Rose's Cantina

A month ago, my little cancer warrior headed down the corridor at the Ottawa Hospital toward an uncertain surgery in hopes of removing a malignant tumor in her mouth. It was a difficult eight-hour operation that would see the removal of part of her jaw, gums and a handful of teeth, all to be replaced with a graft from her left arm. JLove spent her Christmas and New Year's convalescing first in the observation area, then in a hospital bed. She was only able to write out her thoughts, and she could barely speak due to the fact doctors had inserted a trach tube in her mouth. The surgery went well, and though she was in a great deal of pain with a tongue the size of a grapefruit, she persevered, never complaining, grinning and raising a thumbs up on occasion. Jennette was as brave a soldier as anyone I've ever seen, and was more concerned about the trouble she was causing others. Today, we walked back into that hospital and it seemed a whole lot less scary. She met with h...

Embed from Getty Images Today is Bell Let's Talk Day , the day when we can all talk about mental health. Here's what I want to talk about. I was at the Queensway Carleton Hospital yesterday to bring Jennette, my little cancer warrior, to find her 88-year-old father who was sent there because he had chest pains. We got to the hospital, and we were told he wasn't there. "Of course he's here," I said, seeing the worry in poor Jennette's face. "The home said they sent him here." I looked around and there were at least 200 souls sitting in the waiting room in various states of distress. One woman was hobbling around on her cane crying. We were escorted into the intake room where there were more than 30 people, mostly seniors, laying on gurneys. There was no sign of Jim so we waited in the hallway where we were constantly jostled so that the orderlies could add more gurneys. It was like a scene out of Code Black , the series ab...

Just what Ottawa needs -- another hockey arena. And more shopping. And more concert venues. A car museum? A beer museum? An aquarium to babysit the kids while the guys can go to the beer and car museums while the ladies shop for designer togs? It's like a bunch of guys got together after a midnight pickup hockey game to decide what Ottawa needs more of. One woman on Twitter last night wondered if any women were actually involved in putting together the two proposal to develop LeBreton Flats,  that fetid black hole eyesore that sits in the middle of Bytown. Don't get me wrong, I like the Senators, don't love them, but like them. They do some good in our community it's true by visiting kids in the hospital and building community rinks. But for heaven's sake, do we have to reward them by letting them take up prime downtown land to build yet another shrine to a bunch of millionaires? I don't know about you, but even if the rink was built downtown,...

When you tell people you're getting a breast reduction, you get all sorts of advice. Women, literally, crawl out of the woodwork to tell you they've had one, their aunty had one, or their best friend had one after high school. To a person, I've never heard "I hate the way they look" after surgery. Before was always worse. I mean, it's understandable. You've got to really hate your boobs to endure four hours of surgery. And you have to have faith that the surgeon who accepts your case doesn't disappoint. You don't want to wake up expecting you'll look like Charleze Theron, and you end up looking like Granny Clampett. It takes a lot of guts to get a breast reduction; it's not for sissies. And no chicken to my knowledge has ever said, "take the leg, leave the breast." I don't know why I said that, it just seemed funny to me. There is a lot of soul searching that goes into the process but when you finally commit, y...

I r ealized, 'Yo, I can't do anything in moderation. I don't know how.' Eminem I've often said that I wanted to be ordinary, to be a "by the book" type of person. I know if I had been that person, I would own a house, be a size 8, and be a success at work. But like Eminem, I cannot do anything by half-measure. I am a perfectionist who has never learned how to be perfect, and so I live in the land of self-defeat. My entire life is like the rear-view mirror where objects are closer than they appear. I have insight, but I have no God damned perspective. Take this apple. I bought two of them at the store. They appealed to me like no other apple, and I paid dearly for them. They were $2.50 Cdn ($150 in $US). When I sat down to eat it, I realized that I had picked an apple that would feed four hungry hounds, and I ended up sharing it with Finnigan. It gave me a stomach ache. The average diet recommends a person pick an apple the...

Yesterday, I saw a cauliflower, that magical Unicorn-like vegetable that people have been taking out bank loans to purchase. It was $1.99 in Canadian dollars, 10 cents on the American side. We took two, the only two, and looked around and saw a man eyeing our purchase. "Do you want one?" Scott asked. "They are the only ones in the half price bin." The man smiled wanly. "No, " he said. "You take them. I'm not sure we'll eat it tonight. But thanks." "No, you take it," Scott said. "No, you." "No, you!" It is a cliché in the rest of the world to say that Canadians are the nicest people on the planet. But this exchange is direct evidence that it is true. In other countries, people would be fighting over it, ripping each other apart in the quest for the Holy Vegetable Grail. But not us. Today, I went back to the grocery store, and I accidentally forgot my iPhone 6 in the grocery cart. When I got ...

If there's an empty chair at Val Sear's table in Heaven (or the other end) I want to reserve it for myself. Of all the scribes I've met during my 40 years in and around the business, Val was the wittiest and most colorful, at least when it came to using language. He was a master punster, who could always be counted on to deliver the most "Searing"  and insightful comment or lede. Val took ideas, masticated them, and spit them out in 30 words or less. His take was always a "blinding glimpse of the obvious". Today, many of his long time colleagues from the Hill and beyond shared Valisms like these on the National Press Club Virtually Speaking site. Without their permission, I am sharing their stories today. One of my memories of Val Sears was him coming to Ottawa to cover something that turned out to be far less interesting than The Star expected. He just shrugged and said, "Well, we've turned chaff into bricks before....

Embed from Getty Images Yesterday was a banner day for me. I finally got my consult with the plastic surgeon which will take place on March 14 at 1 p.m. Nice. That's the good news. The bad news was a follow-up phone call to the family doctor. "The surgeon will not operate on anyone who has smoked in the last year," said the assistant. No worries, I have been smoke free for 59 years. "And she will not operate on anyone with a BMI (Body Mass Index) of over 30." This got my back up. BMI is a great way to determine how much weight a person has to lose, but it doesn't take into account the fact that I'm wearing two bowling balls on my chest. In my opinion, that's equivalent to putting the fix in, throwing the game, handicapping the round. I began to protest, but realized it was useless. Even without the 10 poundage on my chest, my BMI is still about 33, meaning I have to lose 35 or 40 pounds. Yes, Virginia, I am obese, a fat ass, a...

Embed from Getty Images Do you see this lovely nine pound baby? Isn't it a beautiful wondrous creation? Try strapping it to your chest and walking around with it every single minute of the day. This baby represents the total poundage of my two breasts. My girls are not symmetrical and neither is a baby. My left one is 5.1 pounds while the other is exactly 4 pounds. So it's sort of like carrying a child's gigantic head on one side and the rest of it on the other side. No wonder I have horrible back problems. I'm literally taking on water and listing to one side. For years I've been on a quest to find out exactly how much my breasts weigh. The Internet, that font of information, was no help at all. There are no evidence-based articles on this subject at all. It's awkward to weigh a boob, given its location, in order to get an accurate measurement. WikiHow suggested this method. Measure water into a big bowl that is sitting on a cookie sheet, a...

One thing I won't miss, after my breast reduction, is visiting the big girl store to purchase bras that cost more than a bottle of George Clooney premium tequila. I go to places called Addition Elle, and Pennington's, where they also sell tents advertised as dresses. These stores are chock-a-block full of friendly fitters who proudly show off their own girls in cheap looking jersey material. Jersey is usually what they sell skinny girls who buy at Old Navy and H&M. Jersey is sold at the big girl's store for what you would pay for silk anywhere else. I suppose it's because of the yardage needed to cover a larger frame. I'm not using the word "fat" here because fat is a term that is offensive. I am certainly not fat, but I am big boobed at a size 42 H which is the retail term for Huge. I cannot buy tops anywhere else but the Huge Girl's Store because they don't fit around my boobs. Sometimes, I can get shirts at Value Village but tho...

Thirty years ago, I was pregnant with my son Nick and we were living in Regina, Saskatchewan where one of the great sporting activities was watching your tires go square when it's 40 below. I loved being pregnant. I ate litres of Haagen Daz ice cream, didn't worry about fitting into my skinny jeans, and happily spent my days watching reruns of Dallas . What I didn't love was what being preggers did to my boobs. As my stomach grew, so did they; they grew and grew and grew. They reminded me of a children's book I read once. It was called The Monster Cheese Which Ate Lake Louise. I didn't mind them really, because finally they fulfilled a purpose and that was to fatten up my special little boy. Trouble was, they were too big and Nick lived in danger of being smothered to death. Him and the cats. Anyway, I continued to persevere with the whole breastfeeding thing, and managed to give him nourishment for three or four months. I had milk, boy did I! I had so much...

I received an email from a gentleman today. He had read my blog about the fact I'm getting a breast reduction. He asked me some interesting questions, and I'm going to answer them here as frankly and honestly as possible. He felt that I was being a bit cavalier about what amounts to major surgery. He asked me if I had any doubts. The answer is: Boy did I! I have been talking about getting a breast reduction for 25 years. I never did anything about it because, well, back in the day, they were pretty spectacular. I didn't like them, but others did. They caused me grief but they also got me jobs and a lot of free drinks and dinners. The Prime Minister told me I had real talent even though I'm sure he never read any of the letters I wrote on his behalf. Pierre, you old hound dog, you. For someone with low self-esteem, that was pretty awesome. Mostly, I was afraid of all the urban myths. I heard that sometimes the girls stop being twins and one becomes...

Today I learned that I will finally have breast reduction surgery. I am both terrified and elated. No more blisters from the underwire. No more side boob sticking out as I try in vain to stuff my size 44H boobs into a 42DDD. No more shopping at Ottawa Tent and Awning for a bra that costs more than a bottle of George Clooney tequila. Today, I start an occasional series on my journey through my surgery, and the reasons why. I want people to know that breast reduction surgery is not just cosmetic surgery. It is life and soul saving surgery that no woman to my knowledge has ever regretted -- except Kanye West's mom, but she shouldn't have also booked three other procedures to save time. This is serious business, four hours on the operating table; it's not for narcissists and it's not for sissies. Here is the first post I ever wrote, back in 2014, around the time of the Jian Ghomeshi sexual harassment debacle at CBC It's about how my big boobs played a huge ...

Embed from Getty Images The support worker thanked me today for supporting Jennette through her cancer surgery. Indeed, I've had lots of loving bouquets from people who have heard my story about Jennette. Doctors have thanked me, nurses have thanked me. It's like I'm a little superhero. I find this unbelievable. I come from a family that has always taken care of its own. Growing up on the farm, I helped bathe my grandmother when I was just a girl after she had been broken her hip. At 15, it was bit of a shock seeing my granny in the all-together, noticing she was missing a breast at the age of 76. I didn't ask any questions. I was raised to help others, to respect my elders, to revere them, and I loved every inch of my family. Maybe I'm strange because I grew up with my grandparents, but I loved them and would do anything for them. I also grew up with an uncle who was, well, what was said back then was he wasn't quite right. He had the in...

On Wednesday, my little cancer-fighting warrior Jennette Levett got the news that she was being sprung from the Ottawa Hospital after a grueling two weeks which involved an eight-hour surgery to remove the cancer, seven teeth and part of her jaw. She also had to endure a complicated procedure in which doctors took skin grafts from her arm and leg. When it was all done, the surgery rocked her world. JLev looked like a fatigued Rocky Balboa, the prize-fighting wannabee before he started punching cows. There were tubes everywhere. She was a living breathing, beeping little machine with glassy eyes and a Howdy Doody grin, sewn shut. Here she is the day after her surgery. Man, she's gonna kill me for this one.  The smartphone has made us all into mad paparazzi. She spent two weeks breathing and trying to talk through a tracheotomy, with goo being suctioned out of her on a constant basis. Her arm looked like a skinned chicken thigh, and I can't even guess what h...