One Last Thing

On Friday, Nov 9th, I will finally have the last procedure I need to complete my cancer treatments.

Sure, I will still be taking my hormone-blocking pills for the next 5 years, but, that's just a tiny little pill I take in the morning.

And, yes, I suppose I will have many many followup visits with various health care providers throughout the rest of my life. Perhaps more frequent in the next couple of years than later.

But the point is, those things are incidental.

I'm going to get my port removed.

That odd little lump on the left side of my chest, sometimes visible to one and all. That bizarre, annoying purple plastic gizmo, with a tube attached to it. A tube that goes directly into my left jugular. The thought of which would, on occasion, creep me out a bit.

It's coming out on Friday.

And then, it's time to party.

last treatment, a no-hair day

This morning I went to my last radiation treatment.

Going in, I felt that it was going to feel rather anti-climactic, because hey, all I did for radiation was go in and lie on a table for 5 min or so every day, and really, that wasn't hard. My skin didn't even suffer very much. Chemo, now, that was hard. But at the end of that, you've just had a 3 hour treatment, you feel dippy, and you know the crappy days are ahead, so finishing doesn't feel like something to celebrate, even though that was the hard part.

I got up a little earlier than usual to be sure I'd have enough time to finish all my make-up, lashes included, so I could go without a wig. I dressed in my hot-pink shirt, and wore my sparkly sequined shoes to mark the occasion.

When I got there, they're playing my usual mix of alternative music. I get on the table, they get me into position, put the gel-pack on my chest (really thin, flat - I hear it helps to keep the skin irritation to a minimum), and then, as they leave the room to start the treatment, the music changes to "Celebration"!
This has me almost laughing, which would probably not be good for the radiation field they just lined up, so I hold myself in check while the machine buzzes and delivers my last dose of radiation.

When it's done, they all come in to congratulate me, hugs all around. I get a bottle of sparkling cider and a certificate of completion (so cute!).

And, man, I am so glad to be done!

When I go in to change out of the hospital gown, I peel off all the stickers and slather lotion on any which way I want to, smearing the ink that I'll get to completely wash off later.

It felt AWESOME.

After that, I went to work.

Just like that.

not quite ready

For the past few weeks or so, I've been brave enough to occasionally step outside the house without anything on my head.
Most days, when I get home, my wig is the first thing to come off. Even before I take off my shoes. I'm just more comfortable that way. You know, with the heat and all.

I'm just not quite ready to make it my look for every day.

counting down

My radiation treatments are coming to a close.

Only 4 more left.

I'm not sure if it's gone by faster than I expected, or slower.

I won't know what to do with myself when I don't have to see a doctor every time I turn around.

on the left

Way back in January, when I had my mammogram and they biopsied the lump on the right, they also saw some small spots on the left.
Spots are normal, especially if they're small, so nobody was concerned about it.
My surgeon wanted a second look, just to be sure, so I went back over and had another scan done on the left side. Again, nothing to worry about.
Given my family history, and the fact that I was about to start cancer treatment, they decided we should have another look in about six months.

Monday was the day.

(It's cute how careful and kind all the technicians are when they know you're not there for your average every-day annual scan.)

Because this was specifically to check up on previous images, they had to be sure to position me exactly as they had before. They also had the images from January up on the screen to compare it to in real time.

They made me wait while they discussed what they could see.

Everything looks just like it did before. No changes.

The images were sent to my surgeon so she could have a look as well. She agrees with the folks at UVRMC - nothing has changed.

We'll take another look in six months. Can't be too careful about stuff like this.

I am so grateful to have so many excellent care-givers on my team.

like art, but not

As a preparation for my final radiation treatments, this morning the docs and techs took turns drawing on my chest.

ain't it perty?

*wink*

My lashes had been thinning a bit over the last month or so.
As of about two weeks ago, they were pretty much gone, so I started wearing false lashes (just the drugstore variety, nothing too expensive).*
Since I had absolutely no clue how to go about putting these things on, I searched the web for some basic lash-application tutorials. Nerdygirlmakeup was my favorite.

Andrea 53 lash

I sorta thrashed my first pair (getting off the old adhesive isn't the easiest thing I've ever done) and my second didn't fair much better. When I went back for a third set, they were all out of the usual kind in the style I wanted, but they had a set of the "self adhesive" variety. These come with a strip of adhesive already on the lash, and another in a little groove in the package. The adhesive is different from the kind you apply yourself, in that it remains a bit sticky instead of drying after a few minutes.
I loved how easy they were to put on (and reposition), but then I spent a good portion of the day unsticking the bangs of the brunette wig from my lashes. If that wasn't enough, every time I sneezed, (and it was a sneezy sort of day) my eyelids would stick shut, and I'd have to pry them apart. By the end of the day, I wasn't sure if I'd use that second strip. Ever.
Thankfully, they can be glued on in the usual way as well, or I'd have tossed them.

I've gotten skilled enough with the glue that it's no longer a thick messy line (or glopped onto the lashes), and I can get them both on within about 5 minutes.

However, unless there is some trick with the glue I haven't learned yet (possible) it seems that your average strip lash is not meant to be worn for an entire day. Most days, I end up touching up the glue about halfway through the day. At first, I'd take them off, reapply glue, and put them back on. Now I just get a little glue on a toothpick, run it under the loose portions of the lash strip, and stick that bit back on my eyelid. Probably not the recommended method, as I suppose I could accidentally poke myself in the eye (with a sharp stick), but I'm careful. Promise.

As I've gotten used to these fussy little bits of pretty, I've started to have a little fun with them, try new styles. At first, I was going for "realistic, but better". Now, I'm happy to try the more dramatic lengths.

Andrea 45 lash

I would never have applied enough mascara to get this effect with my own lashes (mostly because it all has to come off at some point), but I have to admit, I like the look. Enough that I will probably continue to use false lashes whenever the mood suits.

(notice the lack of lower lashes. sad, isn't it? not much I can do about that)



Side note: If you look closely at the second photo, you might notice that my eyebrows are filling back in. I still brush on a little brow powder so they don't look sparse (the hairs are about half their usual length), but now I don't have to guess at where my brows should be. I was just starting to get the hang of penciling them on, and now I don't need to so much.

*for anyone thinking, "why don't you just get those 'permanent' ones they can do at a salon?" Those kind are glued to your existing lashes. Of which I have very few. Also, there is a risk of infection for those of us with compromised immune systems, and infections, at any stage of cancer treatment, are bad news. Even if they're nowhere near the treatment areas. Point of fact: they don't recommend wearing any false lashes due to risk of infection. I just choose to live dangerously in the interest of not frightening strangers. (You're welcome.)

irradiated

Know what? Radiation is kinda boring.

I come in, wave at the receptionist on my way to the dressing room, swap all my clothing above the waist for a hospital gown, and lay down on a table. Then 2-3 technicians push me around a bit to get me positioned correctly under the lasers and such, while I pretend I'm a mannequin* - whatever position they put me in, that's how I'll stay.
Everyone clears the room, leaving me alone while a machine shoots radiation at the selected areas. A few minutes later, I'm all done, the techs help me up from the table, I change back into my clothes, and I'm outta there.

Boring.

Or, it could be.

Truth is, the techs are nice people. They tell me they like the music I chose to listen to (I asked for Neon Trees, or anyone like them), and sometimes, they even dance. While they wait for the machine to finish circling out of the way, or the table to come back down, they dance. And I lay there half-naked on a table, with my feet rubber-banded together. (Is it just me, or does this sound like something out of Rocky Horror?)

*Did you ever play that game when you were little? you stand still (or you sit, or lay down) and your friend takes hold of your arm or whatever and positions you in various awkward positions? Just me? Okay. Nevermind.

Recently

Recently, I've been plagued by the same almost-mistake, over and over again.

I keep almost leaving the house without anything on my head.

Seriously.

 

Yes, my hair is starting to grow back. As are my eyebrows.

But it's not quite to the point that I would actually be comfortable spending the entire day like this.

Radiology, Tatts, and prepping to become a super-hero

(Or, something like that.)

Went to Radiology this morning, for the initial set-up appointment.

This involved me taking off everything above the waist, putting on a gown (opening in the back, please), laying down on the "bed" for the scanner, and having my feet held together with a huge rubber band (to help keep me still, she said). I was then dressed up with a special tape (to mark the area that will be irradiated) and run through a huge donut for a cat-scan. Quick process, that. And I didn't even have to hold my breath.

Once they had the scans, I had to stay still while she calibrated the computer, and then the tech came in and turned out the lights, saying that she could see what she needed to see a little easier with the lights out. (This had me wondering if the tape and the scan somehow together left some kind of marks on my skin?) She then switched on something in the thing above my head that read "laser". I could see there was a red light, aimed at my nose. She repositioned the "bed", and I presume the red light was now aimed at my right breast. She then drew six dots on me - four around my right breast, and one on either side of my body, in the rib area. Once drawn, she prepped her tattoo needle (it looked like a flexible tube with a needle at one end - not exactly high tech), and poked me six times, injecting ink at each one of the dots. She drew blood.

(So now, I have smears of ink, not quite cleaned off, around each dot, and the one that bled? it's the one located just about dead-center on my chest, well above cleavage area, fully visible to all and sundry. That's pretty.)

The doc asked me if I had questions. I told him I'd never done this before, so, I didn't know. He laughed and told me to write them down, if I thought of any, and we'd go over them, one by one, next time he saw me. All of this took place while I was laying down, gowned, partially exposed, hands above my head. I felt silly.

After, when I was dressed again, I stood at the counter discussing appointment times. The doctor came up next to me, asked how I felt. I said, "I have tattoos!", and he lamented the fact that they didn't have more sophisticated equipment. A micro-tattoo would be so much better - you could have tiny little butterflies or roses or hearts - if only they had the equipment. I pointed out that little dots aren't exactly going to stick out on my skin - I've already got plenty, I say, sticking out my arms to show him all my freckles. He was nice.

My first appointment is on Wed the 20th. They will shoot radiation at my body, guided by the tattoos, for about 15 min, every week day, for six to eight weeks.

Tomorrow, I have my follow-up with the oncologist.

I live a thrilling life, no?

it's like a 5 o'clock shadow...for my head

I noticed on Thursday that my head seemed to be somewhat fuzzier, darker. But I didn't want to be jumping the gun here, stating that I might have some actual hair on my head.
Today, I took some pictures, and, yup, I seem to have more hair!

It's still quite thin, yes. And some of it isn't so much brunette as it is...void of color. But, it's there. And it's mine. By the time it's officially summer, I may be able to get away with wearing just a hat, on a really hot day, instead of a wig, topped with a hat, to protect my head from sunburn.

Also, my eyebrows are showing signs of coming back, though I'm not sure you can see that here.

Close up, in the mirror, I can see it. (This is my left eyebrow, BTW. Apparently, it thought it should match the right one. Stupid eyebrows. Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw eyebrows on yourself? Or how long that takes? Sheesh.)

My nails, however, seem to think it would be better to abandon ship.

Did no one tell them that chemo is over? Really, guys, you can stay! No need to peel off and regrow! (It's the index and middle finger there that are showing signs of peeling. So far.)
I trimmed them shorter, in an effort to keep them from catching on anything and getting pulled off. Not sure that's going to help, but, it was worth a shot. I'd say something like "why couldn't it have been my toenails instead", but, then one of those would want to come off, too. So, I never said that. Nope. And yes, I am aware that I could use a good manicure. It's just best if I don't do that until my nail strength is back to normal. I can live with ragged cuticles if it means keeping my nails. It's all a matter of perspective.

6th & final chemo

My mom came with me for this last session. (Which was on Tues, May 15) We were quiet, only talking a little bit. I was a bit loopy from the benadryl again, and struggling not to sleep, because I wanted to knit. Which I did.
(Mom was quiet partly because anything she said was commented on by the nearest nurse(s), and this made her feel as though everyone was listening. Which is kinda true. That's just how it is in the chemo room.)
Because this was my last session, there was a little bit of hoopla from the nurses, and a bottle of sparkling cider for me to celebrate with! (Sorry, no picture. I was drowsy and not thinking straight.)

When I talked to my onco, he was with me on the whole "get this port out as soon as possible" thing. He says we can leave it in until after radiation is over (they'll take blood about once a week), or take it out before that starts, if I don't mind a needle stick (I don't). I tell him I've always had an easy vein, but I'll see how I feel when we meet up again in June. No question of taking it out at the end of that day, as I would already be knocked down by the chemo; adding minor surgery to that isn't the best idea.

(Did you see what I said there? I don't have to see another doctor until MID JUNE!
I really like that. I'm so very very tired of doctors and nurses and always having to go back.)

I have been more tired. More down, emotionally. And sometimes, even now, two weeks later, I get a sort of wave of exhaustion. I'll be sitting at my desk, or even relaxing in bed, and suddenly, I'll feel as though I just finished climbing a huge hill, every muscle in my body weak, every joint sore. Like I just can't keep going another second. It passes fairly quickly. But that's strange, too.

In the meantime, my left eyebrow has decided it wants to match the right, so now I must color them both in. Sometimes more than once, since I tend to sweat them off if I do too much. I see no sign of these particular hairs trying to grow back just yet, either. Bother.

The hair on my head, it seems, got the message that we've had our last chemo, and looks as though it's trying to grow back already. It's just a light fuzz, filling in about the fuzz that never really left. But it's there. I think. I might be imagining it, actually. Not sure.

My weight. I'd like to ignore that issue. But I can't. I said before that I refuse to buy new pants. I still refuse. I can get into my skinnier jeans, without much struggle, actually. But it's not pretty. No, it's not a good look at all. And my face...ugh...it's all puffy (okay, it's fat). What's strange is that I seem to have gained more just in the last week, and I can tell you that I'm not endlessly eating (although, for whatever reason, this time my taste buds were almost normal), and in fact, I've been significantly more physically active than I was in between all the other chemo sessions. It's discouraging. I had been losing weight slowly, back in Nov/Dec, before the diagnosis. I felt like I was starting to look pretty good. And then apparently, I had to be one of those that gains weight while being treated for cancer. Because, why not? I think I find it more discouraging right now than how my head looks with it's uneven fuzz of hair. If they tell me I'm not supposed to try to lose weight while I do radiation (like they did when I started chemo), I think I'll explode. I mean, if someone is already overweight, isn't it okay if they continue doing something healthy, as long as they don't end up underweight? (HA! as if that could happen!) Not happy about how puffy I feel.

Anyway, puffy or not, for a while at least, life can tilt back towards normal. And maybe I can get caught up with things at home and work. Maybe.

I dropped my son off at the MTC today. It was a bitter-sweet parting. I started getting emotional as we drove over. I managed to hold it together (mostly) while we unloaded luggage and made sure he had the essentials. Then, as the two "host" missionaries were about to walk away with my son and all his belongings, I asked for one more hug. My boy hugged me so tight. Tighter than I've been hugged in a long time. Almost tight enough to last two years. Almost.

I'm so very proud of him. I know he's going to be a great missionary. But I'm going to miss him so very very much.

fuzzy and incomplete

Hair loss with chemo is unpredictable.
Not to mention, it's different for everyone, like most things with chemo.
Most of you saw how quickly my hair left my head, once it started. But what you may not know is that I never lost all of it. Some of it was just too stubborn to leave. Or maybe, somehow, the body knows just how much hair it can sustain, and that's how much it leaves. Whatever the reason, I still have hair on my head.

Not enough that I'd want to go out bare-headed.

No

 Just enough that it's comical.

It's all fuzzy. And usually, it sticks straight up.

At this point, shaving it off again would just be silly.

Also, while I hope I've been clever enough with the make-up that most of you wouldn't have noticed? I've lost a fair amount of hair from my right eyebrow.

And a few lashes as well.

I color it in, and mostly you can't tell. But it's a bit sparse. The left one is okay. What's that about?

Sparse just about sums up what hair there is on my body. Sparse, and also fine. What there is is nearly invisible. Mostly. (The upside to this? I used to have a few hairs on my chin, which I was obliged to pluck from time to time. Haven't seen any in months.)

A couple of weeks ago, I decided I'd shave my legs and underarms. Now I'm wishing I hadn't, because what's growing back in seems darker and courser. What was there was only visible if you got really close to me. Will I never learn?

Lastly, for the curious, even the remaining "canopy" has thinned to just a sprinkling of hair. I feel all exposed and naked. Even when I'm dressed. And some people, apparently, do this deliberately? Weird.

treatment #5

I am kinda starting to dread these chemo treatments. The recovery time is lengthening each time, it seems, with new side effects and pains. When I told my onco I was starting to resent the whole process he just looked at me and said, "oh, so, you're human? I was starting to think you were some kind of super-woman."
I suppose that just about sums it up. I had been feeling pretty good, bouncing back pretty fast, up to the last one.

Not really different from the rest in the moment. Except my port behaved right away and we didn't have to do much but lay me back in the recliner, and we had it giving up blood. But then I mentioned that I only had one treatment after this, so I wouldn't be keeping it much longer, and she informs me that no, they like to keep them in until well after radiation, because they'll take blood while that's going on, and then usually, she said, they leave them in until you've been cleared at the one-year mark.

Excuse me?

I do NOT want this piece of plastic, with its tube going directly into my jugular, just sitting there, for no good reason, for another YEAR. I'm gonna have to talk to someone about that. I can take being stuck with a needle if they need to, for whatever testing they'll want to do, once the prescribed treatments are finished with. But this THING has a popped stitch that pokes from the inside, and the tube jabs my neck in some positions when I'm trying to sleep, and I just think, maybe, we can do without it. I hope.

Anyway.

So they'd scheduled me a bit late in the day, 2pm, for what should take about 3 hrs. I came early for the blood stuff, so I didn't hold them up. But it was getting toward 5pm, and the first bag of poison was still not finished. I understand they'd like to go home, and I wanted to be done, too. After twice thinking the bag was empty, and it wasn't, the nurse decided to squeeze out what was left so she could switch to the other poison. Yeah. I felt that. She stood behind me so I didn't have to see her do it, but I could hear it, and then, my whole body went quite warm for about a minute. Quite warm. Ick.

It was really strange.

Then, the rest went as normal. Didn't take much longer and I was done.

It was after 5, so I didn't plan to go back to work, even though I felt fine. I did pop in for a few more minutes, to finish up some things, because I knew I'd be a bit spacey the rest of the week, if not worse.

And basically, that was all I was. At first. Kinda spacey Thursday. Kinda getting tired Friday, and only sort of woozy Saturday, but knowing my body would need sleep. I didn't try to push it. I tried to sleep. I just couldn't quite sleep enough, maybe. Or maybe, my body is more destroyed this time, and I needed more. By Monday, it was evident I wasn't going to make it to work. Still didn't sleep so much as I just lay there, resting (which is almost good enough), but it wasn't so much helping me to feel better.

I kept thinking, as I lay there drifting in and out of sleep, only getting up to use the bathroom, that I might be feeling better, sooner, if only I had an IV fluid drip. It's really hard to drink enough liquids when water tastes nasty, and even harder to drink when you're sleeping. So I know I wasn't getting enough to keep me hydrated, but still, I couldn't seem to make myself drink more. I keep trying. But my mouth feels dry (which is another side-effect, new for me) and no matter how much I seem to drink, I'm sure it's not enough, yet.

So here it is Friday, and I'm still feeling worn out. I've been in to work every day, but some days, not even for half the day.

And my room....it sort of....stinks. Just a sort of "funk" I can only say isn't...normal.

I think I'll be able to manage changing the sheets, doing some laundry. I should be able to. If not, I'll make my boy help me. Understand, it's not the laundry that will wear me out. That part is easy. It's the whole walking around the double bed multiple times while I put on new sheets. That can be kind of tiring, all on your own. I've always thought that when the bed is too big to make while standing to one side, there ought to be someone else on the other side to help you out. It's sort of a two-person job, when the bed is big enough for two. Should be, anyway. But that's neither here nor there. One problem at a time. Get past the cancer, and then see what's next.

I am so grateful there is only one more of these to go. At least then, when I start feeling better afterwards, I don't have to remind myself there is another one coming up.

hidden damage

I'd heard that your nails often show the state of your health.
Sort of a history, shown almost like the rings of a tree.
But I'd never been able to really see anything, until now.

Can you see it? Those darker curved lines at the base of each nail? (Or is it the lighter parts in between?) And there's another, coming in at the base, which you might be able to see if I'd taken the time to push back my cuticles before taking the picture (I know you'll ignore my lack of manicure).

I figure there is one "ring" for each chemo treatment. Probably takes a couple of weeks before it starts to show up.

Proof that my body isn't especially happy with how it's being treated.

It's not the cancer that makes your immune system weak, your body less able to do what it normally does. It's the treatment.

4th treatment, same as last time (pretty much)

Stubborn port again, but we were able to clear it and move along. Stuff would go IN, it just didn't want to come OUT. And since we have to test my blood before they'll let me have more chemo, (wait, like, it's some sort of privilege?) we have to get it to give it up, or we're looking at a needle stick. Bad enough I've got to walk around with this piece of plastic in me, reminding me every second of every day that I'm not normal. But lets add a needle stick to that while we're at it, okay? Not so much.

Anyway, I was alone for this one. Just the way it turned out. Twin1 had been already, so I didn't feel like I could make him come. Twin2 was sick (just a sore throat, but, not allowed) as was my mom. And my bestie, Betty, was out of town. Jupiter offered to come, but, I was really fine. I had the new socks just started, and I knew what I'd be doing with my time.

The benadryl made me super-sleepy, but I fought it and kept knitting. I didn't want to give up my knitting time. Or be caught snoring in the comfy chair.

Turned out okay - didn't make any knitting mistakes, and I managed to keep awake through the whole thing. Was a tad wobbly on my way to the bathroom a couple times, but I had the IV pole to hang onto, so I was fine. Uh huh. Fine.

This is how far I got with the new socks:

Not bad for just a few hours, right? And I got more done that night, after work.

I went back to work, after chemo. Right at this moment, I'm not sure I know exactly what I did for the couple of hours I was at the office that evening. Mostly office-type stuff, I guess. Not much in the way of client work, is what I mean. More admin and housekeeping/prep work for the month to come. Harmless stuff.

I worked the rest of the week as well. Mostly clear-headed until later Friday. But when I came home Friday, after feeling that I couldn't work another second at the office, I didn't get to sleep until well after midnight. Couldn't do any more desk work, but apparently I couldn't sleep yet, either. More than one kind of tired, I guess. I worked on a few projects from bed until I was finally nodding off.

Saturday and Sunday kind of blur together. There was sleeping, eating, watching some Netflix. And I went to the grocery store Saturday evening. Only gone for 1/2 hour, but it totally knocked me out. Got my ice cream, though, so I was happy.

Lots of tasty meals came our way, with some cute Easter lamb cookies from one neighbor. How sweet of them to give us that little bit of Easter! I was touched.

Back to work Monday, for about 1/2 day, but my mind wasn't totally clear, and I was tired and yawning all day.

Much better today. Except for that nasty taste in my mouth, combined with a feeling like the inside of my mouth has been roughed up with sand paper or something. Getting real tired of sucking on lemon drops or chewing gum, I tell you.

And this time, my fingernails hurt. All of them. Even my toes. It's like how they hurt when you've been using them (unwisely, I'm sure) to unpick a stubborn knot in your shoelaces. Do you know that feeling? Like I've used every single last fingernail and toenail like they were pliers or something, pinching with just the nail ends, and pulling at something. Except of course, I haven't. Even if I had, how would I have done that with my toenails? Not possible. But that's how they feel. It almost hurts to type. Wonder how long it will last?

out without

Saturday evening we needed to go to the grocery store. I'd been mostly sleeping all day, and I didn't feel up to putting on my hair. Something to do with wearing glasses, and the way wigs fight with that. I don't know. My boy said we wouldn't see anyone, what's the big deal, etc.

We saw people. People we knew. And I looked awful.

Sorry about that.

We were only out for about 1/2 hour, including travel time, but it felt like more.

I was one tired momma.

the thing I don't want to talk about (it's a woman thing)

WARNING!
this is not a post for the men-folk!

For any men who might read this blog, you may not be comfortable with the subject matter of this post! (Or, to put it another way, it's not something you're likely to want to discuss with me later.)

In fact, if you know me only casually, you probably shouldn't read this. If you work with me, every day, you may not want to read this.

I want to put this out there, because it's honest, it's part of my experience with breast cancer, and I do, in fact, need to talk about it. For me, if nothing else. It is about the one side-effect of chemo I had never heard of before, and I think other women should know that this can happen.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

(Are they gone yet, ladies? Are we alone? Good. Then I'll begin.)

There is one side-effect that bothers me. Bothers me enough that I really don't want to think about it, let alone talk about it. It's the only side-effect that can (most likely will) be permanent, for me.

Chemo, or, at least, the sort of chemo I'm having, can cause menopause. Usually does, I'm told. And in someone my age, it tends not to revert back once chemo is over. (For me, as well, I will be taking anti-hormone therapy for the next 5 years. My cancer was fed by hormones, so we have to suppress them to be sure the cancer won't come back. In cases like mine, they used to just do a full hysterectomy, which can be devastating in so many ways. I'm grateful that is no longer the case.)

I'm 43. I figured menopause was at least another decade away.

I don't know if I can explain why it bothers me so much. But I'll try.

Partly, I have a good relationship with my body. My periods were regular, relatively mild, and rarely, if ever, disruptive to my life. No wild mood swings. No unbearable cramps. Generally, my period showed up when expected, lasted about 3 days, and that was that. No drama. I was rarely thrown off by travel, roommates, or any of the other usual things.

I know. It's weird. But my body was textbook in that way. And I respected that, and generally tried to keep it to myself. Other women didn't like to hear about it. Which I can also respect.

More than that, though, there is the fact that, despite my age and marital status, I hadn't yet closed the door on having more children. Not mentally, anyway.
I grew up in a big family (8 kids) and I wanted the same. I had always thought I would have more. At least, one more. My ambitions narrowed as I grew older, with no relationship in sight. One more would do, if I could just, please, have the opportunity?
I had a fantastic pregnancy with the twins. Never felt better, as they say. No complications, no problems, went into labor on my own, vaginal delivery, and everything was just as it should be.
Nursing was even easy for me. I breastfed them for about 18 months, and rarely had any problems. We did reach a point when it seemed I couldn't produce any more, around 6 months, even though I tried to up the production by nursing them extra. So that's when we started them on solids. And after that, it was fine. I had no trouble keeping up. And I loved it.
I'd have had more, gone on having kids, even with the possibility of having another set of twins (mine occurred naturally - I'd had no trouble getting pregnant - twins run in my family), if I'd had the opportunity. But their father and I separated shortly after they were born, were divorced a year later, and it was years before I married my second husband. Then that marriage fell apart before we'd decided we might be ready to have a baby. That was over 10 years ago, and I've just not managed to date much. So that was it. I'd wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, with lots of kids. I just didn't end up that way.

You'd think, by now, three years past the recommended cut-off, I'd have crossed the idea of pregnancy off my list. I probably should have. But I didn't feel any different at 40 than I did at 30, and I couldn't see why, if my body was healthy, and the right man came along, I shouldn't at least try for one more. Given the opportunity, I'd risk it. I wanted it that much.

The opportunity never presented itself.

I didn't pursue it with vigor, no. I wasn't willing to lower my standards or adjust my ideals, just to be married again. It wasn't worth it to me if it wasn't the right man. I wasn't about to date just anyone. Being a single mom, working full-time, takes energy. For whatever reason, I didn't seem to meet anyone, and I didn't push it. It felt right to me to focus on raising my boys, so I did. I didn't know I'd miss my chance. I never felt that I was making a decision to not have any more kids. I thought I was just waiting for the right time, the right man. And since I felt that wanting more kids seemed like a backward reason to be looking for a husband, I didn't approach it that way. It had to be right, I had to be head-over-heals in love, or forget it.

I didn't know.

And now, having had my last cycle just before my first chemo, it looks like I'm done.

I don't care that this way is easier. I don't care that it's quicker. I don't care that the usual way of going through the "change of life" could have been drawn out for years, messy and unpredictable.

I wasn't ready for this.

A cranial prosthesis by any other name

Did you know wigs have names?

They do! Really!

(I think it's to make it easier to order and identify them in the industry. I base that on the fact that the dresses and other stuff created at the children's clothing company I worked for back in the 90's all had names. That way, instead of asking if all the blue dresses with the stripey collars were ready to ship, you could ask if all the "Jennifers" were ready. Lots easier. Especially if "Jennifer" happened to come in more than one color.)

Anyway.

I know you'd never have guessed, but the long brunette is called Delilah.

As in "You know, Sampson, I think you'd look awesome with shorter hair" Delilah. Uh huh.

And the short brunette is called Pigeon.

I'm still trying to figure that one out.

But the blonde? I have no idea.

It was one of the wigs they had out in the salon area. One they'd use when someone was trying to decide if they wanted to go blonde, I assume. (Basing this on the fact that they had one wig of each basic color in the salon, in differing lengths/styles.) Tags and packaging long gone, and maybe the style had been altered some when the stylists were bored? I really don't know.

I'm sure that if I went back and asked them, they'd know. In fact, he may have written it down on the invoice as he created it. I just wasn't paying attention at the time.

Besides, asking isn't fun. Making something up is.

So, any ideas?

Off the top of my head, "Amy" comes to mind (that whole "one night at band camp", Secret Life of the American Teenager sort of thing).

Or perhaps "Penelope"? I've just always liked that name.

What do you think?

how things are (mostly)

When I am having a chemo session, the day before, day of, and day after are mostly influenced by the steroids which I take for those days (technically, I only take them day before and day after, but there are some in the IV during chemo, too). Which means my energy is usually a little high, and I've been known to be bouncy and talkative. If you were after a girls night, I'd be fairly entertaining, possibly even annoying, and not at all in pain or tired (sometimes the bone/joint pain hits after chemo, but it's easily dealt with).

The day after that, I start to get a little tired and spacey/foggy. Functional, but not so much fun or energetic.

The day after that, the fatigue hits, and hangs out for two days. Usually no pain or stress involved, but I may be dealing with small annoyances, like hot flashes, numb taste buds, constipation, or the inability to focus on anything for very long. I'm not much fun for those two days, and may even be short with you; not because you did anything wrong, but because I've not got the energy to be polite or friendly. I pretty much stay at home during this time and try to sleep it off. I usually feel a little better if I can get out and take a walk between naps. (I like a little company on a walk, if I can get it. If I'm up to a walk, I'm usually not too grumpy, either.)

Once those two days have passed, my energy level starts to return to normal.
I usually work close to a full day (6-7 hrs seems to be the average) the first day back, and then work a normal 8 hr (or more) day the rest of the work-days in that week. I mostly look normal during this time, though maybe a little full in the face or with odd-looking skin tone on some days. My taste buds take a little longer to return to normal, so I try not to think about it. Sometimes the work-day is about all the energy I had, sometimes I'm up for an evening out afterward. Depends, as you might expect, on how the work-day went.

I then get a full two weeks before my next chemo session, during which time, I feel, look, and behave pretty much like my normal self. (Except, my sleep cycle is a bit off, so I'm getting to work later and working into the evening. Hoping to shift that.) The main difference is that instead of my own hair, I put on a wig or a scarf every day, so you never know what might be on my head.

But the rest of me is just like I used to be. Or as close as makes no difference.

(I'm not sure if perhaps my personal scent has changed. I wonder about this, but have nobody close enough to me to ask about it. It's the sort of thing a spouse would know/notice, and I haven't got one of those.)

Point is: I'm not sick. I'm not in pain. I can, and do, go out in public. Like a normal person.

Movies and TV have not really been good to cancer/chemo in this respect. They paint it like the person having treatments is gaunt, weak, and in pain all the time. While there may be some kinds of chemo that will do this to a person, and while more frequent treatments could possibly have this effect (such as when the cancer is spreading, or has returned, and it's an all-out battle to save the patient - which is not where I am), the fact is that chemo is not as devastating as it used to be. There are drugs to combat nearly every side effect, and many patients, especially young people like me, can and do manage a fairly normal life most of the time.

My doctors keep telling me: attitude is everything. I believe it.

(Please know that if you know someone who is undergoing chemo who is being totally beaten by it, I am not trying to minimize or give a lie to their experience. Every blend of chemo is different, and every person reacts differently. Please send them my love and hope.)

sometimes

Slow recovery.

I am isolated, here

in my loneliness.

3rd chemo

my latest wig

Trouble with my port, again. Took at least three flushes of saline (which, this time, I could taste, but it wasn't just a salt-water flavor...not sure how to describe it...sort of...wild onion? garlic? just weird) and then, as she's maybe starting to get it to let her draw blood, she says that she thinks, sometimes, the tube gets stuck against the wall of the vein, and when they pull to draw, it just sucks the wall up against the tube, and doesn't let anything out. Makes sense. It did finally work, after laying me down, turning my head, putting one arm over my head, and breathing deeply. Whatever works.

The delay from the port issues delayed the start of the chemo treatment (we have to have blood results back before doing the treatment, just in case my numbers aren't good), so it was a full hour later finishing than it should have been. Sort of sucks up a huge portion of your day when that happens.

Also, Wednesday is a busier day in the chemo room, and they were completely out of snacks, and out of cranberry juice and apple juice. I didn't want grape or orange, but I settled for orange anyway. Should've had grape. My next chemo is also scheduled for Wednesday. I'll have to remember to bring my own snacks. And maybe cranberry juice. If I don't like what I'm drinking, it's hard to remember to keep drinking, and hydration is critical.

Funny moment: I was walking, with my friend "Betty", to the drinks machine, and a nurse from another department came in wanting to borrow something. She came up to me (because I look competent?) and started in about what she wanted. I pointed her at a nurse as soon as I could. My friend and I were a tad confused as to why someone would assume I wasn't a patient, as I had the tube hooked up to my port, and a syringe hanging down from it, totally visible outside my shirt.
I was dressed for work, wearing heels, and had on my nice long wig. And my friend, she's sporting the super-short buzz cut she did to honor me when I lost my hair. So, I guess, I can see why someone would think I couldn't be the patient. We had a good giggle over it, anyway. I am still the youngest person I've seen in there so far for a treatment.

This time, as it was much busier, we got chatting with other patients in the room. Mostly the over-80 crowd. One of the guys had his lunch dropped off while we were there - Tommy's Burgers - I was SO jealous! I hadn't had much breakfast, just a roll, and a yogurt I brought in with me.
I think I heard a Salina accent across the room, but I couldn't be sure. (Dad's family comes from Salina, so I'm attuned to the sound, especially from the older folks.)
The lady nearest me was 83, all the way from Vernal, and had finished chemo in December, only to have more cancer show up in follow-up scans. (At least three nurses came over to explain that, due to her age, she could decide to stop the treatments at any time. She didn't seem to be interested in that option.) She was just starting her new round of treatments. The last one she had didn't cause hair loss, but this one will. She's not sure she cares to get a wig - thinks it'll be a bother, at her age. I told her she should check out the wig closet, just in case. She didn't believe mine wasn't real. I told her I liked being able to put my hair on like a hat, and look fabulous every day without a lot of fuss.
Her sweet visiting teacher had driven her to chemo every time, for the last round, and stayed with her for the hours it takes the meds to drip in. This time, she has to have two treatments, on two different days, each time she comes, so they have to stay overnight. And her friend is just sticking it out with her again. Cancer often brings out the best in people, I think.
These older folks all seemed to handle chemo as just something they did. No reason to complain about it. And rightly so. The alternative is pain and death, probably much sooner than expected.

My bone/joint pain didn't start until the next morning, which is nice. Got a good nights rest and woke up before 8am. I hope my energy holds out through the end of the work-week so I can just take the weekend to recover from fatigue, and be back at it Monday.

I've gained an average of 3 lbs after each treatment. I thought I'd done better this time, but the scale said different. I really don't want that to continue. Six times 3 is 18, and that's way too much extra weight on a person that's already overweight. I'm not supposed to diet or try to lose weight while on chemo, even though I am overweight, so that's frustrating. I didn't find I was quite as hungry after the second treatment, and I really didn't think I'd have gained this time. I'll just have to try harder, I guess. Some of it is probably water weight (thank you, steroids), but my pants are tighter, too. Some that were a bit loose just a few months ago, they aren't loose anymore. If I get to the point that I need new pants, well, I'm just not going to go there. I've got to have control of something, don't I?

Fun with(out) hair

Last week, there were a few days when I just couldn't stand the thought of a wig on my head, even if I did have to go to work. So I went with scarves for two days:

It was interesting, matching my outfits to the chosen scarf of the day, and then accessorizing to play it up. (Yes, you do see some "hair" with the pink one. It's a fake-hair scrunchy. I like it.)
Lots of big, flashy jewelry seems to go with with scarves. And it's been fun, learning how to twist and tie these things. More fun than I thought it would be, actually.

Over the weekend, I went back to wigs. And then yesterday, though I'd been wearing the blonde for work, I switched to the short brunette. (No picture - nothing fancy about it, though I did get lots of comments and compliments on it - even from my pharmacist. Is it bad that my pharmacist knows me?)
I just have to tell you, as much as this one looks like me, and is super-cute and all, it's a lesser-quality wig when compared with the blonde, and it itches a fair bit more. So I'm usually not inclined to put this one on, unless the look demands it.

Today, I felt it demanded it:

The last time I had this much fun with hair and hair accessories, it was the 80's! I used to wear hats, scarves, head-wraps, big fluffy bows...you name it. But then I either got busy, or the stuff went out of fashion, or I just got a little shy about being flamboyant. In any case, I stopped.

Not sure I'll give it up once I get my hair back again, though. Scarves and head-wraps and hats are awesome! And clearly back in style, as I only just recently bought the two larger scarves shown above. I have to agree with my friend Stacy (who went through this last year), I kinda feel sorry for those of you that aren't bald. You may never get the chance to try out all the fun wigs and scarves and hats out there. You're stuck with the hair on your head, bad hair days, and having to wash it and style it all the time. I just put mine on like a hat. Easy.

Just goes to show you: every cloud has a silver lining. Even breast cancer.

2nd aftermath

Along with the almost immediate joint pain (which is caused not by chemo, but by the immune-system-boosting drugs that go with it), I had a low-level headache for a few days, and some sneezing and sinus congestion (which isn't on the list of side-effects, but I've had it both times), and not much else.

Fatigue seemed not to hit until later in the afternoon Saturday. I woke that morning, early (5am) and, after visiting the bathroom (a consistent sort of need, but a good thing, because the chemo and whatever it kills must exit my body somehow), tried to go back to sleep. After about an hour, I gave up, and went up to make breakfast. On my way past the couch in the family room, my older boy asks if I'm alright. He's taken to sleeping there so he can be nearby, I think, in case I need him. I tell him I'm fine, just can't seem to go back to sleep. Figure I'll use the energy while I have it.

I make breakfast, eat, wash dishes, do some laundry, change the sheets, put the duvet outside to air out. I am never this awake, this early.

(side note: I am a lousy housekeeper, in general. I tend to keep up with laundry and clutter, though not obsessively, and let everything else go, washing or cleaning things when a) I can't stand it anymore, b) I need something, or c) I'm expecting company. Sad but true. And now? Laundry is so caught up that I invent things to wash, like the rugs I washed Saturday; dishes are almost always done (almost, because I'd like the boys to do their own, so I leave them, sometimes), and the counters clean in the kitchen; bathroom gets wiped down daily. It's weird.)

I decide that I'll cut out a hat I've been meaning to make, and maybe some other stuff while I'm at it. Somewhere in there, I get a text from Jupiter, and I go out to meet her for breakfast (second breakfast started happening after 1st chemo), and a little shopping at the mall. And I'm totally fine. Energetic, even. (I maybe should have gone in to work, but, I have a life, too, you know?)

Back at home, I finish cutting out the rest of my project, and I'm starting to feel it. At this point, it's early afternoon, and I would have liked to get some more projects going, but I hate to push it, and my back is hurting from bending over while I cut out stuff on the floor, so I decide to rest a bit.

It's after 5pm before I bring in the duvet, which smells like outdoors now (aaahh), and we eat dinner together. Like normal people at the end of a normal day.

It gets a little foggy after that, as the fatigue settled in. I slept a lot, which is good. I wasn't able to relax quite as thoroughly last time, which I'm sure contributed to how slowly I recovered. I still had some constipation (why do I have to be different?), but I was able to keep ahead of it with some fiber tablets, so I felt much better.

Over the next two days, I mostly slept, ate (my ward brought me two meals a day - all super-yummy), and watched a little Netflix on my Kindle. Betty came over and gave me a back rub - I think that was Monday? Like I said, foggy. Somewhere in there, I had a slight fever. As long as it's not over 100F, it's okay, though. Tylenol takes care of it just fine.

Back at work Tuesday, just shy of a full day. I notice I'm warmer than usual, but that's common.

A little down, emotionally, Wednesday. That's part of the package, too. Physically, I felt fine, but I was sort of flat, didn't want to talk to anyone. No particular reason, just didn't feel "happy". I managed to get through the day, though, and it ended well, with Twin1's final interview for his mission papers. We were both glowing the entire time we were at the Stake offices, I think.
(OH MY WORD, THE PAPERWORK IS ON IT'S WAY TO CHURCH HEADQUARTERS!!! yikes. but in a good way.)

Two more weeks of "normal" before the next treatment. Life is pretty good.

(Hair loss seems to be on hiatus for a bit. My head is covered in a fairly even, though thin, sprinkling of hair, which I feel resembles the outer fluffiness of a baby chick or new kitten, without the underlying base fluff. I expect the rest of the hair on my head will jump ship around the 2nd week after this chemo session? As long as I can keep my eyebrows and eyelashes, I'm not complaining.)

the thing about my hair

Now that I have basically no hair of my own left on my head, I must admit, it is rather freeing. I can understand now why some women would choose to shave it off before any of it begins to come out.
If you do it yourself, it isn't just something that happened. It's something you did. And that can be empowering.

I guess I held out as long as I did because I wanted to see if it was actually going to fall out. How silly would I have looked if it never even thinned? Even though both my chemo meds listed hair loss as a possible side effect, I figured there was at least a little hope that it wouldn't happen. Once it started to come out by the handful, I knew it wouldn't be long, and that's when I went wig shopping in earnest.

I didn't realize, at the time, that others were dealing with my hair loss, too. I hadn't thought a lot about that side of it, beyond knowing that it might be disturbing to some, just thinking about it.

My younger boy has a difficult time looking at me when I'm walking about the house bare-headed. I sympathize, and I try to remember to at least put on a hat so he doesn't have to see how bald I am. My mom made me a couple hats, of soft knit, and these are incredibly comfortable.

It was my mom that surprised me, though. When she read the first post about my hair loss, it made her sad. She didn't like to think about that happening to me. She told herself it was just hair, but, practical as she generally is, that didn't seem to help much.

Saturday evening, when I was ready to have the rest of my hair buzzed off, I went over to my parents house. I had planned to have a friend do it, but she wasn't able to come over. So I asked mom to do it for me. She hesitated, just for a moment, but not because she didn't want to buzz my head. She just didn't want to clean it up - we like to do this sort of thing outside, on the lawn, but it was too cold and dark for that. (See, she's totally practical. I love that about her.)

We set up in the bathroom, and she cut off sections of hair, and then started in on the final buzz cut. When she was done, she asked me if she should clean up the neck area. I told her to leave it - it's all going to fall out eventually, so it didn't matter.

We gathered up the hair and put away the tools, and I thanked her and went home.

The next day, after dinner, she told me that she was glad she'd been the one to do it. Cutting and buzzing off the rest of my hair had been good for her, because it wasn't just something that happened, it was something she did.

A few years ago, I'd had her buzz my hair short in the summer, because I was going to camp for a week and I wanted to be able to quickly shower and get on with my day without worrying about my hair. I wonder, now, if I hadn't done that, if I'd be as okay as I am about how I look now. About having to cut my once long, thick, curly hair so short. Or having no hair at all on my head.

It's one thing when you've decided you want to cut it off. It's quite another when it happens against your will. It takes time to adjust to it. I've had some time to think about it, picture how it might happen, and how I would look. And I was smart to go out wig shopping with an open mind, ready to try anything.

It's different, but, I'm okay with it. And so is mom.

thinking about strength

I've been thinking lately about one of the qualities that I've been told, over and over, I have in abundance.

I think, in part, because I'm a single mom, people assume I must be really strong. Spiritually, mentally, maybe even physically. And I've always been of the opinion that, no, I'm not. Not any more than anyone else, anyway.
I mean, yes, I did, in a lot of ways, take the part of both parents in raising my boys. But in so many ways, I didn't. The things that I did, most of them, in my mind, fall under the category of "survival", which translates for me as something you just do, like it or not. Not doing them wasn't an option. Everyone needs a roof over their heads, money to maintain that and to pay for other basic needs like food and clothing, and so I went to work. What's so remarkable about that?

And then this happens. Breast Cancer.

And again, for me, it's a matter of doing what needs doing. It's not about whether or not I think I can handle it. Is there really a choice? Would any of you, having found a lump in your breast (or other cancerous growth, anywhere), just put it out of your head? Tried to forget about it? Tried to pretend it wasn't there?
Because otherwise, what else do you do? You have it looked at. And you take the advice of the medical professionals that attend you.

That's all I'm doing, really. Following the advice of those who know what to do.

I've often wondered, over the course of my young life, why it is that I am able to handle so much, what it is that Heavenly Father was expecting of me, beyond what I was doing at the moment, that I would need such an abundance of strength? Because, in some ways, I accept that I am one of the "strong ones". (I also believe we are all strong, in different ways.) I didn't like to think about what challenge might come my way that I would need to draw on my inner strength and courage to survive, or even thrive, while dealing with whatever it was.

While this particular event in my life may not be the biggest challenge I ever face, this is clearly one of those things that I needed that strength for. I guess I can accept that. I can see that what I've had to build up, over time, through faith and perseverance, is now serving me well. But that doesn't mean I don't wish, from time to time, that this was not happening. Because I do wish that. Or, at least, I wish it was already over. Sometimes.

With adversity comes blessings. Always. And I want those blessings. I really do.

My oldest boy has just been ordained as a Melchizedek Priesthood holder in the LDS church. This means that he is able to give Priesthood blessings. Blessings to heal the sick, to bring comfort and peace to those facing challenges. Last night, he was able to give me my "evening before chemo" blessing. This being his first experience, I wondered what advice to give him. He asked my dad what formal parts he needed to say, and I turned to say to him that he could, if he wanted, say a small prayer for himself that he would be able to know what Heavenly Father wanted to say to me through this blessing. But, as I started to open my mouth, I realized that this is my boy that has always been able to just let things flow through him. When he feels something, he just lets it happen, he doesn't fight it. I realized, if anyone could be a conduit for the Lord, to say what He wanted me to hear in a blessing, it was my boy. He was ready. So I said nothing.

It was a very sweet blessing. The words he said came directly from the Lord. I knew it in my heart and in my mind as I listened to my boy. Words of comfort and encouragement. And not just about my cancer and the peace and comfort we have all felt, myself, family, friends, as we've dealt with this challenge. Peace and comfort that have come through the gift of the Holy Ghost.
There was more, about my boys. Words of comfort to a mother that often wonders if she's done the right things, raising these two boys.
These were not the words of a 19-yr-old boy. These words came from a loving Heavenly Father. And I am so pleased that it was my boy that was able to speak them.

If I have strength, it is because the Lord has blessed me with it, and I have had enough faith to accept it and allow it to grow within me. For that, I am thankful.

2nd chemo

My older boy came to sit with me this time. He wasn't ready when it was time to go, so I had to just give him directions on how to get there. He was there a while before he found me - I'm not right as a blonde, in his head. Incognito just by changing my hair.

Less of the floaty feeling from the Benadryl this time. Either I needed some of it for my sinuses, or I'm used to it.

I mostly knitted while the meds dripped slowly in. My boy read a few short stories he'd downloaded onto my Kindle. Turns out, it wasn't just me having wi-fi issues last time. The nurses said it's been broken for a few weeks. They called their IT people to ask about it, but it's not fixed yet. I hope it works next time, so I can at least compose a blog post while I'm there, and capture what I'm feeling at the moment. I'm glad my phone allows me to facebook if I want to.

This time, when I'm done, the bone/joint pain starts in right away, and I'm already uncomfortable just driving home. I take Claritin and Advil as soon as I get home, which seems to do the trick, thank heavens. I have work to do, at the office, before the fatigue sets in.

I told my onco about how the nausea meds gave me a headache, and he called in something else for me, in case I do need it. It may make me drowsy, but, that's much better than a headache. Currently, I'm fine. No discomfort as I write this. That's a blessing. I should sleep well tonight. Last night, the steroids kept me up past 2am. Oddly, I was fully awake at 7:30 when my alarm went off.

I think I'm going to try taking the steroid doses further apart on Friday. The overlap makes me tense and too jittery. My right shoulder wouldn't relax until well after 6pm yesterday, and it was very painful, knotted. Enough so that I couldn't work at my computer for more than a few minutes at a time. I don't need that, and I'm sure I'll get enough sleep once the fatigue sets in Saturday to make up for any sleep I miss Friday.

We talked about my side-effects from last time. How I'm fatigued, like I have the flu, but also hungry, all the time. He said that's new - he's not heard of it being that way for anyone else before. Most feel their appetite wane for the first couple days, and then it comes back. Leave it to me to be different.

He complimented my hair. Said I was positively glowing. Looked at least 20 years younger.

I'm telling you, ladies, if you ever have to go through this, do yourself a favor, and get at least one wig you LOVE! Spend the extra money to get a good one. It's worth it. Have fun with it! I've got lots of pretty scarves and hats, and I've yet to wear them outside the house. I just love my new hair so much, and it's comfortable on, so, I keep wearing it. Best thing I've done for myself so far.

That's 2 down, only 4 more treatments to go. One-third done. I can do this.

(didn't get any funny taste in my mouth this treatment. wonder why?)

(addendum: My port was stubborn this time. They had to flush it a few times before it would let them draw blood. I really hope it keeps working like it should. I don't want an IV in my arm - it impairs my ability to knit.)

buzz is fading fast

I've noticed, with this super-short buzz, that I have more naturally dark hair than I thought I might.

I started going gray when I had the Twins, so dying my hair isn't a new thing for me. It's just that more and more of it was turning up gray in recent years, so, that there was anything left of my natural color was surprising to me. But obviously, with it this short, most of that dark hair must be natural. My last color treatment was in early January.

At any rate, brunette or gray, it's thinning fast.

I forgot to take a picture Sunday or Monday. I took one post-shower Tuesday, but the lighting was odd and bluish, so we'll just skip to Wednesday (today):

Interesting how it seems to be evenly distributing the hair loss. I do have a few bare patches in front, but from the back, it mostly just looks thin and sparse.

FYI: I still can't seem to pull much of it out on purpose. Weird.

Also, for the curious among you: Yes, other places are shedding as well. I still need to shave my legs and underarms (not that I bother, unless they're going to be visible), but I think I can safely say that I won't be needing a bikini wax by the time swimsuit season hits.

changeable

Saturday, I wore the blonde, and I really liked it. A lot.

Sunday, because it was a special occasion for Twin1, I put on the short brunette, so he could see how that looked as well, and let him choose which one I would wear to church.

I'd tweaked it a bit, played with it until it looked cute to me, so I wasn't hating the brunette. I just really love the blonde.

He chose the brunette.

Both boys say they don't recognize me right off in the blonde. And the short brunette, it looks sort of like the haircut I got in Paris, my second trip to Europe. So it's more familiar.

All through church, people kept coming up to me, telling me how cute my new haircut was. Mostly, I smiled and thanked them. I do like it, and the boys are right, it looks like me.

Occasionally, someone would ask when/where I'd gotten my haircut, and then I'd confess that it's a wig. It was only after church that I realized I could have just said I'd had mom cut my hair Saturday night, because that's when we'd buzzed off what little remained. (More on that later.) But I didn't really want to go into that with anyone and everyone - cancer is a difficult thing to take in when you didn't already know. Those that did know, they were every bit as complimentary.

Thing is, now I'm wondering, will I have to wear the brunette to church every Sunday? I don't intend to wear the same wig to work every day. I've got that other, long, brunette wig coming soon, and I know I'll want to wear it. Not to mention, there will be days I don't want to wear a wig. I already tend to walk around the house with no head covering.

Is it too disturbing to others, this changeable hair?

Day 17

I'm convinced: the best way to have a good attitude about hair loss with chemo is to find the right wig (or wigs).

Every time I looked at the short, dark wig, I'd sneer at it. It looked good on, but, I just wasn't thrilled. I wasn't ready to go that short again right now. Or something. Which is what led me to go out wig shopping, never mind the cost. (Yes, they can be very expensive.)

In contrast, every time I looked at the blonde wig, I'd think to myself, "once I lose the rest of my hair, I get to wear that!" And that's the kind of thing that can boost your day, even if your hair does come out by the handful in the shower. (Which it did, more so than yesterday even, but I'll spare you the pictures this time.)

This morning, I brushed my hair (which resulted in a smallish handful of loose hair in my hands), and considered, just for a minute, not washing it today.

It still looked normal. I knew if I washed it, I'd lose a lot more hair, and I'd have to just give it up and buzz the rest off. But, buzzing off the remainder today seemed more logical than trying to fit that in tomorrow, what with church and everything, so, wash it I did.

Now even a stranger would know I was losing my hair. It has the fine quality of a toddlers' hair: lovely soft, but so thin. If I didn't care much about how I looked, I suppose I could have gone out like this.

But I care.

Plus, I had that cute blonde wig waiting for me! How could I resist?

So today, this is me:

For one thing, I got a lot more looks driving to work as a blonde in my convertible than I ever did as a brunette. As for those that know me? My co-workers all like it. My Twins? Well, they'll get used to it.

hair loss increasing

This may be a bit of TMI, but, I wanted to show exactly what's been happening, so, I took pictures.

Of my hair.

Which I'm shedding at an alarming rate. (Sorry.)

On the left, that is most of what I shed yesterday (day 15). I didn't wash my hair that day - I only brushed it. I was going to try on wigs that morning, and I wanted not to be damp.
On the right, the larger mass is what came out as I washed my hair this morning (day 16). The smaller is what came out as I rinsed. (Less a little that came out while showering the rest of me that I didn't save for you.)

In the interest of perspective, I'd say that the larger mass, if gathered up softly, would be about the size of a softball. Roughly.

You may be wondering, with that much hair just falling from my scalp, if I've any left?

(Personally, yes, I was afraid to look in the mirror after I finished my shower. And I didn't dare even try to put any product in like I usually do. I knew that would just result in more hair in my hand and less on my head.)

Took pictures of that, too.

Ready?

Not bald yet. Not really even noticeable.

Even from the back.

Surprised? I was, too.

I'd read that you could lose up to 50% of your hair before anyone else would notice. I found that hard to believe. But it's clearly true.

FYI: Touching my hair, in any way, especially running your fingers through it, does in fact result in a fair amount of hair coming away in your hand. I don't recommend it.
Oddly, I still can't purposely pull anything out if I try. Not that I'm yanking hard on it, you understand. Just grabbing a hank and giving it a tug. It's just thinning itself.

Tomorrow? I'll be having an impromptu "coming out" party for my hair. I'll be buzzing what's left of it short. I think. Anyone care to join me?

Wig Shopping

So, I've already got the one wig, from the gift closet at UVRMC:

But my current hairstyle is rather longer:

In fact, this is the longest my hair has ever been in my adult life, and I sort of like it right now. So I needed another.

I decided to go to Taylor Maid - a Utah-born costume shop and salon. I have had occasion to meet the owners, and they're nice people. I figured I'd be more comfortable talking about my hair with someone I already know, and I knew they'd give me good wig advice and help me figure out what was best for my face, etc.

Rick and the girls from the salon were fabulous! We tried on quite a few different styles, I looked through a catalog or two, and I ordered one that looks very like my current actual hair, in what I hope is close to my natural color (he helped with that, too, and we're sure we got it right).

And then, because when I tried it on, it looked so good, as-is, I bought this one:

What do you think?

I never really saw myself as a blonde, but, I don't know...I think this works.

losing it

This morning, as I unbraided my hair (long hair should be braided at night, to keep it from tangling and getting everywhere), there was a fair amount of hair that just came out while I finger-brushed through it.

And then, in the shower, running my fingers through my hair as I gently washed it, it didn't seem to take much to pull out more. Not that I was trying, mind you, it's just one of the things that happens when you wash your hair and then put conditioner in it.

I was half-afraid to pull the towel from my head afterwards.

I still have hair. I still look normal. But it's on its' way out.

For the record, this is day 14.

(was scared to try it, but, I am happy to report: when I grab some hair and try to pull it out, it doesn't just fall away in my hands. thank heavens.)

actual normal

Last night, when I got home from work, I remembered I had to get into my yarn stash to extract a particular color of a particular yarn that I need for a little project I'm working on. I knew it was there, and where it was, basically, and knew that getting to it meant moving many things, leaning, reaching, rummaging, etc. Hard work, in other words. But I felt up to it.

I put on a movie in the sewing room (I need distractions like that), and went to work.

Rummage was successful, movie wasn't over, so I sat down, started the movie over (since I'd missed much of it while I had my head in the yarn stash), and started in on another project that I'd been meaning to get to. Next thing I know, it's past midnight, I've gotten carried away doing this project, and I don't feel anything but the normal, everyday tired that I used to when that happened.

Seriously.

As I tidied up and headed for bed, I thought just how nice it was to have stayed up late doing stuff I used to do, feeling like I used to feel.

Like a normal person.