Plain and simple, chemo sucks in so many ways. The first round leaves you nervous and scared because you simply don’t know how your body is going to respond to it afterwards. We all have heard of the potential side effects like nausea and hair loss but it impacts each patient differently. Then there’s the actual process of chemotherapy. It’s a long process, my first one was an entire morning but I was fortunate enough to have my husband there. The second one and next few I will be alone. That sucked. I was lonely and scared and will admit that I cried quite a bit. I had lovely nurses who sat with me as much as they could but I was itching to get out of there!! They say your first round is a good indicator of how the next several will be. It wasn’t awful. I did have fatigue for several days and brain fog but it cleared up and this week was round two.
I got the short end of the stick. All of this cancer shit started just as the summer ended. Rotten timing but cancer doesn’t care. School started, two kids in middle school. I have been trying to figure out how to juggle making sure my sons are ok all around and trying to make sure I am ok as well. A double mastectomy takes 4-6 weeks to recover from. I did not have that luxury. I had to bounce back in two and a half weeks. I have kids and responsibilities, there is no down time!! It’s the same with chemotherapy. I went on Wednesday and then picked my kids up from school, homework, help with studying, talk to them about their days and issues and make dinner and clean up, even though all I wanted to do was sit. Last night was no better. Chemo makes me tired. I have too much to do to be feeling like this. So, I just keep going. Timing. It would have been easier to deal with all of this had it been summer and my responsibilities be significantly less. Am I a bad ass? Am I strong? I don’t see it that way. I see it as “It is what it is and I have to just keep going.”
Cancer journeys are all unique. If someone says they can relate to what you’re going through after you’ve had a double mastectomy and chemotherapy and they didn’t, they’re full of shit. I’m fortunate enough that I am having immediate reconstruction after a double mastectomy. Please don’t kid yourself. It’s not a boob job. Not even close. Everything gets taken out, you’re sunken in, covered in stitches and goddammit, the flipping nipples are just gone. It’s not a boob job. There’s no feeling, my chest is still numb. Perfectly normal, could take up to a year to regain some feeling. I like what I see now and it helps me feel more like myself, a little different and in some ways, a little better in others. I can walk through the freezer aisle of the market with no jacket and no one can tell if I’m cold!!
Then there’s chemotherapy. There is nothing on this planet to describe it or really prepare you for it. I get to watch them push the Red Devil into my port every other week while my nurse is covered in protective gear. “If it got on my skin, it would eat it.” Let that sink in for a second. That’s going in a direct line to my heart. Fear. Holy shit, the fear.
Let’s talk about that port for a second. First operation was a double mastectomy with expanders over the muscle. I could only sleep on my back, propped up sitting, that sucked. I was just about to start being able to sleep on my side and WHAM. Port surgery. After having the port, I had to figure out how to sleep all over again. On my back. Elevate my left arm on a pillow because hello lymphedema. And now there’s port pain. That lasted two weeks. I can kinda sleep a little on my left side again. But there’s still no sleeping through the night. I forgot what that feels like. I do sleep like a baby, up all night to pee thanks to being a miserable camel who is always thirsty now. Thanks chemo. I would prefer to sleep through the night like a husband!
I was told that within 14 days of my first round, I would start to lose my hair. No joke. Timing was perfect. That’s a sobering feeling. I ran my hands through my hair while dropping off my sons at school and clumps came out. I was horrified. I raced home to cover my head. I didn’t want to see it. By the end of the day, it hurt. They forget to tell you that the act of the hair falling out hurts, pain on the scalp. It’s awful. Forty eight hours later, I have less than half of my hair and I’m not covering it for now. Why? Well, why should I? It’s not my fault. Brave? Not even close, more like IDGAF. For real. I’m actually too tired to play with scarves and wigs right now. Maybe in a few days when I feel a little better, I will.
Last week, when I spent the night in the hospital, there was quite a bit of concern over my heart and elevated heart rate and it was recommended that I go for a full cardiac evaluation, so I did that yesterday. My EKG was perfect and my heart rate was 91 and blood pressure was 100/60. I was jittery, hence the pulse. The cardiologist addressed my ever growing level of stress. Something no one has yet done. Finally, someone understood that this shit is not easy. He taught me breathing techniques to calm myself and will have me back for an echocardiogram next week. He feels I am fine but wants to double and triple check. I’m good with that! Just so that you know, some chemotherapy drugs are known to damage the heart. I went into this knowing and am uneasy about it.
Today I finally got to meet other women experiencing the same things I am. I went to the “Look Good, Fell Better,” program done by the American Cancer Society at the hospital. It was amazing to hear that I am not alone in most of what I am going through or feeling. It was fun to learn about wigs and scarves and then get make up lessons from a make up artist, all while sharing our own stories. Concerns about how awfully dry our skin is were addressed, make up tips were very well thought out and really addressed the unique needs of women in chemotherapy. I had to ask this one…”when my hair is gone and if I chose not to cover my head, where do I stop with the foundation? Do I do my whole head?” It’s a valid question and it was answered, after lots of laughing.
I did not wear a wig, nor a hat nor scarf. I look like a chemo/cancer patient. Ain’t no denying it. I let that freak flag fly today!! I put on a pair of heels and a dress. I don’t mind how I look right now. Perhaps I am little too eager to know how I will look with zero hair. I’m not scared now of being bald. It just might be cold.
So this second round of chemotherapy has me a little more tired, some heartburn thrown in, hiccups if I just think about food, a slight headache and balding. Doable. What choice do I have really? I am losing my hair, but so what? I realize that the job of my chemo is to kill off all rapidly dividing cells and that means my hair as well as any mean evil little cancer cells. It's working. I don't have to love it but I get it. It is doing it's job. Perhaps I'd be a little freaked out if I were not losing my hair! I have an opportunity to keep changing up my looks here. I’m curious as to how I will look with a chrome dome, will I be able to draw on my brows? I’m armed with a new bag of cosmetics in hues I’d normally avoid but have discovered it’s fun. “Look Good, Feel Better.” It’s true. It works. It’s a little lesson in trying to take better care of myself and I’ll admit, I’ve not been doing a great job of that lately. I've got to let chemotherapy do it's job so I can continue to do mine...
Commentaires