I want so badly to write about my wedding dress fitting today.
I want to write about how perfectly it fit, how beautiful it made me feel, how amazing it will be to wear it for Jimmi on September 3rd. I want to write about how I felt like a princess when I turned and saw my friends and my mom staring at me with tears in their eyes. I want to write about my fabulous shoes and my delicately detailed headpiece.
But I can't.
All I can think about is starting my second cycle of chemo tomorrow.
I don't want to go.
Can I skip it? Can I just go to the movies instead? Maybe go back to the bridal shop and put my dress on again? How about I have my head shaved? Oh, wait, already did that.
Anything else other than chemo will do just fine.
But that's not gonna happen. I don't have a choice. I need to make sure my harness is still fastened as I round the second loop of my roller coaster.
I got a call on Thursday confirming my 9:00 AM appointment on Monday with Dr. Gorsky. Wait, that must be a mistake because I don't make early appointments for anything. "I didn't know I had a 9 am appointment with Dr. Gorsky," I said with exasperation. "Well, the appointment was made back in July," the snippy receptionist said. "Ok, that's fine," I tried to be calm, "but no one told me about it. Can I please make it a little bit later?" The receptionist put me on hold for a few minutes, then I heard, "Ma'am? I can't make it later because your treatment that day is six hours long." I was so confused. "What treatment? I'm supposed to have treatments on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday." I snapped. "Well, I have orders here that say they're starting on Monday." I couldn't pretend to be calm any longer. "And when am I supposed to have my radiation treatment if my appointment with Dr. Gorsky is at 9 and my chemo treatment is immediately following that?" She breathed loudly and I could almost hear her roll her eyes, "We don't have anything to do with that. I can transfer you to radiation scheduling. Hold on."
I was livid. Why did they keep scheduling me for appointments without my knowledge? The only way I ever hear about these things is when they call to confirm. In our last appointment, Dr. Gorsky told me my chemo treatments would always be Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Now they're Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday? Get it straight, people! I have a group of caretakers who need to plan their lives around my schedule and it doesn't work if you keep changing it!
"Ms. Paragano? How can I help you?" The radiation scheduler asked. "Yes. I just wanted to check what time my treatment is scheduled for on Monday?" I heard some typing, then, "You're in at 7:45." I almost choked on my water. "In the morning?! Yeah, that's not happening. Can't we make it later? Why did everyone schedule these appointments without my knowledge? I promise, you don't want me there at 7:45 in the morning. It won't be a very good day for anyone in my path." At least she giggled a little bit and said, "Thanks for the warning. Unfortunately, we're totally booked before your appointment with Dr. Gorsky, so we have to keep you where you are." I took a deep breath. "I'm not blaming you for this, but how does this make sense? I'm scheduled for radiation at 7:45. It'll take 15 minutes. Then my appointment with Dr. Gorsky is at 9:00. What am I supposed to do from 8-9??" She agreed that I had a valid point, then suggested I try and go to the third floor after my radiation treatment to check if the doctor could see me sooner.
What crap!
So, I have to do what they say. I'll be up bright and early tomorrow morning to fight traffic so I can rush around and get my second dose of poison. I'm terrified. I'm sad. I'm exhausted. I'm nauseous and I have diarrhea. Now I get to start all over again and build on the symptoms that are already there. I have a feeling I won't be able to post for a few days, but I'll get back to it as soon as my brain allows me to think clearly again.
Until that time...Good night. Sleep well.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Shaved
Well, it's gone.
I am currently sitting here donning a wig that, from what everyone keeps saying, looks completely natural. It certainly doesn't FEEL natural on my head, but I can't really complain, can I?
It was a difficult morning. I woke up at about 7:30 AM and hit the shower. I hadn't washed my hair since Wednesday because I was scared of how much would fall out in the process. But since I was going to have it shaved anyway, I figured I'd give it one more shampooing just to make sure I was doing the right thing. And after running my hands through my wet hair and pulling out clumps, I knew it was definitely time. I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, and one around my body and just stared at the mess on the shower floor. Jimmi had just woken up and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "Look at that," I pointed at the wet, black tumbleweeds. Jimmi's face turned to pity, "Oohh, I'm sorry, pumpkin. But you'll be sexy to me no matter what!" I gave a quick, half smile, then proceeded to pick up the entire head of hair in the drain, wrap it in toilet paper and throw it away. I didn't dare to dry what was left on my head - which wasn't much, by the way. I just brushed it gently (it still continued to fall out) and threw on a baseball cap with a teal and white ribbon on the front.
Jimmi and I left the house at 8:30 AM and headed to New York City for my 10:00 AM appointment. I knew we'd probably be there for a while. Between the fact that I was basically an "emergency squeeze-in", and that I'd need to be shaved bald, then have my two custom pieces fitted and cut, I was figuring at least three hours.
We arrived at Joseph Paris Salon after hooking up with my mom in The City. It was about 9:45, so we were actually early, for a change! We headed to the ninth floor and rang the bell so we could be buzzed in. Linda, the receptionist who had managed to fit me into the schedule, greeted us with a warm smile. "How are you feeling?" She asked politely. I shrugged and let out an, "Eh." "Well," Linda continued, "You look much better than the first time you were here. You seem much more at ease with everything." I laughed drunkenly, "Yeah, I took an anti-anxiety pill about a half an hour ago. I guess it's working."
As we waited, we spoke to Linda a bit. She was a very friendly women who was probably in her 50s. She was upbeat and outspoken. "Oh!" I remembered something, "Please don't let me leave here without a steamer for the synthetic piece." The only way to style the non-human hair wig is with a steamer because a hair dryer or flat iron would melt it. "Don't worry," Linda assured me. "I'll remind you. And I have to give you a head, too." My mom and I looked up and the same thought went through our dirty minds. "Oh?" I looked at Jimmi. "Lucky you!" Neither Jimmi nor Linda realized what she had said until I made that comment, then Jimmi turned beet red, shook his head and covered his face and Linda started laughing out loud. "Wow! I should watch what I say around here!" she giggled.
At about 10:15, a young stylist who looked like he belonged in a Beatles tribute band emerged from the back room. "Suzanne?" We stood up to meet him. "Hi, I'm Joel. Come with me." My mom, Jimmi and I caravanned to a small, private room with a hair dresser's chair, a sink with a neck cut-out and a large mirror above it. There were hair and wig products all over the counter, and a window that overlooked 34th Street. While Joel went to grab a few more chairs, I sat down in the seat in the middle of the room and took off my hat. My hair was still damp from the shower, and you could really see how thin it had become in just four days.
Joel came back with the chairs, then turned his attention to me. "Are we taking off your hair today too?" he asked. I looked at him sadly, "Won't we get a better fit for the wigs that way?" Joel said we would, and I continued, "I think it's all about to fall out anyway." He started to run his fingers through my recently fine locks and what was left started to come out in his hands. "Is it starting to get tangled and matted when you wash it?" he asked gently. I nodded. "I think you came in a the perfect time. If you had waited any longer, you would start to get really knotted up, almost like dreadlocks. That would irritate your scalp and make it pretty painful. Even shaving it off would be more difficult because I'd need to lift each dreadlock and be very gentle so I didn't hurt you. You really have perfect timing." Ok, I guess I didn't jump the gun. So glad my mom urged me to call for an appointment as soon as the hair started to fall out.
Joel explained that he was going to cut my hair in sections before he buzzed it, that way, he would be able to save the long pieces in case I needed to add them to my human hair piece. He clipped up the top of my hair and I looked down and closed my eyes. I couldn't watch. "I hope you don't mind if I cry," I whispered. Joel looked sympathetic, "Cry all you want. I'm used to it. But if you cry a lot, I might end up crying too." I laughed and sniffed back some tears until I couldn't contain them anymore and they began to drip down my cheeks. Snip, snip, snip went the scissors, and I saw Joel lay a long chunk of my hair on the table in front of me. Snip, snip, snip. Another chunk. I kept my head down and my eyes closed as he cut, until Joel asked me to lift my chin. I obliged, and then I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror. My entire head was chopped except for one, last, long lock right in the front. "Whoa! You look like a Goth chick!" Jimmi joked. I didn't want to smile, then something inside me snapped and told me it was going to be ok. It's only hair. It's a new adventure. I can do this! Joel snipped off the last piece and placed it on the table with the others. Then he whipped out the electric razor and went to town. "Let me know if I'm hurting you," he said carefully.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Buzzzzzzzzzzz! Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!
I actually watched as the last bits of hair were removed from my head. I talked and smiled and was fully at peace with what was happening to me. When the buzzer finished its job, I immediately noticed the cool breeze of the air conditioning on my bald head. Wow. I've never been bald. I was even born with a full head of thick, black hair. I checked myself out in the mirror and thought about Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. A Fighter. She was fighting for her country, I'm fighting for my life. It's a good enough comparison, right? I turned from side to side. "Can I touch it?" Jimmi asked. "Sure," I agreed. "But no pictures."
Joel left the room to get my hair pieces. I continued to stare at myself, then I touched my head. It felt like the stubble on my legs when I haven't shaved them in a few days; though, that's not much of an issue anymore. One benefit of chemo, I guess. "Ok, fine," I gave in. "You can take pictures." Both my mom and Jimmi grabbed their iPhones and snapped away. I handed Jimmi my Blackberry (stupid iPhones!) and had him take one more. He handed my phone back, I checked out the photo and sent it to Facebook. What the Hell? I thought. Everyone knows I'm doing it. What do I have to be embarrassed about?
Within minutes the comments were flying! "Beautiful!" "Rock Star!" "You go girl!" My friends were sending support when I needed it most. My heart was full as I read each comment that came through, and suddenly being bald didn't seem so bad.
Joel returned with my hair pieces - one synthetic for every day wear, and the other, human hair, for special occasions...like, a wedding, perhaps. "Which one are you planning to wear today?" Joel asked. "The synthetic one," I replied. "Ok," Joel said, "Let's start with the synthetic, then we'll move on." He put the wig on my head, and I instantly looked like myself again. "We need to add a pleat to it so it fits a little tighter," Joel explained. He removed it from my head and brought it to the back to have it fixed.
A few minutes later, he was back and the hair was on my head again. Joel started by measuring exact placement. He had me take my hand and line four fingers up from the bridge of my nose to the top of my forehead. "That's where your hairline should be," he informed me. Joel cut off the extra lace from the piece that sat on my forehead, then asked me to take the tips of my pointer, middle and ring fingers and put them starting at the corner of my eye going back to my hair. "That's where the side hairline should be," he explained. Then he cut off the extra lace and hair to create a natural line across the side of my face. He repeated the steps on the other side of the piece, and then began my haircut. Trim, snip, cut, shape. Done! Then Joel said, "I'm not going to tape it on yet because we still have to cut the other piece."
Off came the synthetic hair and I felt the newly familiar cool breeze on my head. Then Joel brought in an extra long wig of human hair and placed it on me. "This is really long!" he exclaimed. "I feel like Rapunzel," I giggled. "Someone actually grew their hair this long and then donated it?" I asked. "Even longer," Joel said. "You lose about two inches in the knotting and tying." Wow. The hair was literally to my waist. I almost felt bad knowing I was going to have Joel cut it...a lot.
He repeated the same process as he did with the synthetic piece. Measuring, placing, cutting. I left this one much longer, though. Since this is the hair I'll be wearing on my wedding day, I wanted to make sure there was enough length so my own hair stylist would be able to cut it how he wants it for my perfect day. When Joel was finished, he removed the piece, wrapped it in tissue paper and urged me to leave it alone and keep it flat so it would stay in good shape for the wedding. Since this piece was made from real hair - including some pieces that were cut from my own head two months ago - it could be styled with a hair dryer, curling iron, flat iron or any other normal hair product. That's why I chose to use that one for my wedding day.
Joel brought back the synthetic wig and said, "Ok, now I'm gonna show you how to tape it and put it on." He turned the hairpiece inside out, brought out some double sided tape and showed me the four areas around the inside lace to stick it. "Only stick the one side and leave the paper on the other until after you get it in place," Joel told me. "There are two ways to put it on. Either hold it in the front with your head down and flip it over, then pull it down in the back, or pull it on from the back first. Just make sure you pull it down further on your forehead than necessary to start. It's easier to pull the hairline back than forward."
I gave it a few tries with Joel's help. "It'll take you about two weeks to get used to it, then you'll be doing it like it's nothing." After it was placed where it belonged, Joel helped me pull off the backing of the tape and we stuck the hair down on my head. "Can I sleep with it on?" I asked. "Yes," Joel assured me. "I wouldn't leave it on for more than a week, though, because the tape might stop sticking."
Joel gave me instructions on removing the tape with rubbing alcohol, washing the human hair piece in sections with shampoo and washing the synthetic hair piece with dish detergent or synthetic wig shampoo. Then he gave me a tip for keeping it soft, "Leave it in a bucket of water with fabric softener for ten minutes. That'll make it look much more natural." Who knew? I was also happy to hear that I didn't need to purchase a small steamer since the one we have at home for our clothes will work just fine.
When he was done with my lessons, Joel walked us out to the desk. I couldn't believe it was 2:30! We had been there for over four hours!! Linda complimented my new look and handed me two bags. "It's your started kit. There's tape and a comb in here. Your other hair piece is in there. Oh, and, of course, I'm giving you your head!" I chuckled as I looked in the bag at the styrofoam head and thought about our earlier conversation.
Linda wished me well and made me promise I'd come back and show her wedding pictures. Then she gave Jimmi and I a hug and we were finally ready to leave.
We got into the elevator, and I immediately turned to look in the mirror on the far wall. Will anyone be able to tell? Do I care if they can? I can't believe I'm bald. I can't believe I have cancer. I can't believe I'm getting married in less than a month. I can't believe I'll be wearing a wig at my wedding.
Then I looked at Jimmi and my mom and more thoughts went through my head...
I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have them. And not just them. I can't believe how much stronger my relationship with my dad has become. I can't believe how much support my friends have shown. I can't believe how many kind e-mails I've gotten from strangers.
Cancer is such a horrible disease, but in some ways, it has brought joy to my life. Is that strange? This terrible, awful thing has taught me what real love is. It has taught me not to sweat the small stuff. It has taught me what is truly important in my life.
I have my kids. I have Jimmi. I have my family. I have my friends.
Nothing else matters.
I am currently sitting here donning a wig that, from what everyone keeps saying, looks completely natural. It certainly doesn't FEEL natural on my head, but I can't really complain, can I?
It was a difficult morning. I woke up at about 7:30 AM and hit the shower. I hadn't washed my hair since Wednesday because I was scared of how much would fall out in the process. But since I was going to have it shaved anyway, I figured I'd give it one more shampooing just to make sure I was doing the right thing. And after running my hands through my wet hair and pulling out clumps, I knew it was definitely time. I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, and one around my body and just stared at the mess on the shower floor. Jimmi had just woken up and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "Look at that," I pointed at the wet, black tumbleweeds. Jimmi's face turned to pity, "Oohh, I'm sorry, pumpkin. But you'll be sexy to me no matter what!" I gave a quick, half smile, then proceeded to pick up the entire head of hair in the drain, wrap it in toilet paper and throw it away. I didn't dare to dry what was left on my head - which wasn't much, by the way. I just brushed it gently (it still continued to fall out) and threw on a baseball cap with a teal and white ribbon on the front.
Jimmi and I left the house at 8:30 AM and headed to New York City for my 10:00 AM appointment. I knew we'd probably be there for a while. Between the fact that I was basically an "emergency squeeze-in", and that I'd need to be shaved bald, then have my two custom pieces fitted and cut, I was figuring at least three hours.
We arrived at Joseph Paris Salon after hooking up with my mom in The City. It was about 9:45, so we were actually early, for a change! We headed to the ninth floor and rang the bell so we could be buzzed in. Linda, the receptionist who had managed to fit me into the schedule, greeted us with a warm smile. "How are you feeling?" She asked politely. I shrugged and let out an, "Eh." "Well," Linda continued, "You look much better than the first time you were here. You seem much more at ease with everything." I laughed drunkenly, "Yeah, I took an anti-anxiety pill about a half an hour ago. I guess it's working."
As we waited, we spoke to Linda a bit. She was a very friendly women who was probably in her 50s. She was upbeat and outspoken. "Oh!" I remembered something, "Please don't let me leave here without a steamer for the synthetic piece." The only way to style the non-human hair wig is with a steamer because a hair dryer or flat iron would melt it. "Don't worry," Linda assured me. "I'll remind you. And I have to give you a head, too." My mom and I looked up and the same thought went through our dirty minds. "Oh?" I looked at Jimmi. "Lucky you!" Neither Jimmi nor Linda realized what she had said until I made that comment, then Jimmi turned beet red, shook his head and covered his face and Linda started laughing out loud. "Wow! I should watch what I say around here!" she giggled.
At about 10:15, a young stylist who looked like he belonged in a Beatles tribute band emerged from the back room. "Suzanne?" We stood up to meet him. "Hi, I'm Joel. Come with me." My mom, Jimmi and I caravanned to a small, private room with a hair dresser's chair, a sink with a neck cut-out and a large mirror above it. There were hair and wig products all over the counter, and a window that overlooked 34th Street. While Joel went to grab a few more chairs, I sat down in the seat in the middle of the room and took off my hat. My hair was still damp from the shower, and you could really see how thin it had become in just four days.
Joel came back with the chairs, then turned his attention to me. "Are we taking off your hair today too?" he asked. I looked at him sadly, "Won't we get a better fit for the wigs that way?" Joel said we would, and I continued, "I think it's all about to fall out anyway." He started to run his fingers through my recently fine locks and what was left started to come out in his hands. "Is it starting to get tangled and matted when you wash it?" he asked gently. I nodded. "I think you came in a the perfect time. If you had waited any longer, you would start to get really knotted up, almost like dreadlocks. That would irritate your scalp and make it pretty painful. Even shaving it off would be more difficult because I'd need to lift each dreadlock and be very gentle so I didn't hurt you. You really have perfect timing." Ok, I guess I didn't jump the gun. So glad my mom urged me to call for an appointment as soon as the hair started to fall out.
Joel explained that he was going to cut my hair in sections before he buzzed it, that way, he would be able to save the long pieces in case I needed to add them to my human hair piece. He clipped up the top of my hair and I looked down and closed my eyes. I couldn't watch. "I hope you don't mind if I cry," I whispered. Joel looked sympathetic, "Cry all you want. I'm used to it. But if you cry a lot, I might end up crying too." I laughed and sniffed back some tears until I couldn't contain them anymore and they began to drip down my cheeks. Snip, snip, snip went the scissors, and I saw Joel lay a long chunk of my hair on the table in front of me. Snip, snip, snip. Another chunk. I kept my head down and my eyes closed as he cut, until Joel asked me to lift my chin. I obliged, and then I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror. My entire head was chopped except for one, last, long lock right in the front. "Whoa! You look like a Goth chick!" Jimmi joked. I didn't want to smile, then something inside me snapped and told me it was going to be ok. It's only hair. It's a new adventure. I can do this! Joel snipped off the last piece and placed it on the table with the others. Then he whipped out the electric razor and went to town. "Let me know if I'm hurting you," he said carefully.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Buzzzzzzzzzzz! Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!
I actually watched as the last bits of hair were removed from my head. I talked and smiled and was fully at peace with what was happening to me. When the buzzer finished its job, I immediately noticed the cool breeze of the air conditioning on my bald head. Wow. I've never been bald. I was even born with a full head of thick, black hair. I checked myself out in the mirror and thought about Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. A Fighter. She was fighting for her country, I'm fighting for my life. It's a good enough comparison, right? I turned from side to side. "Can I touch it?" Jimmi asked. "Sure," I agreed. "But no pictures."
Joel left the room to get my hair pieces. I continued to stare at myself, then I touched my head. It felt like the stubble on my legs when I haven't shaved them in a few days; though, that's not much of an issue anymore. One benefit of chemo, I guess. "Ok, fine," I gave in. "You can take pictures." Both my mom and Jimmi grabbed their iPhones and snapped away. I handed Jimmi my Blackberry (stupid iPhones!) and had him take one more. He handed my phone back, I checked out the photo and sent it to Facebook. What the Hell? I thought. Everyone knows I'm doing it. What do I have to be embarrassed about?
Within minutes the comments were flying! "Beautiful!" "Rock Star!" "You go girl!" My friends were sending support when I needed it most. My heart was full as I read each comment that came through, and suddenly being bald didn't seem so bad.
Joel returned with my hair pieces - one synthetic for every day wear, and the other, human hair, for special occasions...like, a wedding, perhaps. "Which one are you planning to wear today?" Joel asked. "The synthetic one," I replied. "Ok," Joel said, "Let's start with the synthetic, then we'll move on." He put the wig on my head, and I instantly looked like myself again. "We need to add a pleat to it so it fits a little tighter," Joel explained. He removed it from my head and brought it to the back to have it fixed.
A few minutes later, he was back and the hair was on my head again. Joel started by measuring exact placement. He had me take my hand and line four fingers up from the bridge of my nose to the top of my forehead. "That's where your hairline should be," he informed me. Joel cut off the extra lace from the piece that sat on my forehead, then asked me to take the tips of my pointer, middle and ring fingers and put them starting at the corner of my eye going back to my hair. "That's where the side hairline should be," he explained. Then he cut off the extra lace and hair to create a natural line across the side of my face. He repeated the steps on the other side of the piece, and then began my haircut. Trim, snip, cut, shape. Done! Then Joel said, "I'm not going to tape it on yet because we still have to cut the other piece."
Off came the synthetic hair and I felt the newly familiar cool breeze on my head. Then Joel brought in an extra long wig of human hair and placed it on me. "This is really long!" he exclaimed. "I feel like Rapunzel," I giggled. "Someone actually grew their hair this long and then donated it?" I asked. "Even longer," Joel said. "You lose about two inches in the knotting and tying." Wow. The hair was literally to my waist. I almost felt bad knowing I was going to have Joel cut it...a lot.
He repeated the same process as he did with the synthetic piece. Measuring, placing, cutting. I left this one much longer, though. Since this is the hair I'll be wearing on my wedding day, I wanted to make sure there was enough length so my own hair stylist would be able to cut it how he wants it for my perfect day. When Joel was finished, he removed the piece, wrapped it in tissue paper and urged me to leave it alone and keep it flat so it would stay in good shape for the wedding. Since this piece was made from real hair - including some pieces that were cut from my own head two months ago - it could be styled with a hair dryer, curling iron, flat iron or any other normal hair product. That's why I chose to use that one for my wedding day.
Joel brought back the synthetic wig and said, "Ok, now I'm gonna show you how to tape it and put it on." He turned the hairpiece inside out, brought out some double sided tape and showed me the four areas around the inside lace to stick it. "Only stick the one side and leave the paper on the other until after you get it in place," Joel told me. "There are two ways to put it on. Either hold it in the front with your head down and flip it over, then pull it down in the back, or pull it on from the back first. Just make sure you pull it down further on your forehead than necessary to start. It's easier to pull the hairline back than forward."
I gave it a few tries with Joel's help. "It'll take you about two weeks to get used to it, then you'll be doing it like it's nothing." After it was placed where it belonged, Joel helped me pull off the backing of the tape and we stuck the hair down on my head. "Can I sleep with it on?" I asked. "Yes," Joel assured me. "I wouldn't leave it on for more than a week, though, because the tape might stop sticking."
Joel gave me instructions on removing the tape with rubbing alcohol, washing the human hair piece in sections with shampoo and washing the synthetic hair piece with dish detergent or synthetic wig shampoo. Then he gave me a tip for keeping it soft, "Leave it in a bucket of water with fabric softener for ten minutes. That'll make it look much more natural." Who knew? I was also happy to hear that I didn't need to purchase a small steamer since the one we have at home for our clothes will work just fine.
When he was done with my lessons, Joel walked us out to the desk. I couldn't believe it was 2:30! We had been there for over four hours!! Linda complimented my new look and handed me two bags. "It's your started kit. There's tape and a comb in here. Your other hair piece is in there. Oh, and, of course, I'm giving you your head!" I chuckled as I looked in the bag at the styrofoam head and thought about our earlier conversation.
Linda wished me well and made me promise I'd come back and show her wedding pictures. Then she gave Jimmi and I a hug and we were finally ready to leave.
We got into the elevator, and I immediately turned to look in the mirror on the far wall. Will anyone be able to tell? Do I care if they can? I can't believe I'm bald. I can't believe I have cancer. I can't believe I'm getting married in less than a month. I can't believe I'll be wearing a wig at my wedding.
Then I looked at Jimmi and my mom and more thoughts went through my head...
I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have them. And not just them. I can't believe how much stronger my relationship with my dad has become. I can't believe how much support my friends have shown. I can't believe how many kind e-mails I've gotten from strangers.
Cancer is such a horrible disease, but in some ways, it has brought joy to my life. Is that strange? This terrible, awful thing has taught me what real love is. It has taught me not to sweat the small stuff. It has taught me what is truly important in my life.
I have my kids. I have Jimmi. I have my family. I have my friends.
Nothing else matters.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Hair Today, Gone on Saturday?
It's decision time again.
Another big one.
My hair.
I thought my hair was starting to fall out yesterday, but now I'm sure of it. I didn't wake up with hair on my pillow like everyone said I would - maybe that'll happen tomorrow. But when I brushed it this morning, I pulled the brush away to find a disturbing amount of long, black strands left between the bristles.
"Jimmi!!" I cried loudly. My fiance came running up to the bedroom, "What's the matter?" "Look!" I shouted as I shoved the brush into his face, "It's falling out!" I nuzzled my face into his chest and bawled like a little baby. "Don't worry!" he tried to reassure me, "Maybe it'll stop." I knew he was trying to help, but honestly, why would it stop? I've only had one chemo cycle and I have three more to go. It's not gonna stop.
Jimmi hugged me while I cried, then I pretended to be ok so he would go back downstairs. As soon as he left the room, the tears began to fall again. I looked at the hair in the brush and on the floor. I ran my fingers through the locks still on my head, and pulled out a few fingers full.
I felt sick.
But still, I pressed on. Off to radiation we went. Today is Tuesday, and I knew I would be meeting with Dr. Sidebotham again to talk about this week's side effects. I definitely had a few questions for her. Aside from the bowel issues I was having, I also found a weird rash on my arm in while I was in the shower. Of course, my first thought was that the chemo did something to my blood or bone marrow and I'd need shots or a transfusion, but I tried to think positive and forget those thoughts for the time being.
My treatment was pretty uneventful, except for the involuntary leg movements that seem to get worse each time I go. I needed to ask the doctor about that, too. I waited in the changing room until my name was called, then I asked the tech to get Jimmi from the waiting room. We met in the exam room right before nurse Eileen came in to take my vitals.
"How are you today?" Jimmi asked her politely. "Not good today," she responded grumpily. "I didn't sleep well last night." Great, I though. Nurse Ratched at our service. Eileen took my blood pressure, temperature and weight, then ran through a battery of questions. She smelled like tuna fish, and quite honestly, I just wanted her to get her grouchy self out of the room. Then I remembered my rash. "What does this look like to you?" I asked her. Nurse Fishbreath took a look and said, "Looks like you were scratching it." I said, "I didn't scratch it. I noticed it in the shower." She looked again, "And did you scratch it?" I was getting pissed. "No," I answered honestly. Then she took my right hand, held my pointer and middle finger to the red marks on my left arm and said, "See? Looks like these two fingers scratched it."Ok, don't freak out. Just chill! "Oh, ok." I managed, and held my tongue from saying the other words I had on my mind. "Dr. Sidebotham will be in soon," Eileen said, then she left the room. Good thing, too, because I might have used the nails on my pointer and middle fingers to scratch her eyes out!
There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. "Come in," I called. Dr. Sidebotham entered the room with a friendly face. "Hi! How are you feeling? You look much better than when I saw you last week!" I smiled, "Yes, I'm feeling much better today." Then came the bowel discussion. "I feel like my rectum is shrinking," I said with an embarrassed giggle. She didn't seem phased by my statement. "I promise you, it's not shrinking. There's a lot of inflammation in there from the radiation," she explained. "It's very normal after 11 treatments to feel like you have to go, then nothing happens. And it's a bit painful and uncomfortable." There was actually a name for my condition, though I don't remember what it was. "I'll prescribe a suppository you can use twice a day that will calm everything down in there, and hopefully make things a little easier for you." Awesome, I thought. Now I get to stick things up my ass! I turned to Jimmi, "Bet you really wanna marry me now!" I joked.
After a bit more butt talk, I remembered to show Dr. Sidebotham my rash. She didn't seem at all concerned. "Put some Cortizone cream on it today. If it doesn't get better, I want you to show it to Dr. Gorsky tomorrow. But I really don't think it's anything to worry about." At least she didn't think I scratched myself!
"Oh, one more thing," I said, though I was afraid to ask the question for fear of the answer. "Every time I go for a treatment, my legs start to twitch. Is that going to ruin my treatment and cause serious side effects? I really can't stop it." Dr. Sidebotham smiled again. "You're strapped into the mold, so you couldn't possibly move enough to make a difference. Don't worry. You'll be fine." I think all doctors should take lessons in bedside manner from Dr. Sidebotham. With each answer she gave, I felt more and more relaxed. What a great doctor.
I went back to the changing room to get my clothes on. As I took my tank top and sundress out of the locker, I noticed long, black hairs all over them. I picked each hair off and threw them in the garbage. There were so many of them! I turned the clothes right-side in, then put them over my head. My hair was tucked inside the top, so without thinking, I pulled it out from the back of my dress. When I looked at my hand, my heart sank. Another handful of hair.
I met Jimmi in the waiting room. "It's really falling out," I frowned. Again, he told me not to worry as we headed for Panera. We ate quietly as I thought about my hair. It was so hard to resist playing with it since it's something I constantly do without even thinking. But I was scared. Scared to touch it. Scared to run my fingers through it. But then I forgot, and I did just that. More handfulls. I showed Jimmi again. "Ok," he said, "You knew this might happen. Don't worry!"
We ran a few errands and eventually came back home. Jimmi went outside to work on his car and I called my mom. "Mommy, it's falling out," I sobbed. She tried so hard to be calm. "This will be the hardest part for you," she said. "No matter how much you plan for it, you can't really prepare yourself." I sniffed a few times, "Should I just shave it off? I can't watch this happen anymore. I can't even have my wigs fitted until I'm bald, so should I just have them shave it?" She thought for a minute, "If that's what you want to do. Maybe you should call the wig place and see when most people come in. Do they usually wait?"
I took her advice. "Thank you for calling Joseph Paris, this is Linda speaking," Said the friendly voice on the phone. "Hi Linda, this is Suzanne Paragano. My hair is starting to fall out and I want to know if I should come in now or wait a bit longer?" She was quiet as she thought. "It's really up to you, but most people find it harder to watch it fall out than to just have Joseph shave it and fit them for the wig." That's what I thought. I begged her to squeeze me in on Saturday, and she agreed. Then I confirmed that both of my custom hair pieces were in and ready to be fitted. She checked the computer and let me know that they were both there, then I told her I'd see her Saturday and hung up.
I know it sounds like I'm jumping the gun on this. I know I should probably wait a little bit longer and see what happens, but here's my problem...
Time. I don't have time.
I'm getting married in 32 days. That's just a little over four weeks. I need to have my head shaved to properly fit the wigs. If I don't do it before Saturday, I'll be out of commission for at least the next two weeks because of chemo. If my hair really falls out during that time, I won't be able to do anything about it. Then, once I'm feeling better, I'll need to have my final wedding dress fitting and run around doing last minute errands for the wedding. Do I want the added stress of having to find time to go to the city to have my head shaved and learn how to put on the wigs a week before my wedding? My hair is gonna fall out anyway, right? Isn't it better if I take control of it and decide when it will be gone? Am I just trying to make myself feel better? Am I being stupid? I don't know the right answer.
I just want this all to be over.
Another big one.
My hair.
I thought my hair was starting to fall out yesterday, but now I'm sure of it. I didn't wake up with hair on my pillow like everyone said I would - maybe that'll happen tomorrow. But when I brushed it this morning, I pulled the brush away to find a disturbing amount of long, black strands left between the bristles.
"Jimmi!!" I cried loudly. My fiance came running up to the bedroom, "What's the matter?" "Look!" I shouted as I shoved the brush into his face, "It's falling out!" I nuzzled my face into his chest and bawled like a little baby. "Don't worry!" he tried to reassure me, "Maybe it'll stop." I knew he was trying to help, but honestly, why would it stop? I've only had one chemo cycle and I have three more to go. It's not gonna stop.
Jimmi hugged me while I cried, then I pretended to be ok so he would go back downstairs. As soon as he left the room, the tears began to fall again. I looked at the hair in the brush and on the floor. I ran my fingers through the locks still on my head, and pulled out a few fingers full.
I felt sick.
But still, I pressed on. Off to radiation we went. Today is Tuesday, and I knew I would be meeting with Dr. Sidebotham again to talk about this week's side effects. I definitely had a few questions for her. Aside from the bowel issues I was having, I also found a weird rash on my arm in while I was in the shower. Of course, my first thought was that the chemo did something to my blood or bone marrow and I'd need shots or a transfusion, but I tried to think positive and forget those thoughts for the time being.
My treatment was pretty uneventful, except for the involuntary leg movements that seem to get worse each time I go. I needed to ask the doctor about that, too. I waited in the changing room until my name was called, then I asked the tech to get Jimmi from the waiting room. We met in the exam room right before nurse Eileen came in to take my vitals.
"How are you today?" Jimmi asked her politely. "Not good today," she responded grumpily. "I didn't sleep well last night." Great, I though. Nurse Ratched at our service. Eileen took my blood pressure, temperature and weight, then ran through a battery of questions. She smelled like tuna fish, and quite honestly, I just wanted her to get her grouchy self out of the room. Then I remembered my rash. "What does this look like to you?" I asked her. Nurse Fishbreath took a look and said, "Looks like you were scratching it." I said, "I didn't scratch it. I noticed it in the shower." She looked again, "And did you scratch it?" I was getting pissed. "No," I answered honestly. Then she took my right hand, held my pointer and middle finger to the red marks on my left arm and said, "See? Looks like these two fingers scratched it."Ok, don't freak out. Just chill! "Oh, ok." I managed, and held my tongue from saying the other words I had on my mind. "Dr. Sidebotham will be in soon," Eileen said, then she left the room. Good thing, too, because I might have used the nails on my pointer and middle fingers to scratch her eyes out!
There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. "Come in," I called. Dr. Sidebotham entered the room with a friendly face. "Hi! How are you feeling? You look much better than when I saw you last week!" I smiled, "Yes, I'm feeling much better today." Then came the bowel discussion. "I feel like my rectum is shrinking," I said with an embarrassed giggle. She didn't seem phased by my statement. "I promise you, it's not shrinking. There's a lot of inflammation in there from the radiation," she explained. "It's very normal after 11 treatments to feel like you have to go, then nothing happens. And it's a bit painful and uncomfortable." There was actually a name for my condition, though I don't remember what it was. "I'll prescribe a suppository you can use twice a day that will calm everything down in there, and hopefully make things a little easier for you." Awesome, I thought. Now I get to stick things up my ass! I turned to Jimmi, "Bet you really wanna marry me now!" I joked.
After a bit more butt talk, I remembered to show Dr. Sidebotham my rash. She didn't seem at all concerned. "Put some Cortizone cream on it today. If it doesn't get better, I want you to show it to Dr. Gorsky tomorrow. But I really don't think it's anything to worry about." At least she didn't think I scratched myself!
"Oh, one more thing," I said, though I was afraid to ask the question for fear of the answer. "Every time I go for a treatment, my legs start to twitch. Is that going to ruin my treatment and cause serious side effects? I really can't stop it." Dr. Sidebotham smiled again. "You're strapped into the mold, so you couldn't possibly move enough to make a difference. Don't worry. You'll be fine." I think all doctors should take lessons in bedside manner from Dr. Sidebotham. With each answer she gave, I felt more and more relaxed. What a great doctor.
I went back to the changing room to get my clothes on. As I took my tank top and sundress out of the locker, I noticed long, black hairs all over them. I picked each hair off and threw them in the garbage. There were so many of them! I turned the clothes right-side in, then put them over my head. My hair was tucked inside the top, so without thinking, I pulled it out from the back of my dress. When I looked at my hand, my heart sank. Another handful of hair.
I met Jimmi in the waiting room. "It's really falling out," I frowned. Again, he told me not to worry as we headed for Panera. We ate quietly as I thought about my hair. It was so hard to resist playing with it since it's something I constantly do without even thinking. But I was scared. Scared to touch it. Scared to run my fingers through it. But then I forgot, and I did just that. More handfulls. I showed Jimmi again. "Ok," he said, "You knew this might happen. Don't worry!"
We ran a few errands and eventually came back home. Jimmi went outside to work on his car and I called my mom. "Mommy, it's falling out," I sobbed. She tried so hard to be calm. "This will be the hardest part for you," she said. "No matter how much you plan for it, you can't really prepare yourself." I sniffed a few times, "Should I just shave it off? I can't watch this happen anymore. I can't even have my wigs fitted until I'm bald, so should I just have them shave it?" She thought for a minute, "If that's what you want to do. Maybe you should call the wig place and see when most people come in. Do they usually wait?"
I took her advice. "Thank you for calling Joseph Paris, this is Linda speaking," Said the friendly voice on the phone. "Hi Linda, this is Suzanne Paragano. My hair is starting to fall out and I want to know if I should come in now or wait a bit longer?" She was quiet as she thought. "It's really up to you, but most people find it harder to watch it fall out than to just have Joseph shave it and fit them for the wig." That's what I thought. I begged her to squeeze me in on Saturday, and she agreed. Then I confirmed that both of my custom hair pieces were in and ready to be fitted. She checked the computer and let me know that they were both there, then I told her I'd see her Saturday and hung up.
I know it sounds like I'm jumping the gun on this. I know I should probably wait a little bit longer and see what happens, but here's my problem...
Time. I don't have time.
I'm getting married in 32 days. That's just a little over four weeks. I need to have my head shaved to properly fit the wigs. If I don't do it before Saturday, I'll be out of commission for at least the next two weeks because of chemo. If my hair really falls out during that time, I won't be able to do anything about it. Then, once I'm feeling better, I'll need to have my final wedding dress fitting and run around doing last minute errands for the wedding. Do I want the added stress of having to find time to go to the city to have my head shaved and learn how to put on the wigs a week before my wedding? My hair is gonna fall out anyway, right? Isn't it better if I take control of it and decide when it will be gone? Am I just trying to make myself feel better? Am I being stupid? I don't know the right answer.
I just want this all to be over.
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Joys of Radiation
So, I'm starting to have some radiation side effects.
No, not the major scary ones I was worried about. I won't know if I'll be dealing with any of that until the treatments are over. I'm talking about the "mild" side effects like fatigue and diarrhea. They started after about the seventh treatment, and my time in the bathroom hasn't been the same since. But, hey, at least I'm not constipated anymore!
Today was my 10th treatment, and also picture day. Every Monday, before the treatment, I'm positioned and strapped into my mold and told to stay completely still for "pictures". What they mean is that they'll be taking x-rays of me in the exact position I'm placed in every day to make sure my bones and internal organs are lined up identically each time. It's one of the ways they make sure to avoid any major side effects.
I waited in the changing area until Janice, one of my three techs, called my name. Last week, when I came in for treatment, Janice had surprised me and made two CDs for me to listen to while I was in the machine. One was a Motley Crue mix and the other was a Skid Row mix. That made her my new favorite person! As I followed Janice down the hall, I said, "Thank you so much for making those CDs for me. Maybe we can start on the fourth song of the Motley Crue mix today, since that's where I left off on Friday?" But before she had a chance to answer, I heard Skid Row blaring from the player in the treatment room. Janice went to change the disc and I stopped her before she had a chance, "Don't worry! Skid Row is perfect!" I said with a smile.
I removed my outer hospital gown, kicked off my flip flops and sat on the table. I knew the routine by now. I was asked to identify my photo on the screen, confirm my birthday then place my head back on the foam pillow. I allowed my body to be moved into whatever position Janice and Bob needed it to go, while they checked to make sure my tiny tattoos lined up perfectly with the lasers. I held my breath as the freezing cold mold was placed on top of me and locked onto the table. I allowed them to readjust my legs, and breathed again as the hard plastic warmed to the temperature of my body. "Ok, hold still for pictures," Janice said before she and Bob left the room.
I wanted to do as I was told, but my body had other plans. After holding completely still for about five minutes, my right leg began to twitch. "Stop it!" I scolded with my mind. My leg obeyed for a minute, but then my left thigh decided to join the game. Without permission, it also began to shake a bit. Christ! I thought to myself. Can't I just hold still? Well, at least it's only pictures now and not the actual treatment.
Janice walked back in, adjusted something on the machine and said, "Stay still for treatment," and she was gone again.
"Ok," I told myself, "ten buzzes and I'm outta here. Just stay still and sing along with Sebastian Bach." I closed my eyes and tapped my fingers gently to the beat. BUZZZZZZZZZ! Went the machine. One. Click, click, turn...BUZZZZZZZZZZ! Two.
Oh shit! My leg just moved! Oh no! BUZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Three. There it goes again! Why is this happening? I can't move! If I move, I'll end up with a colostomy bag! Stop moving! My muscles tensed and my hips began to ache. Click, Click, turn...BUZZZZZZZZZZZ! Four. Ok, I think I got it under control. Wait, now my hip is moving! Stop!! BUZZZZZZZZZZZ! Five.
Halfway there.
Ok, breathe deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can do this. All you need to do is stay still. BUZZZZZZZZZ! Six. Oh, my hips and thighs are hurting! Honestly, ten minutes is not a long time. But I want you to try to stay in a position someone else puts you in without moving at all for that long, and see how well you do. Oh, and make sure they strap you down. BUZZZZZZZZZ! Seven. Click, click, turn...BUZZZZZZZZ! Eight.
There they go again! Now it's both legs! Why are they doing this to me? They're ruining my treatment! I want to lie still. I want to do exactly what I'm told. Why won't my body cooperate? BUZZZZZZZZZZ! Nine. One more. Just ONE more. Click, click. Stop. Why did the machine stop before it turned? Why isn't it moving? Oh no! More involuntary movements. Ok, the machine in moving again. Turn. BUZZZZZZZ! Ten!
I won't move until Janice or Bob come in to get me. I know I'm done after the tenth buzz, but I always like to make sure. I mean, what if I miscounted?
Bob came walking into the room just as the song changed from "Youth Gone Wild" to "Slave to the Grind." "All done!" he sang. Oh, thank GOD! My body relaxed and I watched as Bob unstrapped the mold and pulled my gown down to cover what's left of my girlie parts. I sat up, "Thanks, Bob. See you tomorrow." I hopped off the table and felt the soreness in my hips and thighs. It felt like I'd been working out for hours yesterday and I was suffering from the effects of it today. I wish. It's been so long since I've been able to go to the gym.
I hobbled back to the changing room to get dressed. I was so disappointed in myself for letting my body take over my brain. Why couldn't I just hold still?
I plan on talking to Dr. Sidebotham about this tomorrow during my Tuesday check-up. I need to make sure these involuntary twitches won't ruin my treatments, or worse, my internal organs. I keep thinking about everything that can go wrong and I'm scaring myself to death.
On another note, I think my hair is starting to fall out. There's just a little more on the shower floor after I wash it, and a few more strands between my fingers when I play with it. And when I pluck the grays (which I really shouldn't do, at this point), they come out with less than a little tug. I wonder if I can just hold onto it long enough to get married with clip-in extensions and not a full wig? That would be super cool. Jimmi says I'll still be sexy when I'm bald.
Jimmi is full of shit.
No, not the major scary ones I was worried about. I won't know if I'll be dealing with any of that until the treatments are over. I'm talking about the "mild" side effects like fatigue and diarrhea. They started after about the seventh treatment, and my time in the bathroom hasn't been the same since. But, hey, at least I'm not constipated anymore!
Today was my 10th treatment, and also picture day. Every Monday, before the treatment, I'm positioned and strapped into my mold and told to stay completely still for "pictures". What they mean is that they'll be taking x-rays of me in the exact position I'm placed in every day to make sure my bones and internal organs are lined up identically each time. It's one of the ways they make sure to avoid any major side effects.
I waited in the changing area until Janice, one of my three techs, called my name. Last week, when I came in for treatment, Janice had surprised me and made two CDs for me to listen to while I was in the machine. One was a Motley Crue mix and the other was a Skid Row mix. That made her my new favorite person! As I followed Janice down the hall, I said, "Thank you so much for making those CDs for me. Maybe we can start on the fourth song of the Motley Crue mix today, since that's where I left off on Friday?" But before she had a chance to answer, I heard Skid Row blaring from the player in the treatment room. Janice went to change the disc and I stopped her before she had a chance, "Don't worry! Skid Row is perfect!" I said with a smile.
I removed my outer hospital gown, kicked off my flip flops and sat on the table. I knew the routine by now. I was asked to identify my photo on the screen, confirm my birthday then place my head back on the foam pillow. I allowed my body to be moved into whatever position Janice and Bob needed it to go, while they checked to make sure my tiny tattoos lined up perfectly with the lasers. I held my breath as the freezing cold mold was placed on top of me and locked onto the table. I allowed them to readjust my legs, and breathed again as the hard plastic warmed to the temperature of my body. "Ok, hold still for pictures," Janice said before she and Bob left the room.
I wanted to do as I was told, but my body had other plans. After holding completely still for about five minutes, my right leg began to twitch. "Stop it!" I scolded with my mind. My leg obeyed for a minute, but then my left thigh decided to join the game. Without permission, it also began to shake a bit. Christ! I thought to myself. Can't I just hold still? Well, at least it's only pictures now and not the actual treatment.
Janice walked back in, adjusted something on the machine and said, "Stay still for treatment," and she was gone again.
"Ok," I told myself, "ten buzzes and I'm outta here. Just stay still and sing along with Sebastian Bach." I closed my eyes and tapped my fingers gently to the beat. BUZZZZZZZZZ! Went the machine. One. Click, click, turn...BUZZZZZZZZZZ! Two.
Oh shit! My leg just moved! Oh no! BUZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Three. There it goes again! Why is this happening? I can't move! If I move, I'll end up with a colostomy bag! Stop moving! My muscles tensed and my hips began to ache. Click, Click, turn...BUZZZZZZZZZZZ! Four. Ok, I think I got it under control. Wait, now my hip is moving! Stop!! BUZZZZZZZZZZZ! Five.
Halfway there.
Ok, breathe deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can do this. All you need to do is stay still. BUZZZZZZZZZ! Six. Oh, my hips and thighs are hurting! Honestly, ten minutes is not a long time. But I want you to try to stay in a position someone else puts you in without moving at all for that long, and see how well you do. Oh, and make sure they strap you down. BUZZZZZZZZZ! Seven. Click, click, turn...BUZZZZZZZZ! Eight.
There they go again! Now it's both legs! Why are they doing this to me? They're ruining my treatment! I want to lie still. I want to do exactly what I'm told. Why won't my body cooperate? BUZZZZZZZZZZ! Nine. One more. Just ONE more. Click, click. Stop. Why did the machine stop before it turned? Why isn't it moving? Oh no! More involuntary movements. Ok, the machine in moving again. Turn. BUZZZZZZZ! Ten!
I won't move until Janice or Bob come in to get me. I know I'm done after the tenth buzz, but I always like to make sure. I mean, what if I miscounted?
Bob came walking into the room just as the song changed from "Youth Gone Wild" to "Slave to the Grind." "All done!" he sang. Oh, thank GOD! My body relaxed and I watched as Bob unstrapped the mold and pulled my gown down to cover what's left of my girlie parts. I sat up, "Thanks, Bob. See you tomorrow." I hopped off the table and felt the soreness in my hips and thighs. It felt like I'd been working out for hours yesterday and I was suffering from the effects of it today. I wish. It's been so long since I've been able to go to the gym.
I hobbled back to the changing room to get dressed. I was so disappointed in myself for letting my body take over my brain. Why couldn't I just hold still?
I plan on talking to Dr. Sidebotham about this tomorrow during my Tuesday check-up. I need to make sure these involuntary twitches won't ruin my treatments, or worse, my internal organs. I keep thinking about everything that can go wrong and I'm scaring myself to death.
On another note, I think my hair is starting to fall out. There's just a little more on the shower floor after I wash it, and a few more strands between my fingers when I play with it. And when I pluck the grays (which I really shouldn't do, at this point), they come out with less than a little tug. I wonder if I can just hold onto it long enough to get married with clip-in extensions and not a full wig? That would be super cool. Jimmi says I'll still be sexy when I'm bald.
Jimmi is full of shit.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wishbone
I met Jen yesterday.
Yes, Jen. She's the one Dr. Laitao's office hooked me up with to discuss radiation when I was having so much trouble making my decision. She's the one who put my mind at ease after I read about all of the horrible long-term side effects. She's the one who filled my head with positive thoughts and shooed away the negative ones. After one conversation, I knew Jen would become an important part of my life.
Especially now.
Jen went through her own ordeal with cancer a year and a half ago, but she was due at Sloan-Kettering for a follow-up yesterday. "What time is your appointment?" she asked cheerily. "12:05," I replied. "Ok, mine's at 1, but I'll make sure I'm there before 12 so I can meet you before you go in. I have something for you!" I can't believe this woman I've never met before is willingly offering to sit for an extra hour in a cancer center just to meet me.
I woke up yesterday morning feeling really crappy. I forced myself to get out of bed and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Just as I turned on the water, I heard my phone buzz with a text from Jen, "I showered and dried my hair this morning in honor of meeting you." I chuckled and replied, "Wow! I really must rate!" I continued my morning routine slowly, then Jimmi and I headed for the car.
As we were driving, another text came through, "What time do you usually get there?" Jen asked. "For a 12:05 appointment? Usually 12:07," I joked. "But my mom will be there on time. Her name is Eileen." Jen said she'd be wearing a long, navy dress. I let her know that I told my mom to look for her and she quipped, "I'm going to hide from her. Or if she approaches me, maybe I'll scream for help...ya know, just to shake things up a bit." I couldn't help laughing out loud picturing the whole scene, serious or not. I quickly typed back, "Do it!"
I was still giggling when Jimmi and I pulled into the Sloan-Kettering driveway. We left the car with the valet, and headed down the hall to the radiation oncology department. As we turned the corner, we were immediately greeted by two enormous smiles. One from my mom, and one from my sister through circumstance, Jen.
We both squealed "Hi!" and threw our arms around each other. The fact that we had never laid eyes upon one another meant absolutely nothing. I headed to the desk to check in, then quickly turned around to chat for a minute before my treatment.
I saw Jen pull a small, flowered pouch out of her bag. "I have something for you," she started. "When I got sick, someone told me I'd need three things to get through it. A backbone, a funny bone, and..." she pulled something out of the pouch, "a wishbone." Then she held up the object in her hand to reveal a silver chain with a silver wishbone pendant hanging from it. It was perfect and I immediately loved it. Apparently, my mom felt the same way because she broke in with, "I'm gonna cry!" Jen handed me the chain and said, "It's gently used because I wore it during my battle, but now I'm giving it to you."
Without a thought, I took the necklace from her, wrapped it around my neck and fastened it tightly. I thanked and hugged her, and headed off to my treatment. When I got into the changing room, I peeked in the mirror at my incredibly thoughtful gift and a tear fell from my eye.
I can't believe something so small could mean so much. I can't believe someone I've known for only two weeks could have such an impact on my life. This wishbone is a symbol of hope, strength and determination. It's a symbol of friendship and sisterhood. But most of all, it's a symbol of a fight. A fight I plan to win.
To win...that's my wish.
Yes, Jen. She's the one Dr. Laitao's office hooked me up with to discuss radiation when I was having so much trouble making my decision. She's the one who put my mind at ease after I read about all of the horrible long-term side effects. She's the one who filled my head with positive thoughts and shooed away the negative ones. After one conversation, I knew Jen would become an important part of my life.
Especially now.
Jen went through her own ordeal with cancer a year and a half ago, but she was due at Sloan-Kettering for a follow-up yesterday. "What time is your appointment?" she asked cheerily. "12:05," I replied. "Ok, mine's at 1, but I'll make sure I'm there before 12 so I can meet you before you go in. I have something for you!" I can't believe this woman I've never met before is willingly offering to sit for an extra hour in a cancer center just to meet me.
I woke up yesterday morning feeling really crappy. I forced myself to get out of bed and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Just as I turned on the water, I heard my phone buzz with a text from Jen, "I showered and dried my hair this morning in honor of meeting you." I chuckled and replied, "Wow! I really must rate!" I continued my morning routine slowly, then Jimmi and I headed for the car.
As we were driving, another text came through, "What time do you usually get there?" Jen asked. "For a 12:05 appointment? Usually 12:07," I joked. "But my mom will be there on time. Her name is Eileen." Jen said she'd be wearing a long, navy dress. I let her know that I told my mom to look for her and she quipped, "I'm going to hide from her. Or if she approaches me, maybe I'll scream for help...ya know, just to shake things up a bit." I couldn't help laughing out loud picturing the whole scene, serious or not. I quickly typed back, "Do it!"
I was still giggling when Jimmi and I pulled into the Sloan-Kettering driveway. We left the car with the valet, and headed down the hall to the radiation oncology department. As we turned the corner, we were immediately greeted by two enormous smiles. One from my mom, and one from my sister through circumstance, Jen.
We both squealed "Hi!" and threw our arms around each other. The fact that we had never laid eyes upon one another meant absolutely nothing. I headed to the desk to check in, then quickly turned around to chat for a minute before my treatment.
I saw Jen pull a small, flowered pouch out of her bag. "I have something for you," she started. "When I got sick, someone told me I'd need three things to get through it. A backbone, a funny bone, and..." she pulled something out of the pouch, "a wishbone." Then she held up the object in her hand to reveal a silver chain with a silver wishbone pendant hanging from it. It was perfect and I immediately loved it. Apparently, my mom felt the same way because she broke in with, "I'm gonna cry!" Jen handed me the chain and said, "It's gently used because I wore it during my battle, but now I'm giving it to you."
Without a thought, I took the necklace from her, wrapped it around my neck and fastened it tightly. I thanked and hugged her, and headed off to my treatment. When I got into the changing room, I peeked in the mirror at my incredibly thoughtful gift and a tear fell from my eye.
I can't believe something so small could mean so much. I can't believe someone I've known for only two weeks could have such an impact on my life. This wishbone is a symbol of hope, strength and determination. It's a symbol of friendship and sisterhood. But most of all, it's a symbol of a fight. A fight I plan to win.
To win...that's my wish.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Yet Another Possible Hit
My head is so itchy.
Is it all in my mind? Is it itchy because my hair is about to start falling out? I'm scared to scratch it. Scared to pull my hand away and see long strands entangled between my fingers.
Maybe it's nothing. Maybe I'm just itchy.
Oh well. At least today was a good day, for the most part. Radiation was quick and painless, my stomach only bothered me for about an hour or so, and I was able to spend some time with my boys without forcing a smile from the couch. I even took them to get measured for their tuxedos for my wedding! I can't believe they're almost two and a half years apart, but just about exactly the same size.
But yesterday wasn't quite as easy.
The radiation is still pretty uneventful, at this point. I've had a few bouts of diarrhea, but nothing to write a blog about. The new hit actually came from Dr. Sidebotham, my radiation oncologist, in our weekly status appointment yesterday.
After I had changed into my hospital gown, been positioned on the table, strapped down into my mold, counted 10 buzzes of the machine, unstrapped and changed back into my clothes, I was told to wait in the changing area for an appointment with the doctor. Every Tuesday would be check-in day. I would tell Dr. Sidebotham how I was feeling and discuss any side effects I may or may not be having. I texted my mom. "Meet me in the changing room." Had I known about this, I would've given Jimmi the option of coming with us that day. Since radiation is very quick, it's silly for both my mom and Jimmi to take me and they've been alternating. Oh well. I'd just have to fill him in on anything important.
"Suzanne?" My mom and I followed the young, black man with the obnoxiously hot pink shirt and blush pink tie down the hall to an exam room. "Can I get you some water or juice?" he asked. I was really feeling sick, so a water sounded great. I made my request and he left the room to fulfill it. I looked at my mom, sighed, and laid back on the exam bed. When will this nausea go away? I haven't had a chemo treatment in five days!
"Hello!" said a friendly voice as a nurse entered the room. It was Eileen, the one who had all the trouble with the July 11th/July 18th start date so many weeks ago. I tried not to like her because of that fiasco, but I couldn't help it. She really is a nice lady; and yesterday, I almost thought she and my mom were going to leave me sitting there and go out to lunch.
"I just love your hair!" Eileen said to my mom. "I'm trying to grow mine out and I just love yours!" My mom replied, "I'm growing mine out too!" Eileen then showed my mom a photo of her previously shorter hair. My mom commented, "That's how mine looked!" Then the conversation went into a spin of something called a Tony curl and putting cotton in their hair and long sticks and poofiness and..."Hello?" I interrupted, "Do you still need me?" I guess she did since, without missing a beat in her discussion, Eileen grabbed my arm, wrapped a pressure cuff around it, stuck a thermometer in my mouth and wrote down all the information.
Finally she spoke to me. "How are you feeling?" I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "Crappy. But I think it's more to do with the chemo than the radiation, at this point." Eileen nodded in agreement. We continued to talk about my current treasure chest of medications and any malady I had been feeling. Then she said, "I'll page Dr. Sidebotham now."
But before she had a chance, the door opened, and the doctor was walking in. "Hi Suzanne. How are you feeling?" she asked with her familiar, sympathetic eyes. I went through the same conversation I had just had with Eileen, but in finer detail. Dr. Sidebotham gave me hints for managing my nausea. "Don't let your body get to the point of feeling sick," she explained. "I know it's not fun, but keep yourself medicated. Take the mild nausea meds every 4-6 hours, and the severe nausea meds every eight hours no matter what. That way, you're covered. You need to figure out what works now, before the next chemo cycle because, at that point, the side effects from the radiation will really be making you feel worse and you'll want to do whatever you can to keep the sick feeling to a minimum. Play with the medications and see what works for you." Sounded good, except for one thing...
"But I don't want to take the anti-nausea medicines if I don't have to since they're so constipating." Dr. Sidebotham sighed and nodded, "Yes, they really are. But that's why we tell you to take stool softeners. I know you don't want to take even more medicine, but those are really easy. Take 2-3 Colace during the day, and two Senokot each night. That way you'll avoid having to use an enema or something even worse." I can't believe these are normal conversations for me these days. "But won't the radiation cause diarrhea? Should I really take stool softeners?" Again, I was correct. "Yes, that's the problem. You'll finally figure out a system that works, and then it'll be shot by another side effect. At that point, you'll just need to laugh it off and we'll try something else."
Sounds lovely.
We chatted for an unreasonably long period of time about different forms of bowel movements, and ways to fix them before I changed the subject. "Can I ask you about long-term side effects?" Dr. Sidebotham looked well-prepared for my question, until I asked it. "How often does radiation cause people to end up with a colostomy bag?" Her face was a bit surprised, but I could see that she didn't think it wasn't a stupid question. "Almost never," she answered confidently. "That's not something I think you really need to worry about. The biggest issue for you will be sexual function. It will change things, and you need to be ready for that." I nodded, though I wasn't ready to shift gears that quickly. "The radiation will shrink your vaginal canal, as I've explained, and you'll need to really work with the tools we give you to help yourself so you can function at as close to a normal level as possible. You'll have the dilator, and at first, you might need to use it up to three times a day..."
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
How did it go from three times a week to three times a day?? I know I don't work outside the house, but, seriously, who has time for that? Will I need to excuse myself from a lunch date with a friend to have a second date with El Plastico in the bathroom?
Ok, get over it. You're already on this path. You just need to follow it to the end.
"But after a year or so," she continued, "you may be down to once a week or less." Ok, focus, Suzanne. "So, when can I start using it?" I asked, wanting to get going on fixing things as soon as possible. "Oh, not until after treatments. You're much too sore now and it's going to be very painful when you start, so we need you to wait." Great. Painful sex toy. Looking forward to that one.
Shit! My wedding night!
"So, what are the chances I'll be consummating my marriage on September 3rd?" Dr. Sidebotham looked down, then back up at me. "You probably won't be doing that. You'll just have to explain to him that..." I quickly interrupted her, "No, no! He's not worried about it! I was just curious."
Ok, so, my goal here is to get to the wedding. But there will be no wedding night nookie, and no honeymoon. It's ok. It'll be ok.
"And one more thing we're going to need to talk about soon, is the possibility of another type of radiation when you're done with the external kind."
Wait, what? No. No more radiation. This is my treatment. Hysterectomy, chemo, radiation. That's it. Nothing else!
"Because the margins were so close to the cuff of the vagina, I might be recommending three rounds of internal radiation 2-4 weeks after you finish the external radiation."
But I didn't even want the external radiation! Why do I need internal now? Can't I avoid ANYTHING???
"I'm sorry I didn't mention this sooner, but I didn't think I'd need to recommend it until after I saw the pathology report. The margins were just so close. The external radiation will get to a large group of cells, but the internal gets right on top of the area and blasts what's left. I think it might be our best chance at making sure this is all behind us."
Ok. Reeling. Don't want to hear any more.
I didn't show any emotion. I just talked to the doctor like the grown-up I'm pretending to be, then my mom and I thanked her and left.
So, here we are again. Faced with another possibility. Another life-altering treatment. Another choice. I'm too tired to think about it right now. Frankly, I'm surprised I stayed awake long enough to even write about it. I'm just doing what I've been told all along. I'm taking it one day at a time. I'll deal with it when it's forced upon me. Until then...
I'll let the roller coaster speed along until it reaches the station.
Is it all in my mind? Is it itchy because my hair is about to start falling out? I'm scared to scratch it. Scared to pull my hand away and see long strands entangled between my fingers.
Maybe it's nothing. Maybe I'm just itchy.
Oh well. At least today was a good day, for the most part. Radiation was quick and painless, my stomach only bothered me for about an hour or so, and I was able to spend some time with my boys without forcing a smile from the couch. I even took them to get measured for their tuxedos for my wedding! I can't believe they're almost two and a half years apart, but just about exactly the same size.
But yesterday wasn't quite as easy.
The radiation is still pretty uneventful, at this point. I've had a few bouts of diarrhea, but nothing to write a blog about. The new hit actually came from Dr. Sidebotham, my radiation oncologist, in our weekly status appointment yesterday.
After I had changed into my hospital gown, been positioned on the table, strapped down into my mold, counted 10 buzzes of the machine, unstrapped and changed back into my clothes, I was told to wait in the changing area for an appointment with the doctor. Every Tuesday would be check-in day. I would tell Dr. Sidebotham how I was feeling and discuss any side effects I may or may not be having. I texted my mom. "Meet me in the changing room." Had I known about this, I would've given Jimmi the option of coming with us that day. Since radiation is very quick, it's silly for both my mom and Jimmi to take me and they've been alternating. Oh well. I'd just have to fill him in on anything important.
"Suzanne?" My mom and I followed the young, black man with the obnoxiously hot pink shirt and blush pink tie down the hall to an exam room. "Can I get you some water or juice?" he asked. I was really feeling sick, so a water sounded great. I made my request and he left the room to fulfill it. I looked at my mom, sighed, and laid back on the exam bed. When will this nausea go away? I haven't had a chemo treatment in five days!
"Hello!" said a friendly voice as a nurse entered the room. It was Eileen, the one who had all the trouble with the July 11th/July 18th start date so many weeks ago. I tried not to like her because of that fiasco, but I couldn't help it. She really is a nice lady; and yesterday, I almost thought she and my mom were going to leave me sitting there and go out to lunch.
"I just love your hair!" Eileen said to my mom. "I'm trying to grow mine out and I just love yours!" My mom replied, "I'm growing mine out too!" Eileen then showed my mom a photo of her previously shorter hair. My mom commented, "That's how mine looked!" Then the conversation went into a spin of something called a Tony curl and putting cotton in their hair and long sticks and poofiness and..."Hello?" I interrupted, "Do you still need me?" I guess she did since, without missing a beat in her discussion, Eileen grabbed my arm, wrapped a pressure cuff around it, stuck a thermometer in my mouth and wrote down all the information.
Finally she spoke to me. "How are you feeling?" I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "Crappy. But I think it's more to do with the chemo than the radiation, at this point." Eileen nodded in agreement. We continued to talk about my current treasure chest of medications and any malady I had been feeling. Then she said, "I'll page Dr. Sidebotham now."
But before she had a chance, the door opened, and the doctor was walking in. "Hi Suzanne. How are you feeling?" she asked with her familiar, sympathetic eyes. I went through the same conversation I had just had with Eileen, but in finer detail. Dr. Sidebotham gave me hints for managing my nausea. "Don't let your body get to the point of feeling sick," she explained. "I know it's not fun, but keep yourself medicated. Take the mild nausea meds every 4-6 hours, and the severe nausea meds every eight hours no matter what. That way, you're covered. You need to figure out what works now, before the next chemo cycle because, at that point, the side effects from the radiation will really be making you feel worse and you'll want to do whatever you can to keep the sick feeling to a minimum. Play with the medications and see what works for you." Sounded good, except for one thing...
"But I don't want to take the anti-nausea medicines if I don't have to since they're so constipating." Dr. Sidebotham sighed and nodded, "Yes, they really are. But that's why we tell you to take stool softeners. I know you don't want to take even more medicine, but those are really easy. Take 2-3 Colace during the day, and two Senokot each night. That way you'll avoid having to use an enema or something even worse." I can't believe these are normal conversations for me these days. "But won't the radiation cause diarrhea? Should I really take stool softeners?" Again, I was correct. "Yes, that's the problem. You'll finally figure out a system that works, and then it'll be shot by another side effect. At that point, you'll just need to laugh it off and we'll try something else."
Sounds lovely.
We chatted for an unreasonably long period of time about different forms of bowel movements, and ways to fix them before I changed the subject. "Can I ask you about long-term side effects?" Dr. Sidebotham looked well-prepared for my question, until I asked it. "How often does radiation cause people to end up with a colostomy bag?" Her face was a bit surprised, but I could see that she didn't think it wasn't a stupid question. "Almost never," she answered confidently. "That's not something I think you really need to worry about. The biggest issue for you will be sexual function. It will change things, and you need to be ready for that." I nodded, though I wasn't ready to shift gears that quickly. "The radiation will shrink your vaginal canal, as I've explained, and you'll need to really work with the tools we give you to help yourself so you can function at as close to a normal level as possible. You'll have the dilator, and at first, you might need to use it up to three times a day..."
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
How did it go from three times a week to three times a day?? I know I don't work outside the house, but, seriously, who has time for that? Will I need to excuse myself from a lunch date with a friend to have a second date with El Plastico in the bathroom?
Ok, get over it. You're already on this path. You just need to follow it to the end.
"But after a year or so," she continued, "you may be down to once a week or less." Ok, focus, Suzanne. "So, when can I start using it?" I asked, wanting to get going on fixing things as soon as possible. "Oh, not until after treatments. You're much too sore now and it's going to be very painful when you start, so we need you to wait." Great. Painful sex toy. Looking forward to that one.
Shit! My wedding night!
"So, what are the chances I'll be consummating my marriage on September 3rd?" Dr. Sidebotham looked down, then back up at me. "You probably won't be doing that. You'll just have to explain to him that..." I quickly interrupted her, "No, no! He's not worried about it! I was just curious."
Ok, so, my goal here is to get to the wedding. But there will be no wedding night nookie, and no honeymoon. It's ok. It'll be ok.
"And one more thing we're going to need to talk about soon, is the possibility of another type of radiation when you're done with the external kind."
Wait, what? No. No more radiation. This is my treatment. Hysterectomy, chemo, radiation. That's it. Nothing else!
"Because the margins were so close to the cuff of the vagina, I might be recommending three rounds of internal radiation 2-4 weeks after you finish the external radiation."
But I didn't even want the external radiation! Why do I need internal now? Can't I avoid ANYTHING???
"I'm sorry I didn't mention this sooner, but I didn't think I'd need to recommend it until after I saw the pathology report. The margins were just so close. The external radiation will get to a large group of cells, but the internal gets right on top of the area and blasts what's left. I think it might be our best chance at making sure this is all behind us."
Ok. Reeling. Don't want to hear any more.
I didn't show any emotion. I just talked to the doctor like the grown-up I'm pretending to be, then my mom and I thanked her and left.
So, here we are again. Faced with another possibility. Another life-altering treatment. Another choice. I'm too tired to think about it right now. Frankly, I'm surprised I stayed awake long enough to even write about it. I'm just doing what I've been told all along. I'm taking it one day at a time. I'll deal with it when it's forced upon me. Until then...
I'll let the roller coaster speed along until it reaches the station.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Week One Down...
I can't even describe how I'm feeling.
In some ways, it's better than I thought it would be. But, in other ways - many other ways - it's much worse.
I've made it through week one of radiation and chemotherapy. That means I have about five more weeks of radiation and three more chemo cycles to go. Doesn't sound like much, but trust me, knowing I'll continue to feel this way - and possibly worse - for the next two and a half months isn't making me too happy.
So, where did I leave off? Right. I think I wrote about my second chemo treatment day before the third one knocked me flat on my ass and made it impossible to remember my name, let alone spell it. I figured out very quickly that the cisplatin on the first cycle day is the drug that will make me severely nauseous, but the etoposide, which I'll have all three days of each chemo cycle, will make me so tired and weak, I'll be out cold before a few drops make their way through my veins. But, whether I'm sick or tired, one thing is very clear..."chemo brain" takes over immediately and refuses to go away.
I had heard about "chemo brain" in conversations with former cancer patients, or with the doctors, but I had no idea how incredibly stupid it would make me feel. I can't form sentences, I can't spell, I can't think clearly. And for someone who's trying to pretend to be a writer, those symptoms do not bode well for beautiful and fluid prose. But, I'm going to try. This is my first attempt at blogging on drugs. Don't try this at home, kids!
Oh! Wait!
Before I begin, I should let you know that it's not just the chemo I'm referring to when I say I'm on drugs. While the IVs have long been drained into my bloodstream, the poison still continues working, killing any sneaky little cancer cells in its path. Of course, the healthy cells that may look like cancer cells, are getting zapped too. We all know that THIS is why I'm feeling so shitty. Trying to counteract the shittiness tends to make other parts of me feel even shittier.
Let me try to explain...
As I mentioned earlier, on day 1 of each chemo cycle, I'll be given IVs of cisplatin and etoposide. On days two and three, I'll only have the etoposide. But, there's much more to it that that. On days 1-3, I'll need to take a drug called Emend, prior to my treatments. On top of that, I'll need to take three Dexamethosone pills. The Emend is a super-duper anti-nausea drug, and the Dexamethesone is a steroid, also used to control nausea. I'm very thankful for each of these, but not only will the Emend hopefully keep me from puking, but it'll also probably keep me from pooping for the rest of my life, too. Highly constipating. The steroid, while it could cause me to puff up and get a moon face, probably won't in such a short amount of time. Here's to hoping.
But that's not all!
So...on the first day of chemo, after I take the two drugs mentioned above, a full IV bag of fluids will be pumped into my body. No big deal. But, on top of that, there will be two more anti-nausea drugs through the IV and one other medicine that is designed to sit in my kidneys and bladder until all of the bad stuff gets there. Then, the waiting drug will help whisk it all away. After THAT, I'll get a second bag of fluids and the cisplatin, followed by the etoposide. Yes, that's why the first day takes six hours.
Oh! And to make it even MORE fun, whenever I need to pee on day one - which is quite a lot after all of those fluids - I'm required to measure my output in a "hat" and write down the time and amount for the nurses. Humiliating.
Days two and three aren't quite as bad. Just the oral meds, one bag of fluids and etoposide. Piece of cake! Well, until later...
Ok, so, once I'm home and dealing with nausea and sheer exhaustion on my own, things get super fun! What can I do for the exhaustion? NADA! Yes, I can sleep, but it's hard to do that when not one position you try is comfortable. Plus, I'm having hot flashes from all the medicines, so it's covers on, covers off, toss, turn, covers on, covers off, toss turn all night.
For the nausea, I have two "as needed" drugs: Prochlorper and Ondansetron. The "P" is for mild nausea every four to six hours and the "O" is for severe nausea every six to eight hours. Yes, I can overlap them if I find that one doesn't work after a few minutes, which I've needed to do each time I've taken them. But then I have a double issue of no emergency nausea drug and quadruple constipation!!
Ok...add stool softeners.
By the way, have I mentioned that before all this cancer bullshit, I never ever took Tylenol for a headache? I seriously had to be screaming in pain before one, tiny little pill would get into my mouth. Jimmi couldn't understand how I could have a headache all day and do nothing about it, but then finally give in to meds, and it would be gone in five minutes. It's because I don't take medicines!! And now, here I am, downing about 17 pills every day.
Back to the stool softeners. So, I now have to take two Senokot each night and three Colace each day just to produce one, little pellet of pooh. But that pellet sure gets a big cheer as I walk out of the bathroom to my awaiting fans who will ask, "Did you go?" If I nod, they do a wave and set off fireworks in the living room. It's quite an event.
And then there's the Ativan. We figured out the need for this drug a bit later in the process one night when I was feeling sick, and had taken everything else already. Jimmi called the doctor who told him to give me the anti-anxiety pill because it will also help with nausea. Ok! I'm down! Mouth is open. Just throw it in! But I probably should've gone to my bedroom first. I vaguely remember getting up off the couch and coming close to the floor as Jimmi picked me up. I felt like I was floating as my mom, Jimmi and my dad carried me up the stairs and laid me into my bed. I'm really not sure if they had even left the room before I was off to another planet somewhere, but at least I wasn't nauseous anymore!
So, that's the drug situation. Now for the weird stuff.
It's funny, I expected the nausea and fatigue, but not the food cravings. I literally feel like I'm pregnant. I HATED being pregnant! Ironic, since right now I'd give anything to have my reproductive organs back and be sick because I'm growing a little baby Jimmiette in there. But, that's not the case. So, let's compare. When I was pregnant I was nauseous all the time. Check! I was exhausted. Check! My sense of smell was heightened. Check! I was craving weird foods. Check! My skin was breaking out. Check! Hell, I even lost some hair when I was pregnant with Justin!
But I really am confused here. Yesterday, I woke up with a craving for an Italian sub with oil and vinegar. In case you don't know, I really don't eat meat. Especially not the weird Italian meats! But the craving was there, and I couldn't make it go away. I had heard that your body will tell you what it needs, so I finally asked my mom to order the stupid sub - and chicken fingers - for my dad to pick up on his way over. I knew I wouldn't eat it when it got here. I literally haven't had one of those sandwiches in almost 20 years! Well, let me tell you how wrong I was! I ate an entire half sub PLUS a chicken finger in about 30 minutes! And I felt fine! (I even had another one for lunch today).
Another weird side effect that's bothering me is how I smell. People say I'm crazy - for a lot of reasons, I'm sure - but I feel like my entire body is oozing chemo stench. I smell it when I go to the bathroom, I smell it on my breath, I smell it on my body. It's GROSS! So embarrassing! AND my face it dirty. And my ears! It's like the toxins are working their way out into my pores and growing out my ears. I have blackheads all over my nose and two giant pimples popped up yesterday. Then, I needed three Q-tips to clean the nasty, black wax out of my ears, and I had just cleaned them the day before! I feel like a hobo!
I'm telling you, cancer does NOT make you prettier. Anyone who sticks around during this Hell will be around forever.
And I mean FOREVER.
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