Wednesday 14 September 2016

Louve de Laine - Media Release

Local Artisan Gives Back Through Her Hand Knits at Fundraise for Cancer Foundation

Ottawa, ON - Louve de Laine - Hand knit designs by local artisan Adèle Crôteau will be featured at an upcoming charity event The Art of Hope, benefitting the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation on October 13, 2016.

Adèle Crôteau and her family are no strangers to cancer. In 2008, her life was overturned with the loss of her mother to ovarian and peritoneal cancer. While still grieving for her mother, she received her own diagnosis of cervical cancer a few years later at the age of 37. Now cancer-free, it is her passion and goal to educate, raise awareness and raise funds towards cancer support programs and research.

Adèle became obsessed with knitting after the loss of her mother; who was an avid knitter. It was her way of self healing and to ensure her mother's legacy lived on.

Proceeds from sales of Louve de Laine's hand knit pieces have been donated to a range of charitable organization such as Ovarian Cancer Canada, The Ottawa Hospital Foundation and most recently to the Gord Downie Brain Cancer Fund.

"The Inspiration behind my work comes from difference stories of those affected by cancer. Whether I hear a famous person just diagnosed or it's someone I read about or meet online, I know I have to do something. So I am knitting!"

The Art of Hope is an evening dedicated to local arts, music and fashion from across the National Capital Region. All participants have been touched by cancer one way or another and are collaborating together to provide a fun filled, interactive evening to delight their guests.

The evening will include dance performances, live music, art exhibits, artist demonstrations and fashion show. Other artists participating at The Art of Hope include Canadian Singer/Songwriter Keturah Johnson, local designer, Rowes Fashion and visual artist Judy DeBoer.

Tickets for The Art of Hope are on sale through Eventbrite. Event details can de found at www.vixensvictorious.ca

For more information, please contact
Adele Croteau
louvedelaine@gmail.com


Tuesday 12 July 2016

Cancer helped me discover my creativity


"Art is you being free from all of the world's heviness." This is one of my favorite quotes I've come across since having and beating cancer.


When cancer enters your life, whether you are a caregiver or survivor, and I've been both, your life changes on many levels from the moment you hear those dreaded words "You have cancer" or hear a loved one say "I have cancer".

These changes present themselves as quite frightening and earth shattering.
These changes bring on many unknowsn.
These changes bring many "What now?" moments.

But these changes, and cancer entering your life, can also bring about beauty. Now before you start cussing at me screaming, "How can cancer be beautiful?", just hear me out...

When I say beauty, I don’t mean the disease itself. Don’t get me wrong, cancer IS the ugliest thing out there. I mean beauty quite literally. I mean beauty as in art, something pretty to look at, something to feel in your fingers, something that you can create and be proud of. I mean beauty as something that will leave your mark on the world as well as impact your life and that of others, regardless of whether you have 1 year to live or 50 years.

For me, this beauty has been learning the art of knitting. This has become my form of beauty, of feeling something soft in my hands, of leaving my mark on the world. Back in 2007, cancer entered my life when my mother, Ginette, was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. One year later, sadly, she earned her angel wings and my life as I knew it stopped quite abruptly. My mother was a passionate knitter. Not an evening went by that she didn’t have at least a few minutes with her knitting needles in hand, a soft smile on her lips, and a sense of serenity and pride as she created something beautiful to give to my sisters and I. For years, my mother wanted to teach me, the “crafty one” of the family, how to knit. I kept pushing it back telling her that I would one day. “Why would I waste my time?” is what I thought back then…well, with her passing, my time ran out. I became obsessed with learning how to knit while grieving the loss of my mother. Perhaps I just thought it was a way in keeping her alive, in feeling close to her and what she loved doing. By knitting, perhaps her spirit, the essence of what made her so special would never die. What I did not anticipate is how this art – knitting – would come to heal me.

The Canadian Cancer Society says that creative arts therapy can “be a way for people to express their unspoken or unconscious concerns about their illness and their lives, deal with emotional conflicts, increase self-awareness, cope with cancer and reduce stress.”

When I read this description, it made sense to me. Not only did the arts help me calm my feelings of grief in the dark days following my mom’s death, but they allowed for both physical and emotional healing. For the first time in a while, with every new stitch, I began to smile, to feel inspired, and that my mother’s legacy would live on. I had underestimated the therapeutic value of acting through art.

Then, in 2013, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer, at age 38. I’m one of the lucky ones; my cancer wasn’t terminal, and I was able to defeat it. Although the physical side of me was able to rid itself from cancer, my emotional side would be poisoned, damaged and battle for years following the diagnosis and remission and still to this day. Once again, ‘art therapy’ would be my road to healing.

One thing about being a cancer survivor or a caregiver is that you want to find a way to help others. This I find has been a common bond between those of us touched by cancer. When I started knitting, not only did it give me something to occupy my time and clear my mind of the negative thoughts, but sharing my pieces with friends and family raised awareness about cancer. It initiated discussions about why and how I learned to knit, and I would end up sharing my story with others, building awareness. I’ve always believed that awareness and education are priceless. The more we know about issues that affect the world around us, the more that people will want to find ways to help. The only thing missing for me now was how I could find a way to help raise funds for cancer research. Again, it was art.

For the last few years now, I have been selling handknit items and donating the proceeds to a range of related organizations, including Canadian Cancer Society, Ovarian Cancer Canada and The Ottawa Hospital Foundation. The inspiration behind my work comes from different stories of those affected by cancer. Whether I hear of a famous person just diagnosed or it’s someone I read about or meet online, I know I have to do something. So I am; I’m knitting.

If you wish you learn more about my knitting fundraising campaigns, you can find me under Louve de Laine on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

How did cancer change the way you viewed at beauty or experienced creativity? Share in the comments below!

Friday 3 June 2016

Going Grey for Gord

ON SALE NOW FROM LOUVE DE LAINE BY ADELE CROTEAU

In honour of Gord Downie and The Tragically Hip's final tour, 100% of proceeds from all grey Louve de Laine items will go to the Gord Downie Fund for Brain Cancer Research / Sunnybrook Hospital. Visit Louve de Laine on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, or email me: adelecroteau@gmail.com or louvedelaine@gmail.com

If you're Canadian, you probably have much of The Tragically Hip's songbook somewhere on the soundtrack of your life. So you were probably deeply affected, as I was, by the recent news of Gord Downie's diagnosis of terminal brain cancer.

The band shared this sad news on their website on May 24, and then promptly announced an upcoming tour. In their words: "What we in The Hip receive, each time we play together, is a connection; with each other; with the music and its magic; and during the shows, a connection with all of you, our incredible fans." I think I can speak for all Hip fans when I say that we feel the same - the same connection, the same magic from the music.

It's that sense of connection that compels me to dedicate all proceeds from my grey Louve de Laine wares as a tribute to Gord Downie, to a cause he and The Hip believe in. So that we - the fans - can continue to be connected to the band we all love.

Why I'm doing this

Cancer entered my life in 2007, when my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 ovarian cancer. One year later, sadly, she earned her angel wings. Then in 2013, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer, at age 37. I'm one of the lucky ones; my cancer wasn't terminal, and I was able to defeat it.

So how is this related to knitting? My mom was a passionate knitter and always wanted to teach me the art. Thinking I would have more time with her, I kept pushing it off. When she passed away, I became obsessed with learning how to knit - and I did learn. I also wanted to do what I could to increase awareness and raise funds for cancer research, so I've been selling handknit items for the last few years, and donating the proceeds to a range of related organizations, including Canadian Cancer Society, Ovarian Cancer Canada and The Ottawa Hospital Foundation.

After hearing the news about Gord, frontman extraordinaire for The Hip, I knew I had to do something. So I am; I'm Going Grey for Gord.

Grey is the colour of brain tumour awareness. From now until The Hip's Man Machine Poem tour wraps on August 20, I will donate 100% of the proceeds from all grey Louve de Laine scarves and neckwarmers to the Gord Downie Fund for Brain Cancer Research / Sunnybrook Hospital. I invite all you Hip fans to buy in: Show Gord how much Canada cares by purchasing one of Louve de Laine's grey wares. Because in the end, we all need something to wear, to cover up from the cold wind running....

Message to Gord

My most sincere congratulations to you on your positivity and strength during such a challenging time. Going on tour now is courageous and pretty freaking awesome, to say the least. You're inspiring many people, and that's an amazing thing. I know your upcoming tour will be epic, and moving beyond words. Know that all Canadians are behind you in this, and strongly rooting for you. Good luck in the coming days, months, years.....

#GordStrong
#goinggreyforgord



Thank you for Michelle and her generosity for the beautiful photos. You are awesome. 
http://www.michellemabellephotography.com/

Sunday 8 May 2016

My Mother's Day Wish

On this Mother's Day: For all of you who still have their mothers, and who may not always understand why they do what they do, who may be frustrated by their constant questions and concerns, who may feel they are not accepting that you are no longer a child, I have one request: next time you see your mom, just hold her hand a tad longer than you normally would. Tell her that she means the world to you. Lay your head on her shoulder as you sit side-by-side a few moments. Give her a warm smile when you catch her staring at you from across the table. Know that your mom is that one person in the world that will love you more than any other being ever could remotely come close to. She does accept you as being an adult but she does the things she does because you are the last thing on her mind as she goes to bed every night and the first thing also when she wakes in the morning. Her heart skips a beat every time she sees you or simply thinks about you. There is nothing your mother wouldn't do to ensure your happiness and safety, no matter what age you are. A mother's love is like no other. 

And for those of us who have lost their mother's much too soon, may we hold onto those memories of her, of her love, of her stare from across the table with a constant smile, of her warm hand on ours, of feeling her heart beat in her every hug, of her beautiful face, her kind words, and her constant adoration for all that we are. Not a day goes by that I do not think of my mother. To say I miss her is an understatement. But I am pretty lucky to have the memories that I do have. To have felt a love like no other. To have felt loved no matter what heartache I brought upon her. To have been given my three sisters who are the biggest blessings I could ever have hoped for. To have my father to help keep her love alive. 


Maman, je t'aimais, , je t'aime, je t'aimerai




Sunday 1 May 2016

Will I Ever Get Off This Cancer Roller Coaster?

I’ve often read different metaphors for life, one of them being ‘life is like a roller coaster ride’ full of peaks and valleys of joy and pain. Sure I guess, although most of my life, especially my youth, was more about consistency, calm, and comfort with only a few bumps in the roads that were easily overcome. My youth was more of a carousel ride, smoothly going around in circles, joyful music in the background, children and adults alike smiling and laughing. You’d get the occasional horse that would jolt you unexpectedly up in the air, taking your breath away but leaving you giggling on the way back down.

My cancer diagnosis could almost be seen as my first ride on this life-sized roller coaster. You sit down on the cold hard bench, pull the metal bar down and buckle yourself in, close your eyes, hold your breath and hope for the best. The ride starts going slowly up and up as you head to countless doctors offices, get scans, biopsies and blood work. Then you hit the momentary stop at the top, the peak of the ride where you are surrounded by silence, emptiness, loneliness, to suddenly dropping viciously down down down to that valley at the bottom of the ride known as Diagnosis Day, or what I refer to as D-Day.

The first year, although I remained on that roller coaster, I got to a place where those peaks and valleys were better handled. They became expected. I could regulate my breath so that the rise no longer seemed to reach as high as that first one, and the dips appeared to be slightly slower going down. I knew that with every appointment my heart would beat harder and faster, then drop back down and slowly get back to a place I would be able to handle and move forward.

Then came the end of the ride where I slowly pulled up to the gates, the security bar was released. I got off the roller coaster, legs weak and shaky, but I gladly accepted that it was over.I had survived the ride. I was told the glorious words “You are now cancer-free”.

For a while after, I walked around that ‘amusement park’, my life, just looking around at the beauty of it. The colors, the lights, the music. All those happy faces and I actually felt I also was one of those happy faces in the crowd. I blended in. I was at peace. I was healthy. I went back to my normal.

…or so I thought.

Little did I know, I would not be done with the rides so soon. Perhaps never.

I recently rode a ferris wheel in downtown Montreal at night. There were lights and music, and I had my son and one of my sisters next to me. It was beautiful, lovely, even magical. But it also made me realize that my recent challenges were somewhat similar to this ferris wheel ride. There were the ups and downs, similar to the roller coaster, yet they were smoother, almost creeping up on you without warning. For every day that I felt great and at peace, I would have a few days with panic stricken moments that would hit me out of the blue in random moments.

I would be in the grocery store and suddenly feel like the floor would collapse under my feet as if I had just walked onto a trap door. The room would begin to spin uncontrollably, I felt I had forgotten how to take a breath. I dreaded night times the most when the kids would be snuggled warm in their beds, my beautiful husband sound asleep beside me, my dog curled up close to my legs. These were moments when I should be most at peace, but they would leave me in tears. I found my head spinning with uncertainty, anticipating what dreadful dreams I’d have. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Who was this person who feared the calm moments? Why was it that all I could think of was what could happen?

I started imagining the worst. Would I get sick again? Would cancer come full circle and chose me once again? It gave me the same feeling of walking through a house of mirrors, through a maze of mirrors where every turn has you face to face with those glass panes of a distorted reality. I would catch glimpses of myself that were unusual and confusing, some of them humorous and others frightening.

One of the biggest triggers of my anxiety recently has been waiting on the results of my genetic testing. Earlier today I had a call with my genetic counselor to go over those results. The main genes they were looking at were BRCA 1 and 2. I found out that I have negative results for both of those. What that means is I do not have a mutation in those genes, therefore I am not at a higher risk of ovarian or breast cancer. It does not mean that my mother, who passed away of cancer, did not have a mutation though. When a parent has the mutation, there is a 50/50 chance of it being passed down. The fact that I do not have the mutation also means that my kids will not. Gene mutations do not skip a generation. If you don't have it, you can't pass it down. All in all, this is good news and was such a huge relief for me.

Still, I’m not sure what is next for me. I don’t know what is around the corner. I can’t be certain I won’t hop onto yet another scary ride. What I do know is that I am not alone in this, in these feelings and in these constant fears. I am working hard on accepting this new me, this new reality. Life will continue to have me facing scary and uncomfortable moments, weird rides that I wish I had never gotten onto.

What I have also learned is that in accepting the fearful moments, it is OK to seek help and not want to face this alone. For me, that has meant admitting that I am struggling with depression and anxiety. It has meant accepting medication as prescribed by my family physician. It is reaching out to the professionals who can help me in sorting out my thoughts.

My recovery will continue to be these things and that is OK. It does not mean I am broken. It does not mean I am weak. It simply means I am human. It means I accept me.

It means I am a survivor.