Breast cancer seems to be a secret society that I am now a member of. I seem to hear a lot about women who have gone through it, but way after the fact. No one talks about it as they go through it. Women tend to hide and shut out the world so no one sees how it really is. That’s not me. I don’t like the secrecy of it. I’ve been told I’m brave for being real and honest about it. Maybe I am brave, maybe I’m not. I am being open, honest and real about it so that hopefully, it doesn’t seem as scary to someone newly diagnosed or someone afraid to get screened. Ain’t gonna lie here, it’s f@#$ing hard but there’s also moments of pure hilarity and, most of all, it is doable.
I was recently asked “but have you cried?” Such a powerful and valid question that addresses the whole person. Yes. I have bawled my eyes out like a baby so many times. I cried for hours straight when I was diagnosed on September 7, 2018. I cried for fear of the unknown. I cried at the thought of not being able to care for my children. I cried at the thought of surgery. I cried every single freaking day until I had my double mastectomy. Sitting in the cancer center and meeting my oncologist had me bawling. I cried during chemo class and when I saw the infusion suite. Lastly, I cried for a very long time this past weekend as the remaining little bits of my hair fell out and left me looking like Uncle Fester. I cried for not having any control over this entire situation.
Over the past four days, I’ve had a love and hate relationship with this bald head of mine. Today, I’m back to hating it and wanting to hide again. It sucks ass. Bad enough we lose our hair somewhere around the 16 day mark after the first round of chemotherapy, but it hurts! Not only mentally but dammit, my scalp hurts! WTF?! Wearing a chemo cap hurts, wearing a wig hurts, sleeping hurts! Maybe was the universe’s way of helping me be ok with this chrome dome. I chose not to cover my head at home for a few days. I felt awesome and was starting to be less startled by my own appearance. Maybe, dare I say it, I was starting to embrace it and have fun with it? My oldest rubbed the back of my fuzzy head and said I was cute, he was sincere and I immediately felt better. So much that I hid behind a wall and scared my youngest as he walked into a room. We both laughed, and it was awesome.
Shocking. Perhaps it’s too shocking for others to see my bald head. I look like a cancer patient and it may make people uncomfortable. I look like a cancer patient and now I am uncomfortable. My head and foobs are a brutal and shocking reminder that Felicia took over lefty and wanted me dead. She set up shop and tried to make a break for my lymphatic system. Bitch is gone and so are any of her gross little relatives. Yet, on a daily basis, I get the harsh reminder of the battle I’ve had and continue to go through until the end of March. It is upsetting to be bald and yet my scalp hurts to the touch so much that covering it hurts. Want to take a wild guess who is in a state of constantly being uncomfortable? Yeah, me.
It’s the holiday season and I’ve done most of my shopping online and ventured out and did quite a bit more yesterday. I had planned on doing more today and possibly looking for a pretty dress for myself for either my anniversary next week or for Christmas. Instead, here I sit, at home, with a chemo beanie that hurts with no one but the animals here. I’m not happy with my appearance nor how I feel about how I look. I’m embarrassed for both. I don’t want to walk past a mirror and I don’t want to be seen either, and it sucks. I was good with the baldness yesterday! Today, not so much. Don’t worry, as rough as this all is, it is doable and I will be ok.
Each round of chemotherapy has bought it’s own precious little gifts. First round was fatigue and severe belly issues and then the loss of hair. The second one had a tiny bit more fatigue for one day, hiccups if I thought about food for the first 72 hours, heartburn, cold head and some mild body aches. I admit that I have not been drinking as much water as I should because I’m bored with water. I need to up my game. I have two more rounds of this rough stuff called the Red Devil. My last infusion will be the day after Christmas. Then I will start 12 weekly infusions of something else that is more tolerable, I’m told. I’ve read reports of women who start growing some hair back on this particular drug BUT lose their eyebrows and eyelashes. Ahhhh, the gifts keep on coming!
What I am going through doesn’t leave a person the same as they were going into this. There are lessons to be learned, if we are open to hear them. I am learning to take better care of me. It’s my body, I only get one, let me help it heal. It is a complete metamorphosis of sorts. Mentally and physically, it is impossible to remain the same. Can’t grow as a person if you do. I have likened this process to that of the life cycle of a butterfly. We need to go through some ugly shit to find the beauty on the other side. Unfortunately, for now, I look like a circus freak, hence, the ugly shit part. I can hide for the winter. Spring is just around the corner. What happens in spring? New life and things bloom. In the spring, my chemotherapy will be complete. Like the grass and flowers, my hair will bloom on my head during those months. Like the new butterfly, I will be able to spread my wings and see what I have become…
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