. The most touching entry to me… Wednesday, October 10, 2007 Etching Myself in their Memories … spontaneous tears ran down my cheeks right there in the hair salon. I share those same haunting thoughts.

I am glad that I had the chance to learn more about Laurie. I applaud her courage, her creativity and her approach to life. “Metastatic cancer has not ended my life; it has just caused me to live my life differently.” If my story becomes more similar to Laurie’s, I hope I proceed with the same courage and positive outlook.

You can read the rest of the review here.

Mary Beth is an artist and you can see some of her work, at her personal blog.

Earth Day is also D. Day. And a good day to look back over the last six years:

2003

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

Happy birthday to a wonderful boy.

I got my CT results yesterday - via a very casual voice mail message:

"This is A. calling from the Cancer Centre. Your scans were normal. Thank you."

So there you have it. That's almost three years clean now.

And now on to making two birthday cakes (D. is 7 today), cleaning the house and doing the myriad things one needs to do before going away for a few days.

I'm not living the life I imagined for myself, but I'll take it.

Actually, I have.

Someone posted a link to Hyperbole and a Half on Facebook this morning and I was so tickled (and so willing to procrastinate that I got sucked right in. I now have no time to write but I think you'll enjoy her more anyway.

photo: L. Steer

"As a survivor, I appreciated her candor on everything from alternative practitioners who blamed her cancer on her negative body image to the way she describes a summer evening walk with a friend that ends with strawberries and whipped cream. The medical and the mundane knit together a complete picture of what it is to live with cancer that might be controlled but never cured."

- Lorri Steer, from her review of Not Done Yet on her blog, Terrible And Beautiful.

1. According to an article in the Globe andMail, women and men respond very differently when they are on the recieving end of an apology:

“Women who are starved of an apology for rude or hurtful behaviour suffer an increase in blood pressure which can raise the risk of a heart attack or stroke, a study found,” The Daily Telegraph reports. “But those who hear a well-timed ‘sorry’ calm down more quickly, with their blood pressure returning to normal 20 per cent faster, the research showed. Conversely, a man’s blood pressure takes 20 per cent longer to recover after an apology – suggesting men become more worked up after hearing an admission of guilt.”

2. My sister sent me an article from the CBC web site this morning, about a colossal cookbook typo with the subject line "Oops." I've made some pretty big errors by not proofreading properly but this tops it all.

3. My friend, O. posted a story to Facebook today, with the headline "Woman with parrot perched on face arrested after throwing inhaler." Note to self: Don't throw an inhaler while a parrot is standing on your face. You will be arrested.

4. I'm still waiting for my CT scan results, which could be why I'm letting myself be distracted by all this silliness.

I have a project.

It's taking some planning and a fair bit of work. It won't change the world but it will make my world  a more fun, brighter place. At least I think so. It may even inspire a few people.

I'm not working alone but I'm not sure how many of us there will be. It's something I've been wanting to do for years but an awesome friend proposed a date and an action plan. We're being a little bit subversive, a little bit creative, a little bit brave and deliberately frivolous.

I think I need more fun in my life. I need to do some things just because they make me happy, not aiming for perfection, not trying to be "productive" and not with any particular purpose in mind. We're just going to put our heads together, set our hands to work, make a leap into action and then sit back and see what happens.

I'm having fun.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, then you know how I feel about corporations selling pink crap in the name of "breast cancer." I even have a "don't buy pink crap" tag that use pretty regularly, especially in October.

There have been some pretty awful pink products sold over the years but in launching "Buckets for the Cure," KFC and Susan G. Komen for the Cure have sunk to what may be a new kind of low.

This stupefyingly bad idea was brought to my attention by Clergy Girl, in a post called "Buckets Of Saturated Fat For The Cure" over at Mothers With Cancer. She writes:

This was a sell-out Komen.  Did you ask anyone with breast cancer how they would feel seeing that big pink greasy bucket of chicken?  Was someone going to lose their job if you didn’t raise cash quick?  I really don’t get it?  Research also shows smoking and alcohol consumption are clear links to cancer, so why not team up with Marlboro or Bud Beer?  It’s not just about money, and quite frankly, don’t raise money on the backs of research that is clearly linking to cancer promotion.  Please!

Shame on Komen for lending it's name to this outrage.

I don't have the energy to write anything of substance today, so I thought I'd share a little bit of silliness from my writing class last night.

Our teacher instructed us to "write about the Beatles" and this is what happened for me:

"When I think of the Beatles, I think of the Rolling Stones. I was a teenager in the 80s and both groups had already passed into iconic status. Which band was better in my mind? The answer, to my adolescent self anyway, seemed obvious.

Paul was cute. John was smart (and tragic) and I couldn't even imagine what the other two guys looked like. But Mick...Mick was hot. With those eyes, those lips, that hair. And those hips.

I couldn't have told you whose music was better, more complex, which group would have staying power. 

I just knew that the Beatles were pretty but Mick made me feel warm in places this Catholic girl wasn't supposed to think about."

Last night, I had dinner with my good friend Sharon, who has twice been treated for breast cancer. She's well now but we got to talking about asking for help during treatment.

We both had teams of people, providing all kinds of support during our health care crises. We were fed, entertained and accompanied to appointments. My kids were distracted and cared for, my dog was walked. My friends even paid to make sure that someone would come and clean my house while I was recovering from surgery.

To me, feeling healthy and strong again means requiring a lot less help. I speak with my oncologist over the phone. I breeze through echocardiograms. I walk or ride my bike to appointments. I even go to my regular Herceptin treatments by myself most of the time.

I feel fine about all this. I like being independent and I don't want to ask people for support when it's really not needed.

But sometimes it is.

On May 2, I have a brain MRI. These are always fraught with anxiety for me. My head is wedged into place and then encased in a small tube. And it's unbelievably noisy. I'm reasonably good at self-soothing and yogic breathing but as I force myself not to mind the physical discomfort, I start to worry about results. What will the radiologist see in my images? What can the technical staff see, as they test is being done?

There is not enough meditation or Ativan in the world to make this a pleasant experience.

Tim has come with me to my last few MRIs but on May 2nd we have a child care conflict. I was contemplating going alone when I was reminded by my conversation at dinner that there was another option: asking for help. 

When I got home, I logged on to Facebook:

Within minutes, I had a friend who offered to go with me and someone who said they'd be backup. And there were so many others who couldn't go but who sent their love and support or said they'd be there with me in spirit.

And they will be.

Note to self: Ask for help, even if you think you don't really need it. You'll be very glad you did.

Yesterday afternoon, my baby fell asleep on my chest.

He's almost 8 now and it had been years since this happened. He had two late nights followed by two early mornings, and he'd been tired and cranky. I suggested we curl up in bed for some quiet time. He had a new book to crack open and he was keen.

But after awhile he grew restless. We talked about putting on a movie. I told him I felt tired and lazy. He said he did, too. After a few moments of lying quietly, his breath began to slow.

Suddenly, he sat up, “Mama, could you stop feeling so lazy. I thought we were going to watch a movie!”

“We could do that,” I answered. “But I thought we were going to have a little snooze first.”

To my surprise, he said, “OK. I'll have a little snooze.” He put his head on my chest, and within seconds was sleeping soundly.

We lay there like that for more than an hour (at one point he woke up, said “Where'd my book go?” I said, “You've been sleeping.” He said “Oh!” and went back to sleep), and I was blissed out. I was happy to have my book within reach but I spent a long time just looking at him, listening to him breathe and loving the feel of his weight on my chest.

As I said, this was the first time this had happened in years. And it was quite possibly the last.

All too soon, he woke and we went on with our afternoon. If I close my eyes and listen to my own slow breaths, I can still feel his weight on my chest.

By Peter H Reynolds.

Found via http://www.themavenofmayhem.com/.

The drama.

The excitement.

The friendship.

The laughter.

The rejection.

The politics.

The blood.

The boredom.

The creativity.

The anger.

The joy.

The noise.

The complete and utter exhaustion.

It was a roller coaster, I tell you. Twenty-five Grade 5 kids and three adults on a field trip to the National Gallery of Canada.

It was fun but it really knocked the stuffing out of me.

...and so can, I would wager, anyone who has been harassed by  condescended to infantilized by dealt with an insurance company on health related matters.

Especially if you have been on long-term disability for any length of time, you can expect regular correspondence. Blogger Katherine describes this experience:

"But as sure as the swallows return to Capistrano, every March CIGNA sends me information on its Cancer Support program. Last year’s began “Good health is a gift.” This year’s reads like a grade school report:


Dear KATHERINE O’BRIEN:


The American Cancer Society estimates that two men and one in three women will face cancer in their lifetime. Although these are scary statistics, CIGNA HealthCare wants you to know we’re here to help…"

Most of us just sigh, groan, maybe yell a little and then toss the letters into the recycling bin (unless it is one of the letters making demands to send information we have alread sent them SEVERAL TIMES. Then we scream a little louder, call the company, get transferred to voice mail, leave a message and then never hear back, send the info as requested and then get ANOTHER LETTER requesting the SAME INFORMATION and scream some more. Or maybe that's just me.). After years of this kind of correspondence, Katherine decided to write back (CIGNA is her insurance company):

"Dear DOUG:


Thank you for your letter of March 2010! I couldn’t agree more that good health is a gift! I was blown away that you want to help me make the most of it.


It was gratifying to know that “as health care claims are submitted to us, we review them and identify steps you might take to help improve your health.” Gosh. I feel a little guilty. I mean, you are poring over my health claims and I am doing bupkis for you. Maybe I could clean out the coffee room fridge in Bloomfield some time? Police the parking lot? Just let me know.


As you might have gleaned from your research, I have metastatic breast cancer. My doctor says that in 2010, there’s no cure for metastatic breast cancer. Of course that’s what she said in 2009. So I do intend to doublecheck in 2011. I will keep you posted...


...I think it is important to take care of me, too. I see Dr. Gaynor once a month. It might be hard to see her more regularly than that. Unless she wants to join my mahjong group. I will make inquiries."

You can read the rest of the letter and Katherine's post about it on her blog, ihatebreastcancer. Thanks to Anna Rachnel (ccchronicles) of The Cancer Culture Chronicles for telling us about Katherine's letter via Twitter.

For this blogger turned author, the BlogHer review of Not Done Yet was the among those for which I waited the most eagerly and with the most trepidation.

Denise Taunton, Community Manager (she also regularly blogs the Health and Wellness beat) was tasked with writing the review. Her post came out today:I am channelling Sally Field this evening.



"She (Denise Taunton, not Sally Field) likes me, she really likes me!" Or at least she really liked my book.

"I've read Not Just About Cancer for years and knew Laurie's story would make a compelling book, if she could only manage to pull the "right posts" and emotionally handle the process.

After reading the review copy of Not Done Yet, graciously sent to me by Laurie, I can say without reservation - she did it. She has written an excellent book."

You can read the rest of the review here.

I am thrilled (I celebrated with a glass of wine and a bubble bath, so forgive me if this is less than coherent).

Tomorrow, I am helping to escort 25 Grade Five students to the National Art Gallery. And I still haven't recovered from the week end (and literally running around with a sick 5 year old today). April is proving to be very, very busy. It feels so good to be able to complain about it.

Have you ever blogged about the search for a bathing suit?

Are charcoal barbecues worse for our health and the environment than gas barbecues?

How do you organize your time and set priorities so that the most important things get done?

Did you watch Glee last night? Did you think that it wasn't as good as you remember?

How much do you need to spend on a bicycle if you plan to use it to boot around town, a few days a week from spring to late fall and you want it to last a really long time?

How do you take care of coloured hair when you swim regularly?

Also, I dreamed that my cat came back from the dead. Do you remember your dreams? What do you think this one meant?

D. is getting a day off after the long week end because of a cold, which has him good spirits but coughing a lot (he insists it's "not a day off when you're sick!").

He is currently watching back-to-back black and white Popeye episodes from the 1930s (he has seen these many, many times and loves them) and I probably should go be a parent.

Here's a link to post that the wonderful Blondie wrote about my book. It really, really moved me.

I had a dream a few nights ago.

My kids were in a giant flash mob, dancing their hearts out, surrounded by dozens of other kids and adults. They were exuberant and focused, their movements fluid and in synch with those around them. My heart swelled with pride and joy.

I learned that the flash mob had been created to drum up excitement over an upcoming performance. In a couple of hours, my kids would go on stage and perform. I could tell they were ready.

Then I was handed a note. My own performance was scheduled for right after theirs. I was wholly unprepared. I hadn't even looked at my script. I was rushing off to find it when my alarm went off.

Sacha was in a play very recently. And they did organize a flash mob a week before the performance, as a form of advertisement. And Sacha performed beautifully. My heart did swell with pride.

In part, my subconscious might have been remembering the play but I choose to believe that I was also sending myself a message.

Life with metastatic breast cancer is filled with uncertainty. But no matter what happens, my kids will be fine. They are smart, talented, resourceful and resillient. They have friends and family who love them. My kids will be alright.

Five year old D. had a friend, N. over to play yesterday evening. For a while, I was alone in the house with them.

They were playing upstairs, when I heard a loud, "Thump!"

Me: "Are you boys OK up there?"

D. and N. (in unison): "Don't come up!"

Me: "If I come up, will I get mad?"

N.: "You'll get mad!"

So, I waited five minutes and then I went upstairs. All evidence of whatever had happened had been cleaned up. The boys were playing quietly.

This is clearly an example of how what I don't know can't hurt me.

I watched last night's English language election debate with interest. I was shocked at how quickly the two hours passed, although this was greatly aided by the fact that I wrote and read a steady stream of commentary on Twitter and Facebook (sorry to my followers and friends who don't give a damn about the Canadian federal election!). It helped me to keep watching without blowing a gasket. I felt like I was at a bar with friends hooting and hollering, except that I was in my basement drinking tea with my son and my spouse (another advantage to Tweeting during the debate was that I had to keep looking down at my Blackberry. This kept the orange decor from searing my retinas and Harper's cold eyes from turning me to stone).

I thought that all the opposition party leaders did well. Duceppe delivered the best opening line ("Congratulations, Mr. Harper, for answering your first question from a citizen during this election campaign.") but petered off  towards the end. It's got to be brutal doing a two-hour debate in one's second language. By and large, I find it a pity that the Bloc only speaks for Quebec, as they are so consistenly solid on most social issues. They lose me, however, when it comes to questions of immigration and multi-culturalism. Nationalism and multiculturalism don't go so well together.

Layton was calm and measured and many people with whom I've spoken found his performance to be much stronger than in previous debates. Personally, I would have liked him to be a bit more aggressive, as he left it to Ignatieff to drive home the points that are near and dear to my heart. Kudos to him for mentioning proportional representation and for this seriously funny (but cheap) line: "I don't know why we need more prisons when the crooks seem so happy in the Senate."

I thought the evening, however, belonged to Ignatieff. He stayed on message (although I found "You shut down what you can't control" to be more effective the first time he said it than the tenth) and was forceful and articulate. He hit all the right notes on all the key issues and challenged Harper on gun control, immigration, crime, health care and transparency. He looked positively Prime Ministerial (my favourite Iggy line of the night, "This isn't bickering Mr. Harper. It's democracy.")

Is any of this going to change my vote? Absolutely not. I remember when the Liberals were in power and they were singing from a different songbook then. Happily, my NDP candidate is an incumbent who has done an excellent job, locally and for the country. I'll vote for Paul Dewar and I won't even have to hold my nose.

But if I lived in a riding where the race was one between the Tories and the Liberals? I just might be voting strategically this time around.

Perhaps none of it will make a difference though. All the pundits who did wrap-up commentary last night seemed to agree that Harper had won the evening. Even my beloved Chantal Hébert was unhesitating in her praise of Harper's performance. Did Canadians watching at home feel the same way? Did undecided voters? Do any undecided voters watch the debates?

I can't recall a time when I have felt as strongly about voting. I keep reading assertions that if all eligible voters under 25 and all women voted, Harper would be out on his ass.

Let's make that happen, shall we?

I have a new post up at Frivolity about how I'm going to sing my little heart out with a bunch of other people.

"Despite the fact that I've been told since I was young that I can't carry a tune, I love to be in the middle of a room of voices raised in song. It feels to me like being embraced. Usually, I start with mouthing the words and get braver as the event continues.This May Day, I'll sing right along with everyone else, in memory of a wonderful activist and lover of music. If you live in the Ottawa area, come join us at Gil's Hootenanny in singing "Songs of Protest and Hope" on May 1st."

You can read the rest of this post at getfrivolous.com.

I've been thinking a fair bit about my last two posts.

First thing:

After writing my post about the lack of privacy in the chemo unit at the cancer centre, I was encouraged by several readers to follow my words with some action. I went to the Ottawa Hospital website and filled in the feedback form with a brief comment and a link to my post.

On Tuesday (the first business day after the long week end), I got a phone call from a "patient advocate" at the hospital. She was calling to let me know that they'd received my message and to ask permission to look into my medical files in order to determine with whom they should follow up (I was so stunned by this phone call that that it didn't occur to me until just now that they didn't need my medical info; they already knew that I was writing about the chemo unit and I could have just told them the date and time of my treatment. The irony in my  readily agreeing to this invasion of privacy, so they could follow up on a post about privacy is not lost on me). 

I was impressed to get the call and I have since been wondering about all the times that far more egregious things have happened at the hospital (as well as some equally wonderful things) and how I could have acted on them quite easily. On the other hand, no promise has been made to actually do anything or even to report back to me. The advocate said that I "may notice an improvement" the next time I go for treatment. And if I don't, she said I should fill out the feedback form again.

Second thing:

My last post was the first one I have ever considered taking down after publishing. I don't actually think that I'm a bad friend, generally speaking. I just have days when I tend to dwell on my regrets. In writing the post, I thought that by naming this shame, I might be able to let go of it a little.

I have a tendency to see the world in terms of right and wrong, good and bad (at the risk of sounding totally flaky, I am a textbook 1 on the enneagram scale). This can make me a little (ahem) judgemental  One of the things I like about myself is that, as I have aged and lived, I have also mellowed and come to understand that, a lot of the time, there are very many shades of grey. However, I still tend to be hardest on myself.

One of the things I'm working on is learning to let things go, forgive and move on, without repeating the same mistakes. Progress is not always linear but without a doubt, I am progressing.

“I felt like a snake having to shed its old skin... I mourned each layer of myself as I imagined it loosening and separating from me before I sloughed it off and watched it fall to the ground: my resilient good health, my identity, my hopes for a vibrant future. The shedding of each successive layer left me even more naked, raw and vulnerable. At that point, I had no sense that there was any regeneration underway or that there would be anything to replace the parts of myself I was losing.”

-Tamara Levine, ButHope is Longer: Navigating the Country of Breast Cancer.

Being diagnosed with breast cancer changes you, irrevocably. In But Hope is Longer, Tamara Levine writes beautifully of her own transformative process. She also, in sections called Reflections, looks back on her experience with the benefit of time and a clear-eyed analysis. Finally, she interviews all of her caregivers from those at the cancer centre, to her naturopathic doctor to her life coach - bringing together their insights on treatment and patient care. The result is a book like no other.

For Tamara, the writing process began with a series of Healing Journey letters she wrote to family and friends. In these letters, she brings loved ones up to speed on what is happening with her but also shares her feelings, observations and the things she learns along the way. These letters helped Tamara to rediscover her love of writing and with these stories she shares her experiences from medical mishaps and mismanagement, getting on the right track, her celebration of friends, feelings about physical changes and the loss of her beloved father to leukemia. These are the pieces that very frequently left me with a lump in my throat.

In the sections she called Reflections, Tamara fill us in a bit more on what was happening during the times she wrote the letters. She also thinks back on the decisions she made, sometimes critically. Tamara doesn't mince words here, as she relays interactions with those closest to her and the experiences that were part of the treatment process. Most important of all, she concludes that the most serious flaw in breast cancer treatment in Canada is a lack of coordination across treatment areas (the caregivers themselves speak of working in “silos”) and makes the recommendation that this be addressed in the form of a “nurse navigator.”

“If we were to imagine a better process...what would it look like?...there is a centre for where women go for 'one stop shopping' for all the diagnostic and planning steps leading up to treating their breast cancer...We are warmly greeted by a nurse who has been specially trained for her role as 'navigator' who has taken the time to become thoroughly familiar with our file...she advises us as to what lies ahead, at least in the short term...She is available to us throughout the journey.”

This vision would transform the experience of cancer patients. I'm convinced it would also improve outcomes. I hope someone at my cancer centre who is in a position to create change reads this advice and takes it to heart.

The last thing Tamara does is interview her caregivers. Their comments are interspersed throughout and included in Voices of the Healers. Each one clearly cares about the outcome of every patient and all bemoan the lack of cooperation between treatment teams. In particular, I was struck by the willingness of the 'mainstream' oncologists and surgeon to engage with Tamara's naturopathic doctor as well as the humility and wisdom of each person who was interviewed. I've never seen the words of healers collected in this way and the result is powerful.

The very best of books stay with the reader and may even influence how they live their lives. As an ongoing cancer patient, I was very moved by But Hope Is Longer. I also initiated my own relationship with a naturopathic doctor (ND) after reading Tamara's book. My new doctor specializes in oncology and I'm very excited and grateful for this new relationship.

But Hope Is Longer is compulsively readable, full of clear, useful advice and includes the perspectives of those who spend their days thinking about how to better care for cancer patients. More than a breast cancer memoir, this is a book that everyone will want to read.

But Hope Is Longer:Navigating the Country of Breast Cancer (256 pages, $19.95) was released by Second Story Press in October, 2012. In Ottawa, it is available at Chapters, Octopus Books, Singing Pebble Books and Britton’s.  

*Originally published in the Glebe Report, on January 18, 2013.