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Monday, May 7, 2018

That Time I Went On An (un-edited) Rant



I get upset by things because I’m a human - not always because of the cancer. I haven’t talked a lot about that. I’ve talked about being sad, but not angry. Upset. I normally don’t post about these feelings - I let them sit, simmer - sleep on it, or talk to Jeff, my friends or my family about it. I didn’t think they were “appropriate” to write down here. 

Then I thought.. do I really care?

In honouring the transparency I’ve always shared since I was diagnosed in 2014, I thought about it today and decided - hurt feelings or not - I’m going to share what I’m feeling, just as I always have. This is tough because I never want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but in not writing it down, I feel even worse.

I’ve been having all these thoughts weighing on me and I felt I needed somewhere to dump them. So it may seem sporadic, un-organized, or emotionally charged. That’s because it is.

My trip to Nicaragua was amazing without a doubt. I have so many great things I experienced, learned, and am so grateful for. That’s for another post though. In this post, I’m going to say, Nicaragua really highlighted to me how disabled I feel. I am very slow, and my right foot is almost robotic - not allowing me very much balance. Stairs, mountains, hills - all things I try and avoid. I grip to Jeff most of the time because I’m so scared of falling (and rightfully so, because I’ve fallen quite a bit). I had to spend time looking at the ground, wondering where I’m going to step next instead of seeing the beautiful sites and scenery. I have an amazing husband and friends that reassure me all the time that they want to wait for me. That I’m not a burden to them. When they wait for me at the top of the stairs, or get me things because it’s harder for me to get up once I’m sitting down. I love them for that. Deep down, though, my lack of independence has been so hard on me. I’m embarrassed to let others help me. I’m ashamed I can’t do some things on my own. I liked walking around, shopping or attending concerts by myself. I was sick, but I still felt like me. 

As well as my right foot, I lost the use of my right hand. Losing the ability to use my right hand (which was my dominant) has changed everything for me. I can’t write - which I’m reminded of whenever I sign a receipt, am asked to fill out a medical form, sign my passport or write in a birthday card. I used to journal a lot (my own  private escape) which I can’t do anymore either. I can’t do most crafts (scrapbooking, colouring, etc). I can’t paint my own nails, I taught myself to use my left hand to put on makeup or dry my hair, but eyeliner? That’s been retired from my routine. Putting sheets back on the bed, trying to use a razor, zipping up a jacket. 

Have I said “I can’t” enough yet? 

I am complaining here, and I hate it. I should be feeling lucky that I’m still able to have fun, go out and do things, like go on trips. Sometimes I don’t want to feel lucky though. Why should I feel lucky? Sometimes I want to scream (instead I normally get grumpy and cry - sorry Jeff). I have Stage IV breast cancer - I don’t have the option to have children, have a fulfilling career, or grow older - and I should feel lucky?

I am also starting to have a love/hate relationship with social media. I want to post on there, but I feel a judgement pass sometimes. You’re having a great life. You’re social! Energetic. Going on trips, having drinks! Of course I’m not going to post that some days I stay in bed until 3. I’m not going to post all the pills I take. The wicked side effects I get (I’ve thrown up so much that I will ask Jeff to get the dog food to smell - speeds up the process because that makes me sick right away!). Social media, for those that are sick or not, is only showing one side of us. It is not transparent.

I heard someone say “I could never do all of that when I was sick”. The way it was said felt judgemental, like I should be taking better care of myself. It made me doubt what I was (happily) doing. 

There are other women I follow that have advanced cancer, like myself. I always find such pleasure and comfort in being able to connect with them, share their experiences, keep in touch. Sometimes, though, I find cancer pages with misconceptions and I get very mad. I already find that there is a big gap in understanding what Stage IV breast cancer is. Recently, I felt like I had to say something to someone that had a lot of influence and followers. In turn I was blocked and left feeling hurt, wishing I hadn’t said anything at all. My pure intentions came out the wrong way - angry, upset. 

Today, I told this story to a group I was in. Instead of support, the laughing afterwards made it feel like a ‘first world problem’. Most people agreed: don’t say anything next time, don’t have that negativity in your life, saying ‘this is why I hate social media’. I felt young. I felt stupid. I felt regret that I even mentioned it, even though it had been something that had been really bothering me. 

There were two other times that I felt judged in a room that was meant to be non-judgemental, because of my young age. I bet they weren’t meaning to hurt me, but I felt sad anyways. 

I’m so desperate to meet others in my shoes that age never mattered. In fact, I was definitely the “most sick” person in attendance! Still I felt like no one could, or wanted, to relate to me. My age felt like a barrier for the first time. 

Then, I thought, maybe it was because I’m no longer bald. Wearing a wig. Puffy from steroids. I found it much easier to claim sick when there was that visual to go along with it.

In reality I shouldn’t have gone, and I know that. I wasn’t ready to face my reality yet and this group made me angry. Usually it happens this way: I’m the one in the wrong but I blame it on others.

I feel so confused with all the trials and alternative therapies I read about. I would like someone to explain to me what I should do next. My family doctor refers me to my oncologist, my oncologist refers me to my phychiatrist, they recommend me to the OICC and they want to charge me $120 just to see a naturopath, to recommend me treatments. Do I stop this treatment and start a new clinical trial? What if I don’t actually get the drug? What if it fails, what if it works? There are unconfirmed studies that cannabis crosses to the brain, but I went for an appointment that left me with $100 of oil that left me feeling so high I couldn’t function. Even then, I learned, that dose was too low to even be used as a treatment! 

I think a lot of patients have the same confusion as I do - it is hard to be your own advocate, do your own research when you’re tired and worn down. These aren’t pleasant things to think about - especially if you’re NOT looking to take control, like me. I never want to know how many tumours I have, details on how things are working, or keep my paperwork or documents after scans and blood work. I just need to be told if I’m doing ok or not, in basic terms. I find all of the options overwhelming. 

I think I have social anxiety - sometimes I leave my text messages unread, don’t reply for days or often not at all. Same with phone messages (I’ve missed more then one appointment because of this), or cancel plans because it feels like too much. Usually it’s something I don’t want to think about, talk about, or I just don’t know how to respond. Then I feel guilty, and not wanting to explain myself I put it off a little more. A vicious cycle cycle in the end. 

I feel anxiety having to plan out my week since I don’t drive. I feel intense guilt asking people to come to me - or asking for others to skip work to take me to appointments, etc. I cancel or don’t do things because of the driving. I’ve seen this mentioned often in online groups, and I definitely understand, which is why I’m mentioning it. 

And I know what you’re thinking!  “SAM, YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL THAT WAY AT ALL!!”, re: all of the above. 

I do, though. It’s not you, it’s me. I know it’s wrong but I’m not sure I can feel another way. Trust me, I’ve tried. 

Anyways, that’s the start to my week and how I feel today. Other then reading, my hobbies have dwindled, so I have a lot of time for thinking. My mood changes often and tomorrow is a new day. I want to change my record player and storage layout (big dreams) but I should probably make my bed and put away the three piles of laundry (they’ve been sitting there for over a week).

I’m not going to edit this one. I’m going to leave it as is because A) it takes a lot of time and B) trying to be genuine. You know.

If you made it to the end, thanks for reading this word vomit of a post. I feel better already. 

Sam


Thursday, March 15, 2018

Last Time On Sam’s Blog (a recap)




















Montreal, bestie tattoos, post craniotomy pictures, birthday, engagement parties, Nordik, libraries and the theatre. A few of my favourite things (minus the craniotomy...) 

I haven’t posted in a long time. It’s almost like I need a TV show recap (“Last time on Sam’s blog...”).

I went to Montreal and had a great time. My sister came for the show, I was on the end so I could lean on the side of the chair for balance (!), we went to visit my Nanny plus my Aunt and I got to spend time together. 

I had my craniotomy on that Tuesday in November. We got to the hospital very early and my parents, Jeff’s Mom and Jeff were there to see me off. I don’t remember being too nervous. I was grateful it was in a good spot to take it out, and Dr Sinclair said he blocked off his whole day for me. 

The procedure took a good 8+ hours. My family was going stir crazy and wanted to see me. When I woke up in recovery it was night time but I was on so many drugs I don’t remember a thing. Everyone went home to sleep. I woke up at about 5AM and there were residents everywhere. They put on the lights and ripped my curtain open. They asked me how I was feeling. I could see a bunch of them laugh and eat breakfast behind the one that was talking to me. . He saw someone brought me Quality Street chocolates and said “Hey! Those are my grandma’s favorite!!” .  Another resident asked what I did for work. 

I cried at that point because I felt disrespected, like they didn’t understand the gravity of what I just went through. The residents were eating breakfast, laughing - and I could barely process the last 24 hours. 

Jeff and my mom stayed with me while I was in recovery because they didn’t have a room for me. My nurses and porters were amazing. They took care of my every need so quickly. One nurse showed me her crochet, which I said I loved, and on my bed before I was discharged there the crochet mouse was. The porter knew the hospital food wasn’t edible (understatement of the century) and offered me half of his club sandwich. 

On night three they finalled moved me to my semi-private room. I was really excited to have some privacy. We walk off the elevator and immediately hear someone yell at the top of their lungs “CODE BLUE! THIS IS A CODE BLUE SITUATION!!”. We see the guy yelling be taken down by an officer and that’s when we realized where I was healing was ALSO the place they kept people before they went to the Royal Ottawa. He asked about his scheduled appointments often and someone had to stay outside his room at all times. 

I had tons of visitors bearing My Favourite Murder gear (it’s a podcast look it up!!), hot Cheetos, Archie comics and even Wy as a cotton candy for Halloween taped to a container of cotton candy (let that process!). I am super lucky.

I felt like my head was so big. I genuinely thought it was twice it’s size until I asked Jeff and he said it was pretty normal. The drugs kept me from being in pain. It was such an easy operation, all considered pain-wise. I woke up to no more mobility in my right hand and right foot, though. The steroids had taken all my muscle mass so it was very hard to get up and sit down. 

They asked if I wanted to stay another day. Jeff and I looked at each other and said HELL NO. We were discharged, and I got to go home. I was still on steroids and we all know how I feel about them. After gaining 15+ lbs and not sleeping for weeks, I finally got off of them and started looking forward to recovering.

Unfortunately, the function of my hand has not come back yet and the mobility of my right leg is very ‘robotic’. When I realized I didn’t gain back function of my right hand it felt like I lost everything - being able to hold my toothbrush, a hair dryer, do my own makeup, wash my own hair, text, eat and cut food,  colour. Just using both hands to carry things is something I took for granted. It’s an unimaginable loss and I am still struggling with trying to move on with this new quality of life. My mobility has made me fall so I am shaky on steps and especially ice. I feel like this is the first time I have to really rely on others and that doesn’t feel good. Being “disabled” doesn’t feel good. I have spent a lot of money on physio but so far it’s not working. 

My pathology from my craniotomy came back as mostly necrosis (dead tumour) but also some new tumour growing back - which is why we removed it, in case this were to happen! I had an MRI this last Saturday on my brain, and although I am pretty confident those results will be fine, there is always some anxiety that comes with a scan. 

In January, I had a permanent option of a clip being put in to hold my vocal chords together. They put it in through my throat so I have another scar to add to my repertoire! Although not perfect, I am a lot louder and less raspy. They don’t ask me to speak up at Sephora so I’m basically happy. 

Mentally, this has been a very long winter. Without driving, I feel isolated and there are days when I stay in bed until 4PM. I keep waiting for the sunshine because I know that will help. I think this will be what my next post is about. 

We booked a trip down to Nicaragua with some friends so with this scan (provided it looks good), we leave on April 22nd! I also got floor tickets to Justin Timberlake in April so it’s shaping up to be a good month. 

I definitely missed a ton, but for now this is long enough! If you have any questions or wanna chat - e-mail or Facebook me as always!! 

xx 

Sam 





Tuesday, October 24, 2017

To Do Or Not To Do: That is the question


This one is short but sweet, so I didn't leave you hanging!

I finally forced myself to lie in bed at 3AM last night, knowing I had to be at the Civic today at 12:30.  I had my MRI results, and this would determine my plan of action. I'm not sure if it was the steroids or my unoccupied mind that kept me awake - but man, I got into some dark places. I haven't been on steroids without a "headache" or being very sick, so I wasn't sure how they would affect me. I have a very loud, noisy cough and my bones ached all over. I hadn't yet gotten the results from the neck down, so I let my mind wander into what 'it' could be (definitely not just a cold, or from sleeping sitting up....).

This morning I woke up and knew I was off balance, tapering off of 6mg to 4mg of steroids. I had a few more days left, but I knew there was no change in using my right hand.

They kept me waiting at the Civic for an hour (could be worse!), but my mind kept going dark. I kept thinking about my results, promising to be good, but with the possibility of anything. I never take what the doctor's say firsthand anymore!

First the good news: Dr. S says I am stable from the neck down - my lungs and my bones. I was elated. All these aches and pains are from other medications or illnesses but they are NOT cancer. Thank god!

From the neck up, my scan shows almost the same thing as last time. Meaning, the steroids aren't working to dissolve that dead tissue. Additionally, while I won't know until I get the pathology report back on it, it does look like tumour and necrosis forming together in my cerebellum.

They can't radiate on the spot again while it's in there so it must come out. I will stay on 2mg of steroids unless I feel I need more until the surgery date. They are going to cancel my next chemo so it doesn't interfere with my surgery. I'll do tests this week to make sure I'm ready for surgery, and he said he would call me for a date next week. I'll spend 3-5 days in the Civic hospital. They will have social workers, care and aid for me. This is a bigger procedure then I signed up for!

They can't guarantee the use of my right hand, but it has to come out regardless. They worry if they go too deep I will have hand tremors or long lasting damage (15% I think - 85% not likely as someone pointed out ;) ). I could have fluid bleed out, I could have other side effects, but they will monitor me in the hospital. Everything can be dealt with, and usually it's a fairly straight forward surgery! They will put me out (!!), not even cut my hair, and suture me back up. It's close to the surface so they can do it again if need be - 60% chance of no tumour  growing back if they don't radiate after - 90% chance it won't if they do radiation (but... this could mean more necrosis. I can't win!)

So here's the question.

I want to go away next weekend to Montreal. I want quality of life, I have already made the plans, and I want to go. Is it worth pushing the surgery a week? Should I do it right away? My doctor said to get it done as soon as possible but I know it's still my decision.

I have been sick before and this sense of normalcy - when I can - is what I thrive off of. It helps see me through the dark times so I want to say YES to Lady Gaga, restaurant dates and chats with my aunt, visiting my Nanny and Uncle, going to a Leonard Cohen tribute (the artists are AMAZING). I want to shop for a new iPad and walk St Catharine. Then... have the surgery.

This may be a lot to ask (everyone has told me this is serious) but I feel like I am being serious too. Quality of life versus quantity of life. Y'know?

Anyways, tomorrow I call and ask how time sensitive this surgery is.

My MIL gave me a  brand new scarf from Joe Fresh that I plan to wear.

I'm seeing Kris + the baby.

I also become a real Mitchell (hello new health card!)

So this is shaping up to be a pretty exciting day.

Now if only I could sleep.....

PS:

Did you see our costume for book club? I am lucky to have a best friend like mine.
x

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Steroid Rage is a Thing: Updates from Cancer-land



Steroid rage. Kidding. Kinda.


Sitting here in steroid-induced mania, I decided I would write an update. It's October 22nd - which means it's been 22 days since I haven't had use of my right hand. It's funny when you think of quality of life - what would you sacrifice? - and having a right hand isn't one of them. I still can pick up a purse, but I drop just about everything - from the quiche to my mascara. I can't do much of anything creative (goodbye colouring!), and can barely hold my own fork.

I think my left hand is over compensating by now (as I type this with my left only), and I worry if I ever gain use of it again, it won't know what to do or have the strength to do what it used to.

I've tried everything - from left handed keyboards to voice to text apps (why can't they understand punctuation..) to a "pop socket" (which has proven, actually, to be the most useful).

Three months ago I had a brain MRI, and my new brain radiation doctor told me it looked as if I had a new tumour in my cerebellum - above my neck. Since it was close to another previously radiated spot, he was worried if he hit that one, I may have cognitive damage. Which is why, when I started losing function of my right hand, I knew what it was from and I didn't go to emergency. Still, I went for my MRI at the civic, and my sister-in-law peer pressured me into telling them. I spent the day in emergency. They read my results and determined I had swelling in the cerebellum of my brain. They prescribed me steroids, which I am against (summer 2016... shudder), but I knew I needed them to avoid being inflamed and having a seizure.

They told me to expect a call that Monday (the 9th), with a treatment plan. Not to knock on anyone's jobs, but when a potluck is being served and my MRI is cancelled and I still can't use my hand, I get a little pissed off. My doctor did call, only to tell me "there wasn't anything more he could do for me". Maybe a slight language barrier, but in cancer treatment, THIS IS A PHRASE NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR. I was well educated, so I knew surgery was an option, but having someone say that to me is something I'll always remember.

I got another MRI at the civic, to determine if it was actually new tumour that is growing in my head - or just radiation necrosis. This is dead tissue, but needs to be resolved like a tumour because it is taking up room in my head (AKA why I have no fine motor skills in my right hand). I had that done on Friday, the 20th. They should call me tomorrow with a new plan of action.

Dr. S - my neuro surgeon - told me that if it's necrosis, which he thinks it is, it could be resolved by steroids. This is a better option then having brain surgery, of course, but I'm almost done two weeks of steroids (for example, though - I was on 32 mg last summer, this time I started at 8 mg), and my hand seems to be doing worse. Quality of life is very important to me, so if the surgery is safe, with little side effects, I will go for it. Who knew open brain surgery you were awake?! From what I've heard it's tolerable and safe, but i'll ask tomorrow when they call. He originally told me 6 weeks of steroids - which I will deal with - puffy face, the weight gain, the constant hunger, the blurred vision, the headaches, being out of breath constantly and NO sleep - if they can guarantee my hand back. It's such a weird thing to have to think about, but at 11PM on a Sunday, this is what I'm contemplating.

In other news!

WE MOVED. We live in Carleton Place now (and no, with this gimpy hand I can't drive...), but we save all of our rent from living in Westboro (plus bills etc). This gives us a lot more freedom that I hope to experience with Jeff this year - travelling (even though, no health insurance! Where is safe that I need to go!? Short plane rides!).

I've kept myself pretty busy this September with the CIBC Run for the Cure (our team raised almost $15 000)! Despite being a Stage IV speaker, I got great feedback. I am grateful the packing/kijiji'ing/moving came before the issues with my hand because I don't know how I would have gotten them all done.

I was planning on going back to work very part time - 8 hours a week - in Kanata to experience some Christmas retail joy (I LOVE IT!), but without a working hand and a looming surgery that has been on the back burner. Cross your fingers for me! Life has it's way sometimes.

My voice is also not back to 100% (if Pure Kitchen brings me another turmeric shot - "it will make your throat feel better!). I have an appointment on Halloween to see my throat surgeon about a more permanent option for my voice. Right now, they injected my immobilized vocal chord with a botox substance, but a real surgery will entail a clip to hold my vocal chords together. Again, not a surgery for everyone, but after I heard my voice at the run.... I was like, is that me? We are lucky to get something that would normally be expensive in healthcare land for free here in Canada, and I always choose to feel very lucky for that.

This Tuesday we are having a Halloween book club (group costume with Kris and Wyatt!), and Saturday we are throwing a Halloween party. Friends are coming down, and I am so excited to see them. Life as usual, but weird with cancer trying to get in the way.

My birthday is November 18th, and Jeff and I made big plans to go to Nashville. Half me - wanting to see the CMA Christmas at the Grand Ole Opry - half Jeff, wanting to get a fried chicken sandwich and experience some of the food and culture they have to offer.

I went on a limb and got re-scheduled  Lady Gaga tickets in Montreal and will spend the weekend with my aunt. I have tattoos and Christmas markets to look forward to and every day I feel good, I refuse to lay in bed and feel down.

It isn't always easy - I often think... is this my life? but I've become quite good at accepting my reality - with cancer, with family and children, with work, with life. I am happier when I get to see family, friends, and have experiences I KNOW I wouldn't be able to experience otherwise.

So, time will tell with all the unpredictable variables above. All I can hope for is another day of feeling good, more treatment options, clinical trials. More snuggles with dogs and babies and husbands. More time.

That seems to be the recurring theme around here lately. More time.

Here is a spam of pictures that are NOT organized (oof! time!):


All that matters. Family, friends, husbands, pool parties, raising awareness, random road trips, hotdogs, winning things, cottages, photo shoots, cancer galas, funny cards, pedicures, work besties (turned into IRL besties) and new babies. 

That's it for me today, because this took me three hours to type up (maybe shorter IS better... less words!)

If you want to reach  out to me - I am always happy to one handedly e-mail or Instagram.



xoxo

sam

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Nevertheless, She Persisted - Run for the Cure 2017

\




I'll never forget when I was 24 and I found a lump in my right breast. 
It was the moment that would change my life forever. 

When they asked me to come in for the results on November 18th 2014, my birthday, I didn't change the appointment.
I didn't want to enjoy my day having the results looming over my head. 

My doctor asked me to come in alone and she said some of the most shocking words you can ever hear. 

"Sam, it came back as cancer."

The next thing I remember is my family being rushed in, as I was told I would have to endure chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation. 
I was going to lose my long blonde hair.
 I was going to have to take a leave from my promising career. 
Through the tears, I heard my doctor say - if you do this - if you push through this year - you're going to be okay. 
Trade one year of your life for many happy ones ahead of you. 

I quickly learned I was stronger then I thought, and by Christmas 2014 I had no hair. 
By February, I had completed three treatments and my outlook was insanely positive. 
I started a blog, gained media attention, and with this large following behind me - supportive friends, friends of friends, now husband and family - I never felt alone. 
Sometimes, with my illness, I felt lonely - but not alone. 

They urged my mom for detection as a precaution.
 She underwent mammograms,  ultrasounds, and biopsies and as we sat in the room waiting for her results we all couldn't help feeling - this is all a little too familiar.

My mom was diagnosed 3 months after me with Stage 1 breast cancer.
 Our genes weren't positive so this was random.
 I have always been close with my mom and it felt wrong that we would go through surgery and radiation together - but I also felt as if someone understood me.
 What we were going through together. 
I saved my moms life - this was the way it was supposed to be. 

During summer 2015, I was one body part short, with shorter hair but I felt stronger then I ever have. 
We both rang the bell and celebrations included cake and one direction tickets. 
I was going to go back to work; life.
 And even though I felt conflicted - how do you move forward, when you have gone through so much, and everyone else has stayed the same - I was excited. 
I was high on life. 

In January 2016, I found a small lump in my right armpit. I had learned my lesson and went to the oncologist right away, where they biopsied it just to be safe. I did further tests and I heard the words a second time: the biopsy came back as cancer. It has spread to your lungs and bones and brain.

I'm 26 and have Stage IV breast cancer. 

When cancer progresses to Stage IV, there is no cure.

I remember thinking - I traded a year of my life for better ones ahead. How can this be? 

I will be on treatment the rest of your life - and when the treatments stop - so will I.

I tried to maintain a positive frame of mind but I knew about Stage IV and I was afraid.
 My life is incremental - I live between 3 month scans.

The average life expectancy of someone with Stage IV is 24 months. I have been living 18. 

It took me a long time to figure out how I would make this a positive speech. 
This stage is normally for Survivors - how can I kick off the run and still be true to Stage IV - which isn't always pink, and ribbons and glitter. 

I am living proof that you can have quality of life when you are are diagnosed as Stage IV. With help from amazing oncologists, therapists, and phychologists I can stand here today and tell you I am living my best life.

Every day I wake up feeling good I celebrate - I see friends, eat good food (more like 30 lbs of good food!), I see movies, walk and get a coffee with my husband, adopt the perfect dog named Maverick. I snuggle my best friends baby's and swim, and am overjoyed with this time I have to develop my relationships with friends and family, to take a step back and realize what my purpose is, what am I here for, what am I to accomplish in this life?

Last summer I was very ill and decided to get married. I can't have children, chemo and basic morals have taken that from me. Still, I push forward. I want more time. I beg and plead - more time. More time. More books, music, movies, discoveries. I want more of this beautiful life. 

We are all gathered here today because we have been touched by cancer. We have lost loved ones, we care for those whom have to go through treatments or we are survivors - or thrivers - ourselves. 

I am asking today, not for a cure, but for time. More research, more treatments available to me, means more time to my husband, my best friends and family. It means seeing my nephew walk for the first time and watching my sister go down the aisle. 

More time.
 I'm not asking for a cure, I am asking all of those who have been
Touched by cancer - early or late Stage -
to give to Stage IV and grant us more time.

Thank you to everyone who joined our team, spread word about MBC, donated their precious time and made Metastatic Breast Cancer Ottawa one of the Top 10 teams in the region,  with over $13 000 donated to MBC. I am so grateful to my husband, family and best friends, Thank you to everyone who watched and shared my speech, It was a crazy September, but I wouldn't change a thing.


xx

Sam