Category Archives: Chemotherapy

Collateral Damage


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Dr. Susan Love published an interview on Medscape last week on the “collateral damage” of breast cancer treatments as reported by 3200 actual patients and not their doctors. She noted that doctors and patients often view things differently. For doctors, a living patient is the major sign of successful treatment. They don’t want to hear about treatment side effects that they can’t treat and cure, she says.

The patients and survivors are also happy to be alive but their quality of life may be severely impaired by chemo brain, depression, anxiety, fatigue, neuropathy, and hot flashes. She calls this collateral damage rather than side effects as often these symptoms are permanent, not temporary. She doesn’t mention breasts disfigured through lumpectomy and radiation, having no. breasts at all through mastectomy, or having a bad or failed reconstruction job. Presumably, these are just the regular damage to be anticipated from breast cancer treatment.

She reports that many survivors either weren’t told about these long term collateral damage effects or they were told at a time when they were so overwhelmed with other cancer information, that they were not able to absorb the message. Or if they did absorb the message, they were more concerned about staying alive than really thinking through how this collateral damage would impact their post-treatment lives.

The passages of her interview that really disturbed me the most were that chemo brain and neuropathy were forever. They don’t get better. You just get used to them and find your new normal. In other words, you stay numb and dumb forever. She could have added depression, anxiety, PTSD, and impaired body image to this list as they are often long lasting, sometimes forever.

I admit to being one of those who were told the “side effects” of chemotherapy (at least the second time around) and it was a blur of nightmare words and images ending with the ultimate side effect of death. Everything else was forgotten the moment it left the oncologist’s mouth. Thank God I took notes.

But nothing in my notes said that chemo brain and neuropathy were forever. Or that I would eventually wind up with PTSD and free falling panic attacks. Chemo brain was supposed to end with chemo. Neuropathy was supposed to eventually go away.

And no one told me just how bad a reconstruction job could be. So bad, that even oncologists and their nurses urged me to find a new plastic surgeon and get it fixed. I eventually did but after about 7 years, the implant inside the flap became encapsulated with scar tissue and is now a hard ball that juts off to the left of my body. My newest plastic surgeon is afraid to operate again for fear the whole reconstruction will collapse. So I walk around with a badly reconstructed left side and a right side that should have had the permanent implant put in it 3 years ago, dragging my feet about signing up for more surgery that will result in 2 mismatched breasts or even worse, 2 matching deformed breasts.

I had a male colleague at work whose wife had breast cancer shortly after I had my reconstruction revised. I even referred them to the plastic surgeon who performed the same back flap surgery with silicone implant that I had. I remember sitting in his office 2 years
after her surgery and listening to him complain how he could no longer make love to his wife as the surgery had left her “a hideous grotesque monster”. He was generally a very kind man and I think for a moment he forgot that I too had the same surgery. My smile froze on my face and I quietly left the room, stung to the core. It quickly put me in my place that no matter how much better the fake breast looked than before the revision, in some men’s eyes,
I would always look like a hideous grotesque monster. Yes, body image issues are forever after breast cancer.

I should note that he left his wife shortly after this conversation and is now remarried to a normal 2 breasted woman. From the Facebook groups I belong to, it seems many marriages end after a breast cancer diagnosis. So do many friendships. More collateral damage to add to the list?

I had dealt with chemo brain before way back in 1994 when it was a slang term that patients used but wasn’t really acknowledged by doctors as a true medical condition. I had short term memory loss and word problems way back then but I seemed to be back to normal 18 months post-chemo.

Ten years later, I woke up one morning with 2 fingers in my left hand permanently numb although I didn’t know it was permanent at the time. The neurologist couldn’t find anything with his shock tests so I was sent for a brain MRI.

All hell broke loose then when it showed that my brain seemed shrunken (now a recognized piece of collateral damage from chemotherapy) and was covered in white spots consistent with multiple sclerosis but in the wrong parts of the brain. I still spent 3 years at the ms clinic waiting for more symptoms or for my MRI to change. Finally, I was told it wasn’t ms and then spent the next 2 years seeing every medical expert in town for a cause for my numb fingers and unusual brain MRIs.

Someone suggested it could be a late arising radiation symptom. No one ever suggested it was from chemotherapy. I still don’t have a definitive answer but I truly believe the numbness and the weird brain MRIs are collateral damage from my first 2 cancer treatments, involving both radiation and chemotherapy. Given that the condition has remained permanent for the last 10 years, I suspect my neuropathy is forever. And no, I’ve never gotten used to it or found my “new normal” in dealing with it. It makes me angry and frustrated that these symptoms showed up years after active cancer treatment. What other long-term “gifts” does cancer have in store for me down the road?

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I had chemotherapy again in 2011. Suddenly chemo brain was a real condition that oncologists talked about seriously. I don’t recall being told that it could be a permanent condition. For me, the chemo brain has in fact improved significantly but it still rears its ugly head in times of stress or fatigue (and sometimes for no discernable reason at all). It seems to have stabalized about a year ago and I always assumed it would keep getting better as time went by.

But now reading that chemo brain can be forever, I am left wondering if this is as good as it gets. Will I always be plagued with a brain and tongue that don’t connect or a brain that has much poorer short term
memory than it did before the second chemo? Some women have written in the comments to this blog that they suffer from radiation brain with the same symptoms as chemo brain. God help me if this is true, as I have been radiated twice along with my 2 bouts of chemotherapy. My brain must be the size of a peanut by now, covered with even more white spots and less grey matter.

It is clear that research money has to go into ways of dealing with the collateral damage breast cancer treatments leave behind as well as trying to prevent the damage from happening in the first place. We don’t need more awareness of breast cancer. Everyone is aware. We don’t need to use race money to fund more races. We need to find ways to help with these survivorship issues. And even more importantly, we need research money for a cure for metastic breast cancer, the only breast cancer that actually kills.

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Sharon Greene March 10, 2015

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Do You Have Chemo Brain?


It has taken some time, but now science and medicine acknowledge that chemo brain is a real side effect of chemotherapy. It can last for a few months or can linger on for years. 
   
Chemo brain is characterized by mental confusion, inability to multi-task, memory problems, the inability to concentrate, and vocabulary problems – either the inability to think of a common word or the inability to say the word aloud and say a different word or words instead.

Chemo brain can be funny at times (particularly to one’s relatives and children) but mostly it is a frustrating and sometimes frightening state of affairs.  I have had chemotherapy twice and have gone through this experience both times. Even 3 years past the second chemo, it still strikes me when I am overly tired or stressed.

I composed a list of chemo brain incidents I personally experienced. If you can relate to these, you have probably experienced chemo brain too!

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1. You lose your purse, cell phone and
     keys on a regular basis. You’ve been
     known to “misplace” your children
     from time to time but they always
     come back.

2.  You lose your ability to think of
      everyday words. To compensate,
      you speak in awkward descriptive
      sentences like, “can you pass me
      a…a…little round dead cow?” at the
      neighborhood barbecue when you
      want a hamburger.

3.   Your brain finally comes up with
       right word but your mouth
       has a mind of its own with random
       semi-related words coming out at
       unexpected times. Now that you
       have your burger, your brain thinks
       bun but your mouth asks for toast
       to put on your hamburger.
        
   4. You get used to your children
        thinking you are being funny
        while your friends, neighbors, and
        fellow co-workers think you are
        drunk, crazy, or suffering early
        stage dementia whenever you
        open your mouth to speak.

      5. It’s a good day at work when the
           only thing mismatched is your
           socks. Although your employer
           complains, at least they don’t
           know about the time you drove
           halfway to work in your pajamas
           before realizing you weren’t
           appropriately dressed.

       6.  You drive home from work and
             realize you have no memory of
             the ride home.
             

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       7.  You find yourself at the
             grocery store or mall with no
             idea why you are there or what
             you came to buy.

 .       8.  You can listen to the same old
               gossip time and again as you                           have no memory of hearing
               the story the first time round.

          9.  You are cooking and the
                phone rings. You forget about
                making dinner until the
                smoke detector reminds you.

           10.  You decide to tackle chemo
                   brain head-on by making to-
                   do lists and putting them in
                   safe places. You
                   immediately forget where
                   those safe places are.

      
These are my personal top ten hits of chemo brain. I’m sure there are many more, but frankly I have forgotten them. Please let me know I’m not alone in my daze and confusion. I’d love to hear the funny and not so funny things chemo brain did to you in the comments below.    

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Transracial Adoption: When the Adorable Babies Become Teens


This is a continuation of my earlier story “Adopting After Cancer: A Love Story”. What happens when those cute black babies become black teenagers?

Survivors Blog Here

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When we first adopted our son as a newborn, complete strangers would come up to us to say he was the cutest baby they had ever seen. Many also choose, without asking permission, to ruffle and feel his hair. This latest throughout his toddlerhood and stopped abruptly when he was in the early school grades.

My daughter came along 16 months after my son, and she also got a lot of attention for her cuteness and later her burgeoning beauty. People often mistook them for twins even though my son was 3 times the size of my daughter due to the difference in age. I sold children’s designer clothes on EBay for a time and my daughter was often my model. People would write to me about my adorable model although they wouldn’t necessarily purchase the clothes.

Children grow up and although I think they are both exceptionally good looking…

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Adopting After Cancer: A Love Story


I am very excited to be guest blogging at Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer today for their cancer and Infertility week series.

Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer

Sharon, Carter, and Kayla Greene‏ Sharon, Carter, and Kayla Greene‏

I was first diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer at age 29, way back in 1988. The protocol at that time was to tell women to wait 5 years before getting pregnant or, as my breast surgeon so crudely put it, “Baby might not have a Mama”. Nothing like the subtle approach to shut down any further questions on that subject!

5 years passed, and I went to my “cure” date mammogram confident that all was well. It wasn’t. The cancer had returned to the same breast and as I had radiation the first time, the only option left was a mastectomy and 9 months of chemotherapy.
I again heard the “Baby and Mama” speech. I was told that chemo could possibly put me permanently into early menopause but as I was still only 34, there was a good chance the menopause symptoms would only…

View original post 1,552 more words

Finding My New Normal After Losing My Old Normal


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I was first diagnosed with breast cancer at 29. February,2015 will be 27 years from the time of my first diagnosis. I have spent almost half my life battling breast cancer.

“Finding your new normal” is one of those popular buzz phrases spoken by oncologists, counsellors, and other cancer survivors. I’ve always felt that this word was like a password to a secret clubhouse that everyone in Cancerland belongs to except for me. Although I know this password, I am obviously missing something that would allow me to gain entry. Maybe a special knock or a secret handshake is also required. While I can spout the phrase “new normal” without difficulty, I’ve never quite understood how those words applied to my life.

If we uttered the phrase “changes to your life” due to cancer, I could easily relate to that. I could draw up a long list of the ways my life changed with the first diagnosis,the first and second mastectomy,the bad reconstruction job,the repeated bouts of cancer,and the discovery that I lived for 16 years under the illusion I was BRCA negative when in fact I was BRCA1 positive all the time.

Maybe I have problems relating to the word “normal”. The changes that happened to my mind, body, and emotions were anything but “normal” as we usually think of the term. Losing my breasts, lymph nodes,fertility,and ovaries may be normal for BRCA positive cancer survivors and previvors but there is nothing normal about that in terms of the population at large. Being diagnosed with 3 separate breast cancers at 29, 34,and 36 is statistically improbable in the breast cancer world. Having a fourth breast cancer at 52 puts me into a rare category that very few breast cancer patients attain (or would want to attain). Top that off with all 4 cancers being of the triple negative variety (not influenced by hormones) which is a reasonably rare breast cancer, and there is very little that is normal about my world.

If we are talking about acknowledging that these things happened to me and that they form part of my present reality, I can do that. Have I fully accepted, embraced, and integrated these changes into my life in a positive and life-affirming manner? Uh no. Although I can be happy and positive much of the time, I am not happy that I had to go through these events at such a young age. I’m also not happy that I had to have my cancer come back over and over and over again. This is my life, this is my reality, this is my world but there is nothing normal about it. And there is little I can do to normalize my experiences so that they make some sort of sense in the context of the rest of my life.

I try to think back to what my old normal was. I was an only child who spent the first 12 years of her childhood growing up in a typical suburban neighborhood. My parents and I attended Baptist church every Sunday and my parents were complete tee-totalers. This “normal” existence underwent a dramatic change in 8th grade when my father went from complete tee-totaler to a full blown raging alcoholic and valium addict in the course of one year. My world was completely turned upside down and I had no idea how to deal with this “new normal”. My father’s alcoholism progressed with great speed and his moods veered between sickeningly sentimental and raging mad, with very little in between. My lifelong battle with anxiety and depression started in the 8th grade and progressively got worse throughout high school.

My mother felt the best way to protect me was to get me out of the house as soon as I graduated high school. We lived in a university town so we planned to find a major that wasn’t offered locally. We hit on Criminology as it was only available 1000 miles a way. Not the best way to plan for your future education, but it achieved its purpose and I was able to leave home at 17.

The next 12 years were the college and early employment years. I attained my BA in Criminology, gained some work experience as a probation officer, went back to university to complete law school and spent a grueling year articling (similar to interning) with a large law firm in Vancouver. I had dated widely, fallen madly in love at least twice, broken a few hearts and had mine broken in return. I never doubted that I would have a law career or that I would marry and raise a family. Those were the fun years filled with plans, hopes, and dreams about the future. After the chaos of growing up in an alcoholic home, I loved my fun filled yet hard working “new normal”.

On the eve of my entry into the legal profession, I had my first cancer diagnosis. It changed me in ways that still affect me today. The career was put on hold. The doctors said no pregnancies for 5 years or else I would die, so marriage and a family were put on hold as well. Although I only had a lumpectomy and radiation, I developed major body image issues as I knew no one even remotely in my age group who had a weird looking mismatched breast. I became shy about dating, not knowing when to break it to them that I had undergone breast cancer treatment. So dating was also put on hold. Fear,anxiety,and social unease became my constant companions after that first diagnosis and continue to haunt me today. Is this considered my first experience with cancer’s “new normal”?

I still believed that being cancer free for 5 years meant you were cured. Over that first 5 year period, I did launch my law career and began dating again. I was offered a promotion and a move to a new city hours before I went for my 5 year mammogram. I told my employer that I would be back shortly, that this mammogram was just a formality, as all prior mammograms had been clear. Unfortunately for me, this mammogram showed cancer again and a mastectomy and 9 months of chemotherapy were my only options. Good-bye promotion. Good-bye new city. And the 5 year no pregnancy rule started from scratch all over again.

I was off work for 18 months. I had lost my last illusion about being cured of cancer. Where the first cancer had brought fear and self-doubt into my life, the second cancer brought a kind of craziness. The world which I always believed was a fair and orderly place, became chaotic and events seemed completely random. Whether I lived or died seemed completely out of my control. Any plans I tried to make for my future seemed to be quashed as soon as they were made. It was clear that there were many things my oncologists did not know, many questions they could not answer. I felt a lot of confusion. It seemed that whenever fate was about to give me a big break, cancer re-entered the picture to turn my dreams to dust. Was this feeling of hopelessness and helplessness my “new normal” for my second cancer?

I had reconstruction surgery which looked bad even from the start. Even doctors and nurses at the Cancer Clinic would comment that I should see another plastic surgeon to try to fix it. My breast resembled a lumpy flattened pancake but as it had taken a long time to heal, I wasn’t eager to go under the knife again. My body image issues and self-consciousness grew considerably worse.

18 months after returning to work, a new cancer was found in the remaining breast. I had a new surgeon who said doctors had recently abandoned the 5 year pregnancy rule and that if I wanted a child, I should hurry up as I was already 36 and could have early ovarian failure due to the chemotherapy. I got married and we soon found ourselves at a fertility clinic. 2 rounds of IVF were unsuccessful so we formulated a Plan B. We started the adoption process and a year later, we had a handsome baby boy. 16 months after that, we were blessed with a beautiful baby girl.

I took one of the early BRCA tests and was declared BRCA negative. Life was good. Until one day it wasn’t. The marriage imploded, I was blindsided,and I was left as a single Mom to a 22 month old toddler and a six month old baby. Once again, my hopes and dreams were shattered and life seemed as random and arbitrary as it had during my second cancer.

The years went by, the kids kept growing, and the cancer stayed away. After 16 cancer free years, the cancer came back. I was looking at another mastectomy and more chemotherapy. Only this time around, there were children involved, ages 9 and 11. This time I really was afraid of dying as I didn’t want them to lose their mother at such young ages. The kids were scared too but wouldn’t really say so. My son wanted me to appear as normal as possible and not look like a cancer patient. He wanted me in a wig and full make-up 24/7 (didn’t happen). My daughter would feel sick with vague symptoms on chemo days or oncology visits. She wanted to accompany me to all these appointments as that seemed to make her feel more secure. It was another crazy hysterical chaotic year but we muddled through it somehow.

After cancer 4, I was encouraged to retake the BRCA test as it was now looking at things it hadn’t looked for originally. Suddenly, I was BRCA1 positive and at high risk for ovarian cancer. There was a great rush to have my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed as soon as possible.

With Cancer 4, I became a bit of a medical curiosity given that I was BRCA1 positive, had an aggressive grade of an aggressive cancer, and had survived for so long without the cancer metastasizing outside my breasts. At work,things were looked at somewhat differently. Between the cancers and the 2 adoption leaves, my coworkers saw me as someone who was rarely at work. The office atmosphere was decidedly chilly upon my return from Cancer 4. My self-esteem was plummeting, I still had side effects from chemo brain, and I started feeling incompetent in a job I had held for 25 years. A year ago, I took a medical leave and have since been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.

My “newest new normal” now has a mixed diagnosis of PTSD, depression, and anxiety. I no longer plan too far ahead for fear of jinxing any happy days that lay ahead. I worry about my children’s future – who will love them and look after them if I am gone? At the same time, I am forever grateful that I get to be their Mom. I try to live each day as if it may be my last.

Is this the “new normal” everyone talks about? Is it some combination of hard lessons learned and the feeling of walking on a trapeeze with no safety net underneath? The feeling that my luck will once again run out and I will be forced to take another spin on the Cancer Roulette Wheel of Fortune? Is it all those scary feelings combined with a fierce protective love for my children that keeps me going forward each day?

What does the “new normal” of cancer feel like to you? Have I completely missed the boat on this one? Is it supposed to be a positive thing or a negative thing? I really would like to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Sharon Greene January 15, 2015

Parenting With Breast Cancer


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When you are a parent, you want to protect your children from all the bad things in life as you love them so fiercely. You feel like this lioness with her cub, trying to shelter them from all impending harm. But when you are diagnosed with cancer, you are the one that sends your children’s world into a chaotic tailspin. Between the shock of diagnosis, the demands of treatment, and the uncertainty of what the future holds for you and your family, your children can’t help but be threatened by this disease that has invaded their lives.

Although I have had breast cancer 4 times, I only had children during the last bout in 2011. At that time, they were 9 and 11, old enough to understand what was going on but young enough that they still needed a parent who could be there for them 24/7. As a single mother with no other family for support, I found the competing demands of parenthood vs the painful realities of illness very overwhelming.

My children knew since a very young age that I had cancer 3 times way back before they were born. They were perversely proud of this fact about me as I guess it made them think I was Wonder Woman, able to beat cancer into submission at a single bound.

When after being cancer free for 16 years I learned it was back, I panicked about how I would explain this to my son and daughter. I had no idea how we would manage as in the past there was always someone around to take care of me. This time I was their caretaker and no one was volunteering to look after me (or them).

The children knew something was wrong before I was ready to have the cancer discussion. There were too many doctor’s appointments, too many whispered phone calls, and a few too many tears shed watching children’s television shows that weren’t particularly sad or sentimental. When your Mom bursts into tears over Sponge Bob’s latest escapade, the children fear the worst is about to happen. When they asked if they had done something to make Mommy so sad all the time, I knew I had to tell them the truth.
 
 

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I did a little research on how to talk to your school age children about a cancer diagnosis. The articles mainly touch on three points which have been called the 3 “c” words. The first point is to call it cancer, not a generic sickness or a boo boo. The reasoning is that if they have a name and explanation of what your condition is, they will be less likely to worry about other more horrendous illnesses (maybe Ebola?) you may have. It helps as well for them to associate a specific term for the disease as they may become overly fearful of the word, “sick” as it applies to them. If they associate the word “sick” with Mommy having major surgery and going bald they may panic when someone calls them sick when they complain of a tummy ache or a sore throat. They may think their sickness may lead to the same extreme consequences that happened to Mommy. So instead of turning your children into hypochondriacs by using the word “sickness”, use the word “cancer” so they can differentiate between the two conditions.

This was the easy part for me. My children knew what cancer was because of my past history. On the other hand, they had never lived through it before and needed some explanations of the possible treatments that might be involved and the consequences of those.

My 11 year old son became fixated on the fact that I would lose my hair and that seemingly was his greatest concern throughout my treatment. Talking to him about my cancer now 4 years later, he admits he was secretly worried sick I would die and leave him. But it was safer for him to worry outwardly about my baldness, wanting me to wear a wig, even to sleep. My little caps and turbans were disturbing to him (let alone my bald head) even in the privacy of our own home.

My 9 year old daughter took my baldness and various head coverings in stride. She loved coming with me to the Cancer Clinic where free donated wigs and head coverings were there to try on and take home. She became my fashion co-ordinator, ensuring my hat matched my outfit.

She showed her discomfort about my cancer in other ways. For example, she would often feign sickness on my chemo days or at times I had oncology appointments. She knew I considered her too young to leave at home alone so she would often accompany me to these appointments. This was her way of exerting control of the situation. She seemed to think that if I went to a hospital alone, they would keep me and I would never return home.

Even though I strongly suspected her vague symptoms of illness were fake, it was clear that her distress levels were real. Taking her along to these appointments reduced her anxiety while insisting she attend school led to huge emotional meltdowns every time. It seemed the lesser of the two evils at the time although in hindsight, it would have been better for her education if I had a back-up person to send her to on those appointment days. My guess is that she would have recovered from her symptoms quickly and attended school to be with her friends. While neither child ever actively worried aloud in my presence that they were afraid I was going to die, 4 years later it is clear that was underlying their behaviour all along.

The second “c” word recommended to be included in any discussion of cancer with children is the word “contagious”. It is important that children know they will not catch cancer from you in the same way they could catch a cold. This encourages continued close contact like hugs and kisses, without the child worrying they too will become sick. My children seemed to readily understand this concept and were not afraid of physical contact with me.

The only times physical contact became a challenge were after the mastectomy and partial reconstruction, when I returned home sore with 3 drains hanging down. They had to be reminded that Mommy loved them but couldn’t tolerate a big bear hug quite yet. The other times physical contact became an issue were during chemo when they had a cold or flu and they were the contagious ones. They had to be reminded that my immune system was weak and if I caught their bug, I could get very sick. They seemed to accept that without question. I was the one who suffered guilt from not being able to care for them as a mother should when some bug got them down.

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The third “c” word is “causation” in that Mommy’s cancer was not caused by anything her children did. The experts say that children under 13 are still in a developmental stage where they may blame themselves when something bad happens in the family. They may think that Mommy got cancer because I always nag her for new toys or because I don’t clean my room when she tells me to. I did reassure my children that they did not cause my cancer in any way. They both looked at me blankly as if the thought had never crossed their minds. That may be explainable by their knowledge that I had breast cancer 3 times before they were born. If they didn’t cause the first 3, why on earth would they think they caused the fourth cancer?

To help my children better understand my illness and their feelings about it, I brought home every age appropriate, “when your parent has cancer” book the Cancer Clinic had available. Although both enjoy reading, neither child showed any interest in the books even when I said we could look at them together. Maybe they thought we have to live with this stuff everyday, why would we want to read about it too?

Some cancer centers have programs specifically for children with parents living with cancer. We attended a half day program which the kids enjoyed very much as they saw others their own age living with a parent like myself. My daughter and I attended a Look Good, Feel Good program where we got to play around with and take home various cosmetics and wigs. My daughter decided I needed a purple wig to liven up my appearance so I would sometimes wear it at home for fun. This drove my son crazy as while he wanted me in a wig at all times, I was only supposed to wear wigs that were of the same color and style as my natural hair.

Trying to be a parent with cancer is challenging at best, although some of the sweetest memories of my life come from that period. Sometimes a simple caring gesture or word from one of my children would be enough to lift my mood for days on end. We did still manage to have birthday parties and a few fun outings during this year. Even at my sickest, when I was hospitalized for 4 days a week after my first chemo, the children got to spend one night with me in a private hospital room, a fun first for both of them.

Unfortunately, between the chemo brain and the PTSD, much of the year of Cancer 4 is a hazy blur to me. My children remember it better than I do. If I had to relive that experience again, I would seek out more support for both myself and the children. I also would have looked into one of the free camps for cancer families as we all needed a vacation after the previous year. They are just starting up in Canada but there are several established places in the US we might have qualified for had I known about them at the time.

While parenting with cancer can be tough going at times, especially for a single parent, it is doable as long as you can let go of your expectations of what perfect family life is supposed to look like. Sometimes a picnic on the floor altogether as a family can be more fun and memorable than a standard dinner at 5:00 gathered around the kitchen table. It’s your cancer, your family, and your lives together that determine how you best muddle through this difficult family time.

Sharon Greene January 3, 2015