It's The Little Things

Jimmi and I were in Tennessee for my brother's wedding this weekend. I wasn't sure how I'd be feeling, so we chose to drive down on Wednesday, rather than risk hours in an airport and a bumpy flight that might make me more nauseous than I've been feeling already.

The drive wasn't bad. It was about 15 hours over the course of two days. Jimmi likes to drive, so he banged out 11 hours in one shot, stopping only to eat and pee. That brought us to Pigeon Forge, TN, home of the famous DollyWood, where we decided to stop for the night. It was bitterly cold when we got out of the car, and I was immediately reminded of the last few months of Hell as the icy wind blew through my wig and caused goosebumps to rise all over my bare scalp.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

After a short night's sleep at The Ramada, Jimmi and I explored the nearby town of Gatlinburg, TN. As we walked around the streets full of quaint, little shops, I noticed I was getting winded very easily, but I trudged on. Soon, we found ourselves standing in front of a creepy looking haunted house. "Let's go in!" I said excitedly. After paying for our entrance, I was told we would be going on a self-guided tour of the "Mysterious Mansion", which included seven flights of stairs. Six months ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But now, I found myself wondering if I'd be able to get through the amusement without stopping to rest or feeling faint.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

Luckily, we made it through the house unscathed, and headed for the huge aquarium down the road. Jimmi and I entered the building, and the overwhelming smell of fish hit me right in the face. Instantly, I felt nauseous and had to talk myself out of vomiting. "Do you want to leave?" Jimmi asked with concern. "I'll be ok," I convinced myself. "Just give me a minute." While the odor didn't disappear, I was able to tolerate it enough to continue our day of touring.

We decided to sign up for a "Penguin Encounter" that would allow us to go with a small group and touch and take a photo with a live penguin. It sounded so cute! As we sat in the small room with 12 others, the aquarium employee told us a little bit about "Jimmy", our penguin friend. She explained how to touch him and that he may try to bite at sleeves or jewelry. Then she added, "And for any of you men wearing baseball caps, you might want to take them off because Jimmi doesn't like the brims and he may try to attack you." A thought instantly went through my mind that made me cringe. Thank God I was wearing my wig and not my baseball hat with the hair attached to it. How could I have taken that off? I couldn't have. Then I would've had to explain to everyone why I wasn't able to touch the penguin. I would've been so ashamed.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

Jimmi and I left the aquarium after our penguin experience and headed for DollyWood. But, as if we were living a scene right out of National Lampoon's Vacation, the theme park was unexpectedly closed for the day, so we got back on the road and headed for Nashville. We arrived at dinnertime on Thursday, and the hotel was swimming with family members who had just flown in for the wedding on Saturday. But it wasn't just my family. The bride's family was there too. Meghan, my new sister-in-law, introduced me to her friends and relatives, and by the greetings I was given, I knew they had all heard my story. I got the sympathetic head tilt, the grab of the hand, and the "How are you feeling?" more times than I wanted to count. Seriously, people, I appreciate the concern, but can we talk about something else? By the time my own cousin asked the same question, I rudely snapped back, "I really don't want to talk about it." I felt terrible for biting his head off like that, but I don't want to feel like the poor little sick girl anymore.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

Friday was a busy day. My mom and I headed out to a Bridesmaids' Luncheon with Meghan's closest female friends and relatives, then made a quick stop back at the hotel to change, grab my dad and Jimmi, and run to the rehearsal dinner. I dealt with more head tilts and questions about my health much better than I had the day before, but I refused to walk around and mingle too much, and stayed close to my table, where I felt safe from cancer discussions.

As the dinner came to an end, goodbyes were exchanged, and my cousins started talking about hitting the strip in Nashville later on. I was tired and cranky, but I faked an excited, "Ok!" and the plans were set in motion. We all shot back to the hotel to change, and off we went. I was nervous because I wasn't sure if smoking was allowed in bars in TN. I couldn't be around smoke. Not only because I can't stand cigarettes; not only because I have asthma. The main reason I couldn't be around a smokey bar, was because I didn't want my wig to suck in the fumes. You see, after a night out, most people can just wash the smell out of their hair and go on with their lives. Not me. Washing my wig is an involved process that requires a styrofoam head, about 25 straight pins, a spray bottle with a shampoo and water mixture, a spray bottle with rubbing alcohol, and a deep conditioner - none of which I had brought with me. I had to avoid smokers because I refused to let myself smell like an ashtray for the rest of the weekend.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

As we walked around looking for some good live music, I realized there was no way around the tobacco sticks. Everyone on the street was smoking, and the backdraft was impossible to avoid. As I sniffed the tendrils of my wig, I became increasingly more depressed. But my night was about to get much worse. We crossed the street and saw a young man with dreadlocks and traditional hippie attire holding a sign that said, "Need $1 for weed". I shook my head at his joke, and was jolted back to reality when I heard a woman's voice ask, "Hey, can anyone give me cancer?" I stopped in my tracks and looked into the eyes of the weed man's female counterpart. "Excuse me?" I said not quite understanding what she was talking about. She made herself clear when she asked, "Can anyone give me a cigarette?" I felt myself start to shake. My hands clenched into fists and I had to hold myself back from popping her right in the jaw. Was that supposed to be funny? Did she think asking for cancer as a clever synonym for a cigarette was a joke? I kept walking, but every part of me was dying to run back to her and say, "You want cancer? Take it! I don't want it!" And that was it. My night was over. I left Jimmi with the rest of the group, and my cousin and I headed back to the hotel.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

Once I was alone in my room, I decided to get ready for bed. The wedding was the next day, and I really wanted to get some sleep. I pulled back my wig, and realized the tape was starting to come off. Jimmi would have to help me reapply it in the morning. I continued my routine of washing my face and brushing my teeth, then I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Oh no! I looked more closely. Oh shit! They're gone! I pushed my face right up against the mirror and confirmed my fear. My lower eyelashes were gone. All gone. I couldn't hold the tears back any longer and they started to fall down my cheeks like rain on a windshield.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

In the morning, Jimmi helped me tape my wig back on, then we went downstairs for some breakfast. I had to eat quickly because Meghan's sister, Cathy, was picking another bridesmaid, Alexis, and I up so we could get our hair and makeup done. Another situation I was dreading. When I got married, my hair - wig - and makeup were done by my stylist, who is a very close friend. He's known me for years, and he knows my situation. This time, I had to go to an unknown salon, and see an unknown stylist and explain that I'm wearing a wig. I felt so embarrassed.

Cathy arrived at 11 am, and Alexis and I hopped into the car. I tried to act happy and excited, when inside I just wanted to scream, "Let me off at the closest Starbucks. I don't want to go with you!" But I couldn't do that. We walked into the salon and my heart started pounding. We checked in and went to wait on the couch. Within minutes, a very young, blonde girl approached me. "Suzanne? I'm Molly. I'll be doing your hair today." I followed her to a styling chair and plopped myself down. I had to tell her before she touched me. Should I just blurt it out? Her hands started to reach for my head and I lunged forward. "Um, I don't know if Meghan told you when she booked my appointment, but I recently went through chemo and I'm wearing a wig." I was mortified. "Yeah, she told me. It's ok. So what do you want to do with it?" She seemed fine about it, but I wasn't. I used to love having my hair done. I loved the feeling of the brush running through my long, shiny locks. I loved how it would massage my scalp and make me feel so relaxed. This was just the opposite. I didn't want this girl to touch me. I wanted to leap out of the chair and run away. But I couldn't. I answered her question. "Well, I really can't wear it up because you'll see the edges of the wig. Just do whatever you can with it as long as it's down and everything is covered." I wanted to cry.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

When Molly finished with me, she brought me over to Sun, who was scheduled to do my makeup. Oh, how I wish it had been just one person doing both my hair and my makeup. Now I have to explain it again in case she needs to move my hair off my face. "Um, I'm not sure if Molly told you, but I recently went through chemo and I'm wearing a wig." She didn't seem to be phased by my announcement. "Yeah, Molly told me. She said not to pull it or anything. I was like, what do you think I'm gonna do? Rip it off?" Ok, can I please crawl into a hole and die now? Oh, wait, there's more. "Oh, one more thing. I noticed last night that my lower lashes are gone. Can you give me fake ones?" She got right up into my face, "Oh, yeah, you're right. Hmmmm, well, we only do fake upper lashes here." Of course they do. Ugh! "Ok, well, can you just hide the fact that they're gone with some eyeliner or something?" She nodded and started the process of attempting to make me look normal.

It's little things like this that don't allow me to forget what I'm going through.

Cathy, Alexis and I left the salon photo ready. Though, the last thing I wanted to do was smile for the camera. I know it's not true, but I feel like everyone is looking at me and whispering, "She's wearing a wig. It looks so fake!" I used to be outgoing and vibrant, and now I just want to hide from the world. But I couldn't. We picked up our dresses and met Meghan at the wedding venue. I did my job as a bridesmaid and acted happy and did as I was told. But as soon as the reception started, I made my way to my table and I never left. I didn't want to be seen. I didn't want to be noticed. I didn't want to be Fred's little sister with cancer.

I just want to be me again. Will I ever be me again?