I think I'm moved into a more critical case as far as the lymphedema goes. I haven't gotten much better even after a few weeks of therapy. I spend most of my time with my arm bandaged up, which doesn't help with typing, cooking, washing dishes, showering...you name it.
Yesterday I met with a rep from the Flexitouch company to be measured and start the process to get my own pump. This pump will simulate manual drainage massage that the therapists do, so that I can receive it daily, including when I'm traveling. There are separate pieces that fit over my trunk, chest, shoulder and arm, which connect by tube to a central controller (see http://tactilesystems.com/flexitouch/details.html for a better description and picture). I'm hoping that daily treatment will help get this under control.
Other things I'm trying to do include exercise, including "rebounding" (which in my case is jumping up and down on a $30 jogging trampoline from Fleet Farm), diaphragmatic breathing, all to try to help get the lymph system moving, and an enzyme capsule "Digest Gold" to help break down stuff in my arm. There is also a local doctor who specializes in lymphedema, so I am going to look into making an appointment with her. Lymphedema is often a chronic, life-long problem, so I'm moving on trying to avoid that if at all possible.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Fourth - and final - chemo!
Just had my fourth and final chemo yesterday! It was fairly uneventful, as far as the infusion went.
Unfortunately, I have a bump in my upper arm, above where I had surgery and radiation for the sarcoma. It appeared around the time of the lymphedema, so I thought it was part of that, but the lymphedema therapists said it was too hard to be lymphedema. I had an ultrasound after chemo yesterday to rule out a blood clot (Kind of funny, I was hoping for a blood clot - unfortunately(?) there wasn't one). I'm scheduled for an MRI today. Worst case is return of the sarcoma. The ultrasound technician said she didn't see anything other than muscle - when I had an ultrasound on the original lump last year, they did see something "different." But could vary by technician, and it's ultrasound which isn't that definitive for things like this which is why I'm having an MRI...so trying not to think too much about it. Yeah, right. So, if you can spare any thoughts and prayers, please send some my way (so weird to ask for this for myself!).
Also, I've developed really bad edema in my legs (from the taxotere?). I took 20mg of lasix last night, that seemed to help. Can't exactly see my ankle bones yet, but my shoes aren't so tight anymore. But all this girly girl wants to wear is sweats, and I worry that if it doesn't go away soon that's all I'll be able to wear.
I'm told that I should start feeling more "normal" in a couple of months (there's the three week cycle from yesterday's chemo, then recovery starts). My birthday is April 24th, and I think my birthday wish is to have enough hair to not have to wear a headcover to my party, and to not have to wear sweatpants.
Unfortunately, I have a bump in my upper arm, above where I had surgery and radiation for the sarcoma. It appeared around the time of the lymphedema, so I thought it was part of that, but the lymphedema therapists said it was too hard to be lymphedema. I had an ultrasound after chemo yesterday to rule out a blood clot (Kind of funny, I was hoping for a blood clot - unfortunately(?) there wasn't one). I'm scheduled for an MRI today. Worst case is return of the sarcoma. The ultrasound technician said she didn't see anything other than muscle - when I had an ultrasound on the original lump last year, they did see something "different." But could vary by technician, and it's ultrasound which isn't that definitive for things like this which is why I'm having an MRI...so trying not to think too much about it. Yeah, right. So, if you can spare any thoughts and prayers, please send some my way (so weird to ask for this for myself!).
Also, I've developed really bad edema in my legs (from the taxotere?). I took 20mg of lasix last night, that seemed to help. Can't exactly see my ankle bones yet, but my shoes aren't so tight anymore. But all this girly girl wants to wear is sweats, and I worry that if it doesn't go away soon that's all I'll be able to wear.
I'm told that I should start feeling more "normal" in a couple of months (there's the three week cycle from yesterday's chemo, then recovery starts). My birthday is April 24th, and I think my birthday wish is to have enough hair to not have to wear a headcover to my party, and to not have to wear sweatpants.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
The Loppet
Today I completed my eighth Team in Training event. It wasn't exactly the event I'd pictured when I signed up for the Team's inaugural cross-country ski event, the City of Lakes Loppet, last September, but I did it.
One reason I signed up for this event was that, as a native Minnesotan who doesn't like winter, for years I've told myself that I should take up more winter recreational activities in order to get out there and enjoy the season. I bought snowshoes a few years ago, but we seldom have enough snow in the Twin Cities to use them (save last year, when I still didn't use them - don't ask me why. Habit? Too busy shoveling and driving extra long commutes after each snowstorm?). So I jumped at the opportunity to learn how to ski, practice regularly, and do it with a great bunch of people. And then we didn't get any snow. And I learned I had breast cancer.
We started "dry land" training in September, then the team moved to Elm Creek, a park with man-made snow in December. I didn't attend these early ski practices due to being overwhelmed, the pneumothorax, the park being 30 miles from my house, an upper respiratory infection complete with fever, and, I distinctly remember one night I didn't go because it was raining.
I finally made it to my first ski practice on January 7th. I had a 100.5 fever, but knew I needed to get out there, and felt it was now or never. I stayed in the practice area, got some instructions, skied back and forth a bit until my body said that's enough, then went inside and gabbed with TNT friend Rachel for another hour (guess I wasn't feeling that bad!) before heading home.
I made it to a few more TNT practices, and a group lesson, before ending up at Wirth Park last weekend. The Loppet was to start at Wirth, so we wanted to ski it before the actual event. I was happy to ski a different venue, especially one closer to home.
Wirth had a 3.5km loop with man-made snow, and those of us with less experience did not ski the whole loop due a big hill. There were plenty of other hills, though, along with a lot of ice, and I gave up after just one loop, three falls, and some lightheadedness (which I attributed to being out of shape until my oncologist reminded me that my hemoglobin is low - it's been hovering around 10). Two friends helped out by walking me and my gear to the car.
Through all this, I was getting a ton of support from the team - notes of encouragement, offers of assistance, you name it. The first time I fell at Wirth, I had to figure out how to get back up (not that easy on skis), and I got offers of help and tips from everyone around me. I thought that the Team helping me get back up on my skis was a good metaphor for my situation at large. (:
That same evening, the Loppet announced that, due to the lack of snow and warm weather, they were changing the course - to entirely within Wirth Park. The Loppet course would be multiple laps of the 3.5km loop mentioned above.
I knew I didn't have the technical skills or fitness level to ski this course, so I was happy to hear from our coaches that Team in Training would switch "our" Loppet to Elm Creek (which had been our Plan B in the event that the Loppet was to be completely cancelled).
What I would do for the actual event was still to be determined, especially after I developed lymphedema in my left arm from the surgeries and radiation. My arm and hand blew up to way beyond their normal size, and my left forearm and hand would cramp up with even the simplest of chores. Just Friday morning, I went to lymphedema therapy. We discussed the option of bandaging my arm, which might interfere with the ski event, but agreed that the most important thing was to get the lymphedema under control. So my arm got wrapped up with multiple rolls of bandage and padding, with the pressure greatest at the hand and lessening all the way up to the armpit, to force the fluid up and out of my hand and arm.
Now my hand and arm were even larger. My fingers were partially wrapped so that, while the therapist had made sure I could still bend my elbow to bring a fork to my mouth, I found I couldn't hold a fork. This morning I borrowed a jacket and mitten that would fit over that big arm (thanks, again, to those awesome teammates), but the ski pole loop would not fit over my hand.
I started out just holding the ski pole, but almost immediately I realized that wasn't going to work since I couldn't grip the pole without pain. I would also find that my hand would slide down the pole so that I'd be gripping it a few inches below the handle (not sure if that's the right word for it, but hopefully you get my idea!). I ended up skiing much of my first lap holding the left pole in my right hand.
I got rid of the left pole after my first lap, and things got much easier. I still fell once or twice, didn't go very fast, and got pooped on the uphills, but I ended up skiing three laps - two of which were accompanied by my good friend Ramona. This equaled about 7km, not quite the distance I'd envisioned at the beginning of the season, but my goal was to just get out there and see what I could do.
After I finished, I stayed and watched the rest of my teammates come in (with some breaks to go inside and warm up by the fire with a warm beverage and a homemade caramel roll). It was just an awesome morning, not just to get out there and do my three laps, but to see everyone else reaching their goals and finishing.
Now that the Loppet is over, I'm sure we'll get some snow. And I'm excited to get out my skis when we do. I may not like winter yet, but I think I can say I like cross-country skiing (at least when it's on an easy course)! (:
One reason I signed up for this event was that, as a native Minnesotan who doesn't like winter, for years I've told myself that I should take up more winter recreational activities in order to get out there and enjoy the season. I bought snowshoes a few years ago, but we seldom have enough snow in the Twin Cities to use them (save last year, when I still didn't use them - don't ask me why. Habit? Too busy shoveling and driving extra long commutes after each snowstorm?). So I jumped at the opportunity to learn how to ski, practice regularly, and do it with a great bunch of people. And then we didn't get any snow. And I learned I had breast cancer.
We started "dry land" training in September, then the team moved to Elm Creek, a park with man-made snow in December. I didn't attend these early ski practices due to being overwhelmed, the pneumothorax, the park being 30 miles from my house, an upper respiratory infection complete with fever, and, I distinctly remember one night I didn't go because it was raining.
I finally made it to my first ski practice on January 7th. I had a 100.5 fever, but knew I needed to get out there, and felt it was now or never. I stayed in the practice area, got some instructions, skied back and forth a bit until my body said that's enough, then went inside and gabbed with TNT friend Rachel for another hour (guess I wasn't feeling that bad!) before heading home.
I made it to a few more TNT practices, and a group lesson, before ending up at Wirth Park last weekend. The Loppet was to start at Wirth, so we wanted to ski it before the actual event. I was happy to ski a different venue, especially one closer to home.
Wirth had a 3.5km loop with man-made snow, and those of us with less experience did not ski the whole loop due a big hill. There were plenty of other hills, though, along with a lot of ice, and I gave up after just one loop, three falls, and some lightheadedness (which I attributed to being out of shape until my oncologist reminded me that my hemoglobin is low - it's been hovering around 10). Two friends helped out by walking me and my gear to the car.
Through all this, I was getting a ton of support from the team - notes of encouragement, offers of assistance, you name it. The first time I fell at Wirth, I had to figure out how to get back up (not that easy on skis), and I got offers of help and tips from everyone around me. I thought that the Team helping me get back up on my skis was a good metaphor for my situation at large. (:
That same evening, the Loppet announced that, due to the lack of snow and warm weather, they were changing the course - to entirely within Wirth Park. The Loppet course would be multiple laps of the 3.5km loop mentioned above.
I knew I didn't have the technical skills or fitness level to ski this course, so I was happy to hear from our coaches that Team in Training would switch "our" Loppet to Elm Creek (which had been our Plan B in the event that the Loppet was to be completely cancelled).
What I would do for the actual event was still to be determined, especially after I developed lymphedema in my left arm from the surgeries and radiation. My arm and hand blew up to way beyond their normal size, and my left forearm and hand would cramp up with even the simplest of chores. Just Friday morning, I went to lymphedema therapy. We discussed the option of bandaging my arm, which might interfere with the ski event, but agreed that the most important thing was to get the lymphedema under control. So my arm got wrapped up with multiple rolls of bandage and padding, with the pressure greatest at the hand and lessening all the way up to the armpit, to force the fluid up and out of my hand and arm.
Now my hand and arm were even larger. My fingers were partially wrapped so that, while the therapist had made sure I could still bend my elbow to bring a fork to my mouth, I found I couldn't hold a fork. This morning I borrowed a jacket and mitten that would fit over that big arm (thanks, again, to those awesome teammates), but the ski pole loop would not fit over my hand.
I started out just holding the ski pole, but almost immediately I realized that wasn't going to work since I couldn't grip the pole without pain. I would also find that my hand would slide down the pole so that I'd be gripping it a few inches below the handle (not sure if that's the right word for it, but hopefully you get my idea!). I ended up skiing much of my first lap holding the left pole in my right hand.
I got rid of the left pole after my first lap, and things got much easier. I still fell once or twice, didn't go very fast, and got pooped on the uphills, but I ended up skiing three laps - two of which were accompanied by my good friend Ramona. This equaled about 7km, not quite the distance I'd envisioned at the beginning of the season, but my goal was to just get out there and see what I could do.
After I finished, I stayed and watched the rest of my teammates come in (with some breaks to go inside and warm up by the fire with a warm beverage and a homemade caramel roll). It was just an awesome morning, not just to get out there and do my three laps, but to see everyone else reaching their goals and finishing.
Now that the Loppet is over, I'm sure we'll get some snow. And I'm excited to get out my skis when we do. I may not like winter yet, but I think I can say I like cross-country skiing (at least when it's on an easy course)! (:
Good News!
This post is horribly overdue. The reasons why may be the subject of a future blog post.
January 20th I received round three of four rounds of chemo. You may recall that I'm doing chemo prior to surgery, and halfway through I was going to have an MRI to assess how the tumor was responding to chemo - that way, if the tumor wasn't shrinking I could receive a different chemo drug combination.
So, a few days prior to receiving round three I had my MRI. On the 20th, I met with my doctor prior to the chemo, to learn that, not only had the tumor responded to chemo by shrinking, it had shrunk to essentially NOTHING! There was no enhancement (taking up of contrast by the tumor's own network of blood vessels, the red flag in the original MRI), no measurable size, just some scarring where the tumor had previously been.
What does this mean as far as treatment goes? No changes - I stay on the same drugs, will still receive four rounds, still have surgery (they'll remove the same amount of tissue that they would have had we done surgery prior to chemo), still have about seven weeks of radiation. But my prognosis is just that much better.
I continue to feel good through the chemo, with my biggest complaint being the bone pain from the neulasta shot. It's been getting a bit tough mentally - even with the excellent news from the MRI, as we turn the corner from winter and I can look forward to spring, I have a lot of treatment ahead of me yet. I'm just ready to be done - ready to put it all behind me, to have weeks without doctor appointments, for my hair to grow back. To be done and go back to normal.
January 20th I received round three of four rounds of chemo. You may recall that I'm doing chemo prior to surgery, and halfway through I was going to have an MRI to assess how the tumor was responding to chemo - that way, if the tumor wasn't shrinking I could receive a different chemo drug combination.
So, a few days prior to receiving round three I had my MRI. On the 20th, I met with my doctor prior to the chemo, to learn that, not only had the tumor responded to chemo by shrinking, it had shrunk to essentially NOTHING! There was no enhancement (taking up of contrast by the tumor's own network of blood vessels, the red flag in the original MRI), no measurable size, just some scarring where the tumor had previously been.
What does this mean as far as treatment goes? No changes - I stay on the same drugs, will still receive four rounds, still have surgery (they'll remove the same amount of tissue that they would have had we done surgery prior to chemo), still have about seven weeks of radiation. But my prognosis is just that much better.
I continue to feel good through the chemo, with my biggest complaint being the bone pain from the neulasta shot. It's been getting a bit tough mentally - even with the excellent news from the MRI, as we turn the corner from winter and I can look forward to spring, I have a lot of treatment ahead of me yet. I'm just ready to be done - ready to put it all behind me, to have weeks without doctor appointments, for my hair to grow back. To be done and go back to normal.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Occupation Full-Time Cancer Paient
In November I was on my phone for over 1000 minutes. Since December 4th, I've been on it for over 1600 minutes. In those minutes I've talked to doctors, updated family and friends, consulted nurses, and talked to volunteers at the American Cancer Society. I've spent time on the internet, researching triple-negative breast cancer, neo-adjuvant chemotherapy, acupuncturists, and more. I've been to multiple appointments, which often last longer than expected. I read about ways to stay healthy during treatment without actually scheduling in the time to make them happen.
This has been one of the hardest adjustments to make. I didn't realize that being a cancer patient - even one with a good prognosis - is a full time job. Add that on to the full-time job that pays me, Christmas preparation, social events, I've been one busy girl. Yesterday it caught up to me.
Friday chemo went later than planned. I ended up going to acupuncture right afterward. Then, yesterday, after the "hair follies," I went straight to the University for my Neulasta shot. This should be a fifteen minute appointment, but turned into forty minutes due to computer issues and a discussion about how to give me just 3 mLs rather than the standard 6 mLs. My cell phone lost battery power, as I'd lost my car charger (I've lost about six things in the last few weeks). I got home after 2, where I was supposed to cook for my parents, but when I realized I was short one ingredient, that was it. There was no working around it, no running to the store. I was officially overwhelmed. I called it a meltdown at the time, but maybe that's too strong of a word. I was just done. I sent my parents home (actually, they went to a restaurant) and unplugged. I took my first anti-nausea pill (did I mention I also had a bit of nausea for the first time? And heartburn), drank some ginger-peppermint tea, put some relaxing and uplifting essential oils in the diffuser, and chilled. And napped - and drooled. I showed up at my New Year's soiree 90 minutes late, feeling like new.
I'm hoping that now that I'm into round two, don't need to see the surgeon until after chemo, that things will calm down a bit. I think my next appointments will be for the MRI to assess the tumor size prior to round three (which should be about January 20th). Maybe help me to focus on me. I went to a New Year's Day yoga workshop today, and my mind was all over the place. I'm sure the steroid don't help, but I also realized that I have done yoga maybe twice since my cancer journey began last April.
This has been one of the hardest adjustments to make. I didn't realize that being a cancer patient - even one with a good prognosis - is a full time job. Add that on to the full-time job that pays me, Christmas preparation, social events, I've been one busy girl. Yesterday it caught up to me.
Friday chemo went later than planned. I ended up going to acupuncture right afterward. Then, yesterday, after the "hair follies," I went straight to the University for my Neulasta shot. This should be a fifteen minute appointment, but turned into forty minutes due to computer issues and a discussion about how to give me just 3 mLs rather than the standard 6 mLs. My cell phone lost battery power, as I'd lost my car charger (I've lost about six things in the last few weeks). I got home after 2, where I was supposed to cook for my parents, but when I realized I was short one ingredient, that was it. There was no working around it, no running to the store. I was officially overwhelmed. I called it a meltdown at the time, but maybe that's too strong of a word. I was just done. I sent my parents home (actually, they went to a restaurant) and unplugged. I took my first anti-nausea pill (did I mention I also had a bit of nausea for the first time? And heartburn), drank some ginger-peppermint tea, put some relaxing and uplifting essential oils in the diffuser, and chilled. And napped - and drooled. I showed up at my New Year's soiree 90 minutes late, feeling like new.
I'm hoping that now that I'm into round two, don't need to see the surgeon until after chemo, that things will calm down a bit. I think my next appointments will be for the MRI to assess the tumor size prior to round three (which should be about January 20th). Maybe help me to focus on me. I went to a New Year's Day yoga workshop today, and my mind was all over the place. I'm sure the steroid don't help, but I also realized that I have done yoga maybe twice since my cancer journey began last April.
The Hair, Part 2
I got to Ramona's house shortly after 8 yesterday morning. We had the shaver, had charged it overnight, and thought that it would be a quick few runs through my hair, and voila! - GI Jane. Not quite.
User inexperience plus not quite fully charged trimmer resulted in over an hour of shaving and just the back shorn. Needless to say, we didn't make it to ski practice.
Next I headed over to my brother's, where I learned a bit about trimmers and shaving. First, I learned that these trimmers generally need about 18 hours to charge. And they don't work too well if you adjust the "guard" to five or higher (two rules we broke at Ramona's). Even with that knowledge, it still took about another hour for my brother to shave my head.
So now my hair is about a half inch long. It's coming out slowly (am I supposed to help it along? Rub it with a washcloth? Or just watch as hair fills the inside of my hat and the shower's drain guard?). Cold baby that I am, I've mostly kept it covered with hats, but family and friends who have seen this latest look seem to think it looks good. Something about a nice-shaped head. Or maybe just Minnesota nice... A few photos were taken last evening, so if the mood strikes me I may post them for you to see. When I lost my hair for leukemia chemotherapy, I looked back and wished I had more photos to document it. I really don't have any photos of me without wig or hat until I'd had about an inch of new growth. Keep reminding me of that.
Someone commented last night about how brave I'd been while getting my hair chopped off. I guess I'm mostly over that one, although it's sometimes tough to realize this is going to be my life for the next few months. I'd been feeling so good, the start of the hair loss was kind of a reality check.
Yesterday afternoon I started re-arranging my medicine cabinet. Hair detangler, styling gel, texturizer, comb, all out. But as I put them into the closet, I thought, why would I even keep them in here? It could be six months or more before I might use them again. I took a closer look: curling irons, blow dryer, big round styling brush, paddle brush, curl reviver, volumizer....as strange as it may sound, to this girly-girl, saying goodbye - albeit temporarily - to all these products was what almost made the tears come. Even while I look forward to my new low-maintenance look.
User inexperience plus not quite fully charged trimmer resulted in over an hour of shaving and just the back shorn. Needless to say, we didn't make it to ski practice.
Next I headed over to my brother's, where I learned a bit about trimmers and shaving. First, I learned that these trimmers generally need about 18 hours to charge. And they don't work too well if you adjust the "guard" to five or higher (two rules we broke at Ramona's). Even with that knowledge, it still took about another hour for my brother to shave my head.
So now my hair is about a half inch long. It's coming out slowly (am I supposed to help it along? Rub it with a washcloth? Or just watch as hair fills the inside of my hat and the shower's drain guard?). Cold baby that I am, I've mostly kept it covered with hats, but family and friends who have seen this latest look seem to think it looks good. Something about a nice-shaped head. Or maybe just Minnesota nice... A few photos were taken last evening, so if the mood strikes me I may post them for you to see. When I lost my hair for leukemia chemotherapy, I looked back and wished I had more photos to document it. I really don't have any photos of me without wig or hat until I'd had about an inch of new growth. Keep reminding me of that.
Someone commented last night about how brave I'd been while getting my hair chopped off. I guess I'm mostly over that one, although it's sometimes tough to realize this is going to be my life for the next few months. I'd been feeling so good, the start of the hair loss was kind of a reality check.
Yesterday afternoon I started re-arranging my medicine cabinet. Hair detangler, styling gel, texturizer, comb, all out. But as I put them into the closet, I thought, why would I even keep them in here? It could be six months or more before I might use them again. I took a closer look: curling irons, blow dryer, big round styling brush, paddle brush, curl reviver, volumizer....as strange as it may sound, to this girly-girl, saying goodbye - albeit temporarily - to all these products was what almost made the tears come. Even while I look forward to my new low-maintenance look.
Friday, December 30, 2011
The Hair
When I lost my hair at age 17, I got a wig. There wasn't much available at the wig shop for a teenager, so I ended up with a big, curly, reddish wig my sister and I dubbed "Dottie," for the singer Dottie West. I wore the wig all the time - even in summer marching band and, after for some reason I had to get a new wig (no fun name this time), cross country.
If for some reason I would ever lose my hair again, I figured I wouldn't get a wig again. I was no longer a self-conscious teenager, and didn't want to deal with the hassle of a wig. But I'm planning to continue working, and that means traveling to new clinical sites and meeting new people. And I don't really want the first thing people to know about me be cancer patient. It's not that I'm embarassed or unwilling to talk about it, I just don't want to be thought of as sickly, I guess. (Tangent Alert: after my senior year of high school, about six months after my bone marrow transplant (no wig anymore), I went to Washington DC to march in the 4th of July parade with my marching band (we won). The weather was hot and our uniforms were not light. After we finished, people were feeling faint. Everyone would come up to me and ask how I was doing (it really was a lot of people). I was fine. A friend started feeling faint, so I ran over to the chaperone/doctor (did I mention I ran?). As soon as they saw me, everyone started asking me what was wrong, what did I need - I had a hard time insisting it was my friend who needed the help!)
So a couple weeks ago, I bought a wig. I'm not sure how much I'll wear it versus hats, but it's nice to have the option. I also feel it might offer a sense of normalcy.
A few days after round one, I got my hair cut. It's still a few inches long, but a change. Since I was told that I would lose my hair two to three weeks after my first chemo, I asked my brother to bring his electric shaver to our family Christmas. Tuesday my scalp started to hurt a bit, and if I ran my fingers through my hair I felt I had more hair than usual in my hand (I generally shed about as much as my cat). But it wasn't enough for me to be ready for a shave. Wednesday the scalp ache went away and I headed home. Of course, yesterday morning I started losing small clumps of hair in the shower. It was fine the rest of the day since I wasn't touching it. Today, though, I was too nervous to shower and style it - and I figure if I can't style it, it's time for it to go. Plus I want to ski with the ski team tomorrow, and I'm worried about trying to pull a hat on. So I have an appointment with Ramona, Becky, and an electric shaver a 8:00 tomorrow morning.
If for some reason I would ever lose my hair again, I figured I wouldn't get a wig again. I was no longer a self-conscious teenager, and didn't want to deal with the hassle of a wig. But I'm planning to continue working, and that means traveling to new clinical sites and meeting new people. And I don't really want the first thing people to know about me be cancer patient. It's not that I'm embarassed or unwilling to talk about it, I just don't want to be thought of as sickly, I guess. (Tangent Alert: after my senior year of high school, about six months after my bone marrow transplant (no wig anymore), I went to Washington DC to march in the 4th of July parade with my marching band (we won). The weather was hot and our uniforms were not light. After we finished, people were feeling faint. Everyone would come up to me and ask how I was doing (it really was a lot of people). I was fine. A friend started feeling faint, so I ran over to the chaperone/doctor (did I mention I ran?). As soon as they saw me, everyone started asking me what was wrong, what did I need - I had a hard time insisting it was my friend who needed the help!)
So a couple weeks ago, I bought a wig. I'm not sure how much I'll wear it versus hats, but it's nice to have the option. I also feel it might offer a sense of normalcy.
A few days after round one, I got my hair cut. It's still a few inches long, but a change. Since I was told that I would lose my hair two to three weeks after my first chemo, I asked my brother to bring his electric shaver to our family Christmas. Tuesday my scalp started to hurt a bit, and if I ran my fingers through my hair I felt I had more hair than usual in my hand (I generally shed about as much as my cat). But it wasn't enough for me to be ready for a shave. Wednesday the scalp ache went away and I headed home. Of course, yesterday morning I started losing small clumps of hair in the shower. It was fine the rest of the day since I wasn't touching it. Today, though, I was too nervous to shower and style it - and I figure if I can't style it, it's time for it to go. Plus I want to ski with the ski team tomorrow, and I'm worried about trying to pull a hat on. So I have an appointment with Ramona, Becky, and an electric shaver a 8:00 tomorrow morning.
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