Hair Today

          

Great news, everyone! After chemo, surgery, radiation and another surgery, the doctors could not find any cancer left in my Sissy.  Fortunately, my mother is in the same position in her treatment. Now both of them have only a few surgeries to go before all this will be an unfond memory.  However, it does make me acutely aware that I’m in 3rd place for treatment completion. Do you think they’ll give me all my chemo doses at once?

All conversations about cancer eventually turn to the topic of loss.  There are so many things you lose from the moment you are diagnosed.   There is loss of confidence, loss of normalcy and sometimes the loss of body parts.  However, I would like to focus on the most obvious loss, my hair.

Six weeks ago I had a port installed. Not my favorite thing.  I will never again allow someone called “Coop” to operate on me. If the nurses don’t call you “Doctor”, then you are not allowed to cut me open.  I’m pretty sure he used a serrated knife he stole from an Outback.

After the procedure, he closed the wound with medical super glue.  Based on the amount of glue I had all over my body, I assume he either let a child close up or tried to do it blindfolded. Maybe a prankster loosened the cap on the bottle and they all had a good laugh when it came pouring out.

A port is a small device inserted under the skin.  Jason wants to see if we can charge our phones on it.  When I receive chemo or fluids they just clip onto the port, and it’s way better than doing it through an IV because there is minimal stabbing.  I naturally have small veins. Chemo makes your veins smaller and squirmier.  At this point in my treatment, I will do anything to avoid someone trying to find a vein. I could do a whole post on people who have done absurd things to me and claimed to be medical professionals.  No, you cannot put an IV into the top of my foot. 

Next stop was my first chemo appointment. It was pretty uneventful. My new oncologist has a lovely infusion suite; lots of windows, big comfortable recliners and flat screen TVs.  Unfortunately the wifi went out and there was no living with Jason after that. 

At first some of the side effects were kind of awesome.  About two weeks after my first dose I noticed I no longer had leg hair! Finally, an upside to this whole cancer thing.

The good times didn't last long. I had a bad reaction to the chemo.  For the last six weeks, I experienced terrible pain. I’ve often described it as having a pointy dragon clawing his way out of my intestines.  It could also be Edward Scissorhands playing charades with some friends made out of broken glass.  We’re still working on fixing that. I’ll post about it when that story has an end. For now, back to the hair.

Jason wanted to be the one who cut my hair and shaved my head. We kept pushing it off, mostly, I think, because we were both worried about each other freaking out.  About two weeks after my first dose, I decided to take a shower before Jason got home from work.  I was shampooing my hair and when I looked down at my hand I saw a palmful of hair.  The average human sheds 100 head hairs a day.  I’m pretty sure I’ve always exceeded that.  This put all previous shedding to shame.

I responded as any normal person would; I started shouting “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!”  I had to get the soap out, but every time I touched my hair it would come out in large clumps.  By the time I was soap free I had enough fallen hair to make my own family of shih tzus. After I collected myself, I returned to the scene of the crime.  It looked like a Wookie had used our tub for a long soak.  I gathered all the hair up in paper towels and hid it at the bottom of the trashcan.  I didn’t want Jason to think that I had been raising and then murdering woodland creatures. I’ve got a million of them, folks.

The next night in our dining room/barber shop, Jason finally made the cut.  If I can offer some advice, ativan and Cat Stevens can get you through this experience.  As I’ve always said, you can never be sad when listening to Cat Stevens or Van Morrison, especially if you’ve taken ativan.  I think they said something like that on Newsroom. I said it first.

Jason cut off my ponytail first.  It was almost a foot long. I’m donating it to Pantene.  They will make it into a wig and then donate it to the American Cancer Society. Many insurance companies do not cover wigs and a quality wig will cost $300 or more.

I chose Pantene for two reasons.
1. They have never misplaced $6 million worth of hair. Looking at you, Locks of Love.

2. When I went to the ACS office near me, they had no wig options appropriate for a younger woman.  I was disappointed since we could have used a free wig. It worked out for me, because my sister gave me her super fancy wig.  But I couldn’t stop thinking about the next girl who walked in their and faced disappointment. It takes six donations to make a single wig. So if you’ve got a lot of healthy hair, please consider a donation.  Or if you know a heavy sleeper with a lot of healthy hair who’s kind of a jerk…I’m just saying.

After Jason gave me a buzz cut with his beard trimmer, I looked in the mirror and saw Sinead, GI Jane and Lt. Ellen Ripley looking back at me. Well, not literally. That would be super creepy.

I’ve gotten tons of compliments on my new look.  I never know if people are being nice or they genuinely like it.  I appreciate the support either way.  I’m still struggling to find my signature look, so let me know if you have any suggestions.

A lot of the time I just walk around showing my naked head to the world. Not that I leave the house that much.  There’s a part of me that says this is a statement about cancer.  Maybe if chemo patients didn’t hide their bald heads everyone would think about cancer more often. And maybe then they would donate more, or make sure to get checked or volunteer to help patients. I could start a revolution leading an army of bald badasses and change the world.  I could totally use that as a reason to walk around bald, but the truth is, my head gets really sweaty whenever I put anything on it.  Let’s just go with the hero thing.

I started this post by talking about loss, and now I’d like to talk about what I’ve gained since I lost my locks.  I gained a true appreciation for the support system surrounding me.  White lies or not, so many of you have made me feel good about how I look and that helps more than any medication.  I’ve also gained a sense of progress.  In a few months this part will be over and I’ll just have two minor surgeries remaining. 

Less important, but a definite fringe benefit is that I have gained cancer street cred with my shiny melon. Every time we go to a store the staff falls all over themselves to help me.  No longer do I get dirty looks when using a scooter to do my shopping.  There’s something to be said for looking more cancery. Not that I’m exploiting my cancer, but it’s nice to see that so many people in this world are compassionate and kind when they can see what you are going through. 

I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season. I am truly grateful for all the love and support I have received from you, my friends, family, neighbors and even complete strangers. I don’t know how I would have survived this experience without you. Now get out of here before I start crying.