Last week, I spent several days in a cabin on a very quiet island in Northern Ontario. It was bliss.

We were also completely offline. No phone, no electricity, no internet. I didn't mind one bit but it did serve to underline how often I have come to rely on Mr. Google to provide information. Here are just a few of the questions that went unanswered:

What is the difference between NASCAR and Formula 1?

What is the weather forecast?

What is fracking?

How do I knit cables without making holes in my knitting?

Who bought the Body Shop?

Why does the carbon-monoxide detector keep going off?

What are the health benefits of okra?

What are the ingredients in sweet potato pie?

What dogs are in the high risk group for bloat?

Are coffee grounds good for the septic system?

Is there a specific person assigned to travel with the Stanley Cup?  (The internet has failed me on this one! One link said there are three Hall of Fame staff who travel with the Cup but when I clicked through to the the article itself, the info was not included).

Among the many sentiments that can make me apopletic, the idea that if only women with breast cancer "stay positive", they will be just fine might just get to me the most.

I was pretty damn positive during my initial treatment for breast cancer and yet here I am. I remained postive through my five years of remission (and ongoing treatment) and I was relatively upbeat during my brain surgery, almost a year ago.

I think it's a good idea, generally, not to wallow in my sorrows because it's so much harder to live that way - but I don't think the positive live and the negative die. Not for a moment.

It's natural that we want to believe that survival after breast cancer is within our control and some things certainly are. But not everything. And I think that's why those of us living with breast cancer can make "survivors" feel kind of uncomfortable. We're they're worst nightmare.

There is a real temptation for news outlets and others wanting to highlight the positive during breast cancer awareness month (and at other times) by ignoring women with metastatic breast cancer completely.

katherine O'Brien  (of I Hate Breast Cancer) wrote to a local television station after just such an episode. Please take 5 minutes to watch. Your jaw will drop, I promise.

Click here to watch Breast Cancer Awareness. Stay Positive 2.0

I'm positive that I take great comfort and inspiration from women like katherine and others living with metastatic breast cancer who are not afraid to speak out.

It's the very last day of "breast cancer awareness" month and I have a post up at Mom 2.0 Summit, "Pinkwashing won't cure breast cancer":

"I care about bringing an end to breast cancer. As someone who has lived with the illness since first being diagnosed in 2006, I care very much. However, I don’t think buying fried chicken in a pink bucket or a pink screwdriver is going to change very much at all."

I also wrote a post for BlogHer for Metastatic Breast CancerAwareness Day, "I'm sick of cancer but it won't be a good day when my treatment stops":

“Women with metastatic breast cancer never really fit in with others in the breast cancer community. To those who finish treatment, embrace the word “survivor," talk about “winning their battle" and never looking back, we represent the worst that can happen. Who wouldn't want to believe that if you stay strong through treatment, stay positive and do everything right, you will get to leave cancer behind?”

I hate pink ribbons and pinktober for a whole host of reasons that I realize I can now rattle off in a two minute rant. Ask me some time. It could be my new party trick.

Something good was announced last week and I nearly missed it.

A news release from the Canadian Breast Cancer Network landed in my inbox last Wednesday. It contained the fantastic news that Kadcyla (formerly known as TDM-1) has been approved "on a time limited basis" for "HER-2 positive, metastatic breast cancer patients who have initiated or completed at least two lines of HER-2 targeted therapy and who have not received Kadcyla in previous lines of therapy."

This is very positive news. As I wrote in back in June, the drug was initially only approved for women in their "second line" of treatment which would exclude me. This despite the fact the many women in later phases of treatment have responded enormously well to the drug (each stage of chemotherapy/targeted therapy treatment is a "line." If one line fails or stops working, a patient is moved on to the next. I have been in my second line of treatment since being diagnosed with metastasis in November 2007.)

In other words, this announcement means that I, a woman with Her2+ metastatic breast cancer, will potentially be eligible for Kadcyla when if Herceptin fails.

This has been a rough week in Canada. The events of last Wednesday completely eclipsed this news, even for those of us who care deeply. I live in Ottawa. My kids' schools and my husbands office were locked down all day. My brother-in-law works at the House of Commons and was very close to where bullets were fired. I spent the day glued to my computer screen, watching the news and refreshing Twitter. Despite a host of rumours, it was a great relief to learn at the end of the day that there had only been one gunman but for much of the day, we just didn't know. It was harrowing. And such a tragedy.

I decided to wait for the dust to settle to post this little bit of news but then another big, sad story erupted on the weekend and I once again found myself glued to social media. Last night, there were some I follow posting pictures of kittens and puppies on Twitter, just to have something more positive to in their news streams. 

My contribution to adding #somethingnice to my Twitter stream. A dog in  Hallowe'en costume!

So while the dust hasn't settled, I wanted to share my own little bit of something positive. I'm just left wondering what "for a limited time" means. Will the province then withdraw coverage? Or is this like a trial to see if it makes sense to continue?

The Canadian Breast Cancer Network calls this "a step in the right direction." Let's hope the province takes more and more permanent steps soon. Let's keep the good news coming.

photo: Andrea Ross

A few years ago I wrote a list that I turned into a blog post called "whiskers on kittens." This is the opposite of that post, because sometimes you need to deal with fear head on:

Dying.

Getting old. (I'm aware of the irony of this.)

Heights.

Being a terrible writer and not realizing it. (I had a dream last night that a former boss morphed into my father and he/they said, "You don't write. You just throw words on paper.")

Dementia.

Being irrelevant.

Going blind.

Fears too big to name. (They involve loved ones and I'm just not going there.)

Being at a cocktail party with nothing to say.

Being forgotten.

Birds.

photo: Mark Blevis

Yesterday, municipal elections were held across Ontario. We elected our mayors, city councillors and school trustees. And I almost didn't vote.

I had a few friends ask me, in the days before the election, "Who are the progressive candidates? How are you voting?" I was at a loss to answer.

The truth is that our mayor, while not running unopposed, might as well have been. And while I acknowledge that he's very hardworking, I'm not a big fan.

My city councillor seems like a decent enough guy but I have not found him to be very responsive, the couple of times I've had to contact his office. I've also heard interviews with him, where he seems to arguing both sides of any given scenario. I'm not sure that makes him very effective at city hall. At any rate, he too seemed to running without any real opposition.

The candidate for school trustee was literally running without opposition, as he was acclaimed.

In my corner of Ottawa, the election was not very exciting and participation didn't seem compelling.

Then my kids overheard my spouse and I talking about the election and asked why I was considering not going to the polls on voting day. I had a hard time coming up with an answer that didn't sound apathetic and lazy to my own ears.

In 1988, I was part of an exchange program, that took me first to Alberta and then India. While we were overseas, a federal election was going to take place. At that time, people out of the country for an exchange program could not vote in advance polls or cast a special ballot (this loophole has long been changed). I was bitterly disappointed, as this would have been the first election since I had come of age.

The other thing I remember is that in my group of 7 Canadians (and seven Indians who looked on with interest), I was the only one who cared that we couldn't vote. As someone who bitterly opposed the sitting government, I wanted to have my say.

I have come to understand the perspective of some of my friends. We are not going to affect great change solely through the ballot box. I guess I've just decided that the ballot box is still important.

My kids are interested and engaged with the world around them. I don't want to send the message that their mother is apathetic or so jaded that she couldn't be bothered to walk three blocks to the polling station.

So I picked up my youngest from school yesterday and took him with me to vote. He watched me fill in my ballot and submit it for tabulation (electronic! Can anyone explain to me why we don't have this at the federal level?). In the end, I filled out my choice for councillor on the single ballot but didn't vote for any mayoral candidate. On the way home, we discussed how I had filled in my ballot and my reasons for making the choices that I did.

All over the world there are those who are denied the right to vote. As a woman, I have only had that right for a short part of my country's history. Showing up at the polls may not change much but I'm glad I have the chance to do so. And I want my kids to understand the range of options they can use to make their voices heard, even in a tiny way.

Yesterday morning, I got a call from Oresta. She told me that she had read my article in the Centretown Buzz and wanted to reach out to me.

Even though I love her store and spa (I asked for gift certificates for Christmas last year), I was not on her mailing list and had not received the letter that I posted above.

It's hard to read, so here is the text, in full:

OCTOBER is BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH

Pinkwasher: (pink’-wah-sher) noun. A company that pur-
ports to care about breast cancer by promoting a pink
ribboned product, but manufactures products that are
linked to the disease.

Dear clients,

ORESTA organic skin care confectionery is committed to providing organic spa
treatments and to supporting companies that manufacture truly pure and organic
products. We believe in beauty without compromising your health.

We have been touched by cancer in our families and with our clientele - as
cancer survivors and undergoing cancer therapy. The prevailing comment of clients
who have come in for a spa treatment while undergoing therapy was how nurturing a
visit to ORESTA organic skin care confectionery was for them.

We have wanted to help the cause but have struggled with a way to do this.
Do we donate a % of sales? a % of services? Do we fundraise? For which organiza-
tion or foundation? In the end, what feels right for us, is doing what we do best:
pampering.

If you, a friend or loved one is undergoing cancer therapy and would enjoy an
organic facial treatment, please contact us. We are committed to treating one
woman per week to a complimentary ORESTA treatment.

Oresta was calling to offer me a facial (I am going on Friday) but I offered to blog about this offer. She asked me to clarify that she and her staff will be offering this service to women undergoing treatment throughout the year - not just during October.

I am impressed and touched beyong words. Have any of you ever heard of anyone else doing this?

I told my spouse that, by coincidence, I had written in journal that morning that I would really like a facial. He said, "Tomorrow, could you write that you would really like a home renovation?"

As someone in ongoing chemotherapy, I have a compromised immune system. This puts me at increased risk for contracting H1N1.

I am among the priority groups established by the City of Ottawa, as is my family, and were it not for the hours long lineups (several centres closed the lineups by late afternoon), I would have had my shot yesterday.

I did call the oncologist yesterday to ask about interactions between Neupogen (the drug I take after chemo to boost my white blood cell count and fight infection). When I didn't hear back immediately I checked with the cancer centre receptionist who, told me (after checking with someone) that I should go ahead and get the shot.

Today, the nurse who works with my oncologist called and told me to wait.

The reasoning goes as follows:

Chemotherapy suppresses the immune system.

The flu shot is meant to boost it.

Having the H1N1 shot (or any other flu vaccine) too close to chemotherapy lessens the effectiveness of the shot.

Those of us getting chemo are instructed to wait to the end of the chemo cycle, get our bloodwork done (to ensure that our counts are high enough) and then get the shot the day before the next round of chemo.

This means that I will be waiting until November 10 for my H1N1 vaccine.

And washing my hands. A lot.

I just did an interesting writing prompt from Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg:

"Tell me what you will miss when you die."

The instructions were to write for ten minutes without censoring yourself. Here's what I wrote:

My kids

My spouse

My family

My friends

My dog

Beautiful fall days

Walks along the canal with my dog

Getting lost in a book

Taking a nap on a cold afternoon

Knitting with friends

The feeling of euphoria when I write something good

Music

Good food

Laughing

Wondering at art

A hot bath after exercise

Physical intimacy (all kinds)

The happy feeling when I unexpectedly run into someone I like

Learning new things

Aha! moments

Seeing people do good things

Being proud of my children

Noisy gatherings around my dining room table

Doing fun things for the first time

Doing familiar things that make me happy

Connecting creatively or intellectually

Making new friends

Having old friends and family members who 'get' me

Scrabble

Fresh starts

Clean sheets

Small kindnesses

Spectacular acts of bravery

Feeling proud of myself

The way the pavement smells after a summer rain

The possibility of tomorrow

What about you?

"Women with disabilities often experience health disparity. For instance, in a 2010 study of the barriers preventing women with disabilities from getting screened for breast cancer as often as is recommended, is, believe it or not, lack of physician recommendation. In other words, doctors don’t talk to women with disabilities about getting screened for breast cancer. This is often also the case for pap tests. In a Canadian study (PDF), women with disabilities reported often only receiving healthcare in the narrow area of what is directly related to their disability."

Did you know that women with disabilities often face huge barriers when it comes to breast cancer screening? A conversation with my friend Lene left my jaw on the floor (and I truly thought I'd heard it all). She's written about it on her blog, The Seated View. And be prepared, the duct tape reference is not a joke.

Thanks to everyone who came to the Toronto launch last night.

My face hurts from smiling and my heart is so full it could burst.

And the bookstore sold out the books.

I feel like a little kid again.

On August 15, I won a bike.

I was at the Ottawa Folk Festival and I bought three raffle tickets for five dollars. I told several people that I planned to win the third prize - a Kona Africabike 3, donated by McCrank's Cycles.

And then I did!

And here's the interesting part. I really, really wanted a new bike. I've been riding the same diamond frame (commonly called a men's bike) hybrid for almost twenty years. It's probably the wrong size for me and had started causing me neck and shoulder pain when I rode for more than a few minutes.

Over the summer, I test rode at least a dozen bicycles from four different bike shops. I came close to buying three times but each time, something held me back.

Our finances are really tight right now and I would have to commit to any bike I bought for a long time. And although several bikes I tried seemed fine, I didn't really love any of them. I had begun to think that I was just being too picky. I had pretty much resigned myself to spending a bit of money to fix up my old bike when the week end of the Folk Festival came around.

And then I won a bike that was nothing like any of the bikes I'd test ridden. And I love it.

With it's heavy frame (42lbs!) and big tires, it feels solid and safe to ride. I love how the coaster brakes (the kind where you stop by pedalling backwards) allow me to slow down gradually (there's a hand brake that helps me to stop quickly when I need to). I really only ever used seven speeds on my old bike, so I haven't really minded that my new bike has only three. The step-through frame means I can wear whatever I want to go cycling (and means that I have fewer excuses not to ride). And the "sit up and beg" style of riding means no pain and whole new way of taking in the world.

It's so much fun to ride! As I did all those test rides this summer, I kept waiting to fall in love and it just didn't happen. It turns out that the bike I needed was one I had been refusing to even consider (and that some of the features I had rejected are the ones I love the best).

For the first few days after I brought my bike home I'd sneak out to the garage just to admire it. I've even named it Steel Horse (because it's such a beast and after the song "I Am An Excellent Steel Horse" by Rock Plaza Central, a band I heard for the first time at this year's folk festival).

I've noticed that people smile at me when I ride my bike. I think it's because I'm grinning like an idiot.



When I was seven years old, I had a red bike with a yellow banana seat. That was my first bike and I've never loved another bike as much. Until now.

For every two Africabikes that are purchased, Kona donates one to it's Basic Needs program in Africa (these bikes were designed to be virtually maintenance free and to be easily ridden on the most rugged of roads). These bikes have been used to help health care workers to deliver HIV/AIDS drugs and to enable girls to travel longer distances to get to school.

If you live near Ottawa and are thinking of getting an Africabike (or any Kona bicycle) for yourself, please go to McCrank's Cycles. Peter Conway is a really good guy (and very generous!), who provides great bike service. He deserves your support.

I am sitting here writing while 3 ladies are in my house cleaning for us. First of all, I have never had someone come clean my house – why would I? I have time to clean, maybe not up to some people’s standards, but our house is clean enough considering we have a 14 month old running around here.

Does anyone realize how hard it is to sit here while they work? Well if you don’t, let me tell you, this is one of the hardest things I have done thus far. I feel like such a slug not helping them clean and get this, they are doing it free of charge. My good friend Angela found this website, cleaning for a reason, right when I was diagnosed. I called last week and they are here this week – cleaning our house. So, thank you Angela for finding this and sending it my way.

And for anyone out there who knows of anyone else going through chemo, or if you ever have to yourself, remember this website – www.cleaningforareason.org or ask me. This is going to be so helpful in the long run for me not to have to worry about cleaning and without worrying about it; I more than likely won’t feel guilty for not doing it. Well, I feel guilty right at this moment while they are here, but I am sure this too will pass.

I'm off to Toronto today to celebrate my book! If you're in town, come see me at the Toronto Women's Bookstore.

We'll have a little nosh, a little drink, I'll read from the book...I think it will be a nice evening.

Meanwhile, here's a link to a blog called "Incredible Women," where I am honoured to say that I am being featured today.

I think, well I am pretty sure I am about to start losing my hair. I was just giving Ian kisses and he pulled a wad of hair out. It still hurt, but none the less, two huge handfuls came out. And instead of me watching it fall it out a little everyday, I am just going to shave it off. Now, I am not going to shave it bald, but I am going to shave it as close to bald as I can.

If it continues to come out this easily for the rest of the week, I think I am going to have my hair shaving party this Sunday. If not this Sunday, I am assuming next Sunday will be a must. I will let you all know which Sunday as this week goes on.

I would like to invite anyone who would like to come over to come on over. Maybe we can do it around 4:00 and have some appetizers and drinks to go along – well, I can’t drink but y’all can feel free to. And I hate to ask this, but if you plan on coming, can you bring an appetizer dish to share with others. If you want to come, just email me and I will set everything up!

I have felt good today though. I have been tired and have had the “chemo glow” which is from the steroids. I haven’t really felt like eating much but have managed to get down enough to hold me over and not cause queasiness.

And I am hoping the sleeping pill will help tonight also. Sleeping does wonders for how I feel the following day. Sleep tight all and sweet dreams to me and to all.

If you'll recall, I was hesitant to have my port put on my right side because of my truncal lymphedema. I figured that if I'm not supposed to cut my right arm, or even have blood pressure taken on the side, then I probably shouldn't have surgery either. After all, I have very little lymphedema in my right arm and lots in my back and chest.

Well, I have even more now. And it's really uncomfortable. And the site of the surgery also became infected.

I was put on antibiotics for a week. At the end of the week, I saw only a tiny bit of improvement in the wound and the antibiotics had made me sick. And they made me weak enough that, as I was recovering from the antibiotics, I contracted a brutal gastrointestinal virus.

It's been five weeks since surgery and I still don't feel like myself.

And tomorrow, I have treatment.

But at least I'm writing again and riding my bike and going for walks. And the wound, is finally healing.

I think I need to put all of this in a letter to the hospital. An open letter.

Until then, I'm back. And happy to be here.

So, this isn’t the way I hoped to achieve this but hey, I can’t say I am upset by it! I decided to try on my favorite pair of old navy jeans on Saturday – an 8 Long and well, they fit very nicely. I haven’t been a size 8 since Eric and I started dating over 5 years ago. After we started dating it was all too easy to give up running 4 miles 4 or 5 times a week, go out to eat and drink way too much.

I never weighed myself back when I running all the time so I never really knew how much I weighed when I was a size 8. All I knew was how much I weighed when I was pregnant and let me tell you, gaining 40 pounds and seeing the scale go up sure wasn’t an easy thing.

But with this, I have come to appreciate my body just the way it is. I still have what I like to call “baby belly” and I have lost a lot of muscle tone being as I can’t workout like I am used to but I can look at myself and love me for me just the way I am – a size 8 or 10 and baby belly and all.

I am featured on a blog called "Women at Forty" today.

When I was aked to submit a post, I thought it would be appropriate to re-visit a post I wrote on the eve of my fortieth birthday.

I'm looking forward to writing my fiftieth birthday post. Only eight more years and countless clean scans to go.

Later this morning, my dog and I are going off on an adventure.

We're taking the train to Toronto and then piling into a van with two big Labradors and one of the people I love the most in the world. We'll drive several hours in a northerly direction and then we'll take a boat to a quiet island.

For several days, we will eat, talk, walk, read, I will knit and we will talk some more (or at least the humans will. The dogs will join in the walking part and will do their own share of eating). We will be completely off the grid.

On Thursday, we will pack up our gear into the boat and reverse the process to travel home.

This is the second time we have done this (although the first time for Lucy, my Tibetan Terrier). Last year, I had been teetering on the edge of a depression and came home feeling restored. This year, I'm in a much better space and absolutely giddy with anticipation.

There are lots of potential challenges - last year the boat wouldn't start but we were able to find the home of the guy who rents some. Whatever, comes up, though, we will have each other and some good stories to tell.

See you on the other side.

"Three years ago, I saw a story on the news while I was at the gym. An investigative feature on the breast cancer awareness contributions that various corporations pledged during Breast Cancer Awareness Month found that most of these promotions led to increased sales and windfall profits that dwarfed the piddling donations that the extra sales generated. Until that moment, I was gung-ho about buying products marked with pink ribbons."

And so begins the best article I have ever read on the subject of the pink-washing of October (and not just because the author says you should all go out and buy my book). Suzanne Reisman hits all the bases in this piece and does it with eloquence and a sense of humour.

If you have ever struggled to understand why some of us object to pinxploitation (I just made that word up), your questions will be answered.

As I sit here with my chemo being dripped into me, I don’t feel any different than I felt a little over a month ago before I knew any of this was going on inside of me. I still feel happy and alive with an inner peace knowing I am going to okay after this – hell, I am going to be better! I am by far the youngest person in the chemo room – yes, even younger than Eric who is sitting right here beside me. There seems to be much more commotion in here today than last time, but I might not remember all the details of last time being as I was so apprehensive of what was going to happen and when.

There is one man in here alone which makes me sad for him but he seems to be doing okay. Another man just walked in with his wife and he looks scared and a little pissed off. There is a lady to my left who literally has purple hair – I am not sure if she died it that color in the anticipation of it falling out soon or what? She has lots of visitors here with her, so I am guessing she is a first timer. There is a sweet old couple across from me who were here last time. The husband is getting the chemo and the wife sits there with him holding his hand. That is only my row; there are two other rows of people which seem just as busy. That tells me one thing; there are way too many people with cancer in this world.

Yowzers, my nose just got that “breathing cold air feeling” all the sudden. Honestly, I forgot all about that and it just took me by complete surprise.

I have been warned that I will more than likely be even more tired and with less of an appetite than last time, but if that is the worst of it, I can/will take that. My blood counts all look good still and the best news of all, my dr. says the tumor feels smaller to her (which is what I thought also) and feels not as dense – all great news and we know the chemo is working. And, I didn’t lose any more weight since last week, so everyone was happy with that. If I haven’t said this before, I am sure I will say it again – I love my doctor. When I told her about me having problems sleeping, she gave me a prescription for ambien. I told her I had heard of people getting “hooked” and did she see any truth in that. Her response was, well those people usually chase the pills with whiskey and go looking for hookers at the capital. If you can stay away for the last two, I think we are good. I LOVE HER – that is so something I would say to someone!

KILL BILL
While out on our sushi date last night, Eric and I decided to name this tumor. After thinking about it for a minute, Eric came up with Bill so when we refer to it, we can say KILL BILL!! So, when you see me write about Bill, know that it is the tumor I am referring to and I am not cheating on my husband like I cheated on Crystal – which I have total cheaters remorse about. My hair has not started falling out but is doing this weird puffing thing on top because it wasn’t cut right. OH WELL!

All in all, if my weird puffing hair is all I can think of that is the least bit wrong in my life right now, I know I am on the right path both mentally and physically. In a little over an hour, I will be 25% done with my chemo treatments!

All photos: K. Bruin

In October, I live in the most beautiful place in the world.

On, Thanksgiving week end (two weeks ago for those of you reading outside of Canada), my family was so fortunate to have a wonderful guest. My friend K. and I have been friends since we were 17 years old. We met as new room-mates in Room 1 of McLaughlin House at Lester B. Pearson College of the Pacific. She was there representing the Netherlands and I hailed from Hawkesbury, Ontario.

We became friends pretty much instantly, through struggles with friendships, school and heartbreak and whole lot of fun. We travelled to Vancouver together and she once took me out on a sail boat into the bay so I could engage in a little primal screaming.

In my second year, after she'd graduated, I missed her terribly. We've been lucky though. Work has brought her to Canada three times in the last five years and we've been able to spend time together. My family has fallen in love with her. And I can't wait until next year, when she comes back.

When we were at school together, we lived in a very beautiful place and I know that K. loves this country almost as much as I do. But until this year, she'd never seen Eastern Ontario on a beautiful fall day.

This year, we had a chance to rectify that and we took advantage of the long week end and the glorious fall weather to go for a walk in Gatineau Park. K. was the only one of us who took photos on our outing and she's given me permission to share them with you. My only regret? There are no photos of the two of us together. We'll have to rectify that next year.

A friend on Facebook shared a post by Alexandra Samuel about the practice of "leaning in" in the context of dealing with one of her kids' ongoing troubles with school:

Instead of the emergency visits that might come at any time, we decided to schedule daily visits to school, so both we and our kids would know when one or the other parent was going to appear. We told the teacher to count on our regular arrival time, and to set aside work we could do to be helpful while we were in the classroom. We opened our calendars, and made a schedule of who would cover which days. We stopped resisting, and decided to lean in.


“Leaning in” is the practice of accepting what you have tried to avoid, resist, or struggle against. As Tara Brach puts it in Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha,

As we lean in, we are inviting, moving toward what we habitually resist. Leaning in allows us to touch directly the quivering, the shakiness, the gripping tightness that is fear. Whether it is a familiar but vague feeling of anxiety or a strong surge of fear, leaning in can help us become aware and free in the midst of our experience.

This post has stayed with me. And in the last few days, I've re-read it many times. I have a few issues in my life that I have been avoiding and the anxiety is mounting, subtly but gradually. Perhaps it is time to lean in.

Daniel, who is eight years old, has been badgering us to let him walk the three blocks to school by himself. I'm not ready.

I've known for a while that this time was coming. Last year at this time, he was still holding my hand. Now he likes to walk a few steps ahead. I have to give him his hug goodbye before we are within sight of the school. When he walks into the yard, he doesn't look back.

A few weeks ago, I sent Daniel to the corner store down the block by himself for the first time. He came back clutching the chocolate chips he'd been sent for so tightly that half the bag had melted. And he was so, so proud.

Yesterday afternoon, Daniel asked Tim to ride ahead on his bike so that he could walk by himself. "Let me show you what I can do," he said. So Tim let him walk, circling the block a few times to check up on him and I waited anxiously at home for the knock on our door. Again, when he arrived home, my boy was so, so proud.

I remember the gut-wrenching anxiety I experienced when his brother was this same age and demanding to be allowed to walk on his own. In the years since, we have gradually given him more freedom and he's impressed us with his sense of responsibility - even in some very challenging situations.

It ought to be easier the second time around - and it some ways it is. I feel more relaxed as a parent since Sacha has acquitted himself so well. But I still worry every time one of my boys is out of my sight for too long.

Mostly, I don't like having to let them go. The days of thirteen year old Sacha sitting in my lap to watch a movie are behind us. Every hug from him is precious because they are doled out so sparingly. And Daniel is my baby. There are no little ones coming up behind him to help mitigate my sense of loss.

I know that kids must grow up and away from their parents. A big part of this whole exercise of parenting is about teaching them to be happy, independent people. I just wish it weren't happening so quickly.

And I still want to walk down the street, holding my baby's hand.

Last week, the Centretown Buzz (an Ottawa community paper) asked me to write the article that "I wish I could have read when I was first diagnosed."



It's on the front page of this week's issue, and begins like this:

On December 1^st, 2005, I found a lump in my breast, as I was getting undressed. One month later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was 38 years old, with two young kids and a very hectic life. I felt completely blind-sided.

Almost four years later, and with the benefit of hindsight, I share some advice for others who find themselves in my situation.

As I looked back on the last few years, the following key points best summarize my advice:

Bring someone with you to appointments, especially in the beginning.

Be your own advocate.

Be nice to the admin staff and nurses.

Don’t compare yourself to anyone else.

Let others help you.

Never give up hope.

The entire article is online, so you can read it for yourself.



Let me know what you think. And if you've been there, please don't hesitate to share some of your hard-earned experience.