I had my fourth dose of Taxol on Friday, November 8, 2013. Not only did this mark another day of kicking cancer's butt; but it also marked the day in which so much hair fell out I couldn't avoid or hide it. I had lost a decent amount of hair the day prior; but I was still able to fix my hair, and it wasn't obvious I was losing hair to an outsider. As I lay in bed Thursday night thinking about my treatment the following day, I thought about how I had lost quite a bit of hair in the shower that morning. This made me fear I would likely lose a lot of hair while showering the following morning. I thought about what I would do if I lost so much I couldn't hide bald spots; and I decided I had my wigs ready to go, and I would simply cut off what hair I had left so I could wear my wig if it came to that.
I awoke Friday morning; and the first thing I did was feel my hair. One touch revealed a decent amount of hair without even trying. I decided maybe a bath was a better idea than a shower. Perhaps the water hitting my head from the shower head wasn't a good idea? I lay in the bath and tried to be gentle with my hair as I shampooed it. As I brought my hands down from my head, I realized my hands were full of hair. I told myself perhaps that was the worst of it, and lay down to rinse my hair. When I sat up, I realized the water was absolutely full of hair. It was floating all around me and sticking to my skin. I was covered in hair. I put some conditioner in my hair and began draining the tub. As the water was draining, I quickly shaved my legs. Ironically, no hair was falling out there. In fact, it was still growing like mad. Go figure.
After washing, I turned the shower on and rinsed all the hair toward the drain. I collected all the hair from the bottom of the shower in a pile on the side of the tub. It was quite a large pile. I still held onto hope it wasn't as bad as it looked. I washed my body and gently rinsed my hair with the shower. And rinsed all the hair from my body that was stuck to me. Which meant cleaning the tub yet again. The pile of hair grew larger. After drying off, I walked into my bedroom saying a prayer of thanks my husband was at work and my 15 year old daughter was still sleeping. She was going to my treatment appointment with me, and she didn't have to get up quite yet. I wasn't sure what was ahead of me over the next hour, but I knew it wasn't going to be easy, and I didn't want anyone else to have to endure it. I would face it alone.
I sat in front of my vanity, and I looked in the mirror at my hair. It didn't look good. It looked pretty sparse. I sprayed some leave in conditioner in my hair, then I gently tried to use a wide tooth comb to rid it of any tangles. More hair came out. After combing it out, I realized my part was very thin. In fact, parts of my part couldn't be called a part. Rather, my hairline was farther back in that area, and I had visible patches of hair missing in areas. I realized there was no way I could fix my hair without further loosing even more than I already had and it look passable. My goal since day one has been to stay looking and feeling healthy. I do not want pity or to look like a cancer patient. If I tried to go out in public with my hair as it was, it was going to be obvious I was a cancer patient. Without thinking twice, I walked downstairs to the kitchen to get the scissors.
I sat down in front of my vanity and thought about what I was about to do. I told myself "you can do this". Tears were already streaming down my face. But I knew I had no choice. I was afraid I would cut a few strands and not be able to follow through so I picked up a chunk of hair in the front--an area that would mean no turning back; and I cut it against my scalp. I threw it in my garbage can and just kept picking up one chunk of hair after another and cutting it. As hard as I tried not to cry, the tears continued to flow. I had to stop cutting at one point to wipe off my face so I could see. I'm not sure I had ever cried so hard in my entire life. After about ten minutes, the majority of my hair was cut off. I had tufts of hair on my head about 1/2 inch long. It wasn't a cut for style or beauty. It was for a purpose--so I could wear my wig. I hated what I saw in the mirror. I felt ugly and for the firs time since my diagnosis, I saw a cancer patient. I cried a few more tears and sobbed "I hate you cancer". After a moment, I told myself "it's time to get ready and get it together. Your daughter is in there and she can't see you this upset". I washed my face and sat down to do my makeup.
As I did my makeup, I slowly began to see MY face. I looked only at my face and not my hair/head, and I realized it was still me. I began to feel a little better and that I could do this. I put a night cap on my head to cover my hair. I had been wearing it to bed for a week trying to keep my hair from coming out on my pillow so I knew my daughter wouldn't question why I had it on. I woke her up, and she didn't notice a thing. I was finishing my makeup when my daughter walked into my room. She saw the look on my face and knew something was wrong. I told her "I had to cut off my hair this morning babe. Too much came out in the shower to save it". She looked so sad and immediately hugged me. She kept saying "It's okay mommy. You're still beautiful. Why didn't you wake me up? I would have helped you". She pulled my cap off and picked up the scissors. She trimmed up some pieces I had missed in the back. My baby girl was now taking care of me as I had for her so many times. I sat there with tears once again streaming down my face--messing up my makeup. After a moment, I again pulled myself together and said "Well, which wig am I wearing today?".
I settled on the shorter of the two as it felt less cumbersome. It took me a few moments to get it it adjusted to my head, get the hair parted where I felt comfortable, and just get it to look as normal as possible. If I didn't know, I wouldn't know it was a wig on someone else. I hoped no one else would know either. After only a few moments, I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the feel of a wig on my head. It was annoying and itchy. I hope it's like a bra--after you get used to wearing it, you don't notice it's there anymore. The photo above is me with my wig.
My older daughter, Autumn, drove me to my treatment along with my younger daughter. We had plans to go to the mall after treatment and spend some time together. I also had a checkup with my Oncologist today. I had been looking forward to this appointment since I felt my tumor was shrinking quickly, and I was excited for her to comment on how quickly it was responding to treatment. Now the appointment had lost most of it's appeal; but I tried to keep my head up. I arrived for my appointment, and they took me to the blood draw area before my appointment with my oncologist. Upon walking into the blood draw area, I immediately knew it wasn't going to be an easy day as the girl working in the lab was the same girl from my first appointment who had stuck me twice and wasn't able to start my IV. I told myself not to judge her and maybe she was just having a bad day that day. Unfortunately, she again stuck me twice and couldn't get the IV started. Not because my veins are difficult but because she simply is NOT good at starting an IV. I asked her not to try again and to please call someone else. I felt guilty, but I could not let her keep sticking me for nothing. No one had ever had problems starting an IV on me!
Abigail came over from the Infusion again (My chemo nurse), and laughed saying "Teresa? She's the easiest patient I've ever put an IV In--she drinks tons of water!". Abigail started my IV on the first try, and I barely felt a thing. She later told me to insist that my IV be started in the Infusion area each time to avoid this in the future as the chemo nurses have a lot more experience starting an IV. I then moved on to a room to see my oncologist. My doctor examined me, and agreed the tumor was smaller and softer; and I was responding well to treatment. She was pleasantly surprised I had not experienced any nausea, issues with my taste buds, numbness or tingling in my hands or feet, and issues with tiredness. I wonder why I seem to have none of the issues others have (other than my hair falling out), and I can only say God is clearly watching out for me. I have felt tired, my legs ache, and a few other things; but I've never felt it was unbearable. The tiredness was something I had been dealing with for so long I actually felt more rested since I began treatment than I did before I knew I was sick. Have I pushed myself for so long I don't even know when I feel bad anymore?
After my checkup, I headed over to the infusion area where I was taken into my Chemo Suite. This time I was given a room with a bed rather than an infusion chair. This did not sit well with me. I felt the rooms with beds were for those who were sick and needed them. I was not sick and did not need nor did I want a bed. I even asked for a room with a chair. All the rooms with chairs were taken. I was truly bummed I was being given a bed. It felt like I was giving in to being sick. I didn't want it. I grumbled and complained; but I got in the bed trying not to be a pain in the butt. My daughters sat next to me for the photo taken above. I received a copy of my blood work. My white blood count had dropped from 6.8 to 4.9. While this was still considered good and within the average range, I was annoyed with my body for letting it drop at all. I suppose I am a bit of an over achiever. I can't simply settle for doing okay--I want to be the best. I want to be the best patient, with the least amount of side effects, with the best outcome, the best prognosis, the best blood counts, etc. I have no idea why I am this way. I was truly disappointed to see my results had dropped rather than be happy that while they had dropped, they were still good; and may patients would love to have the counts I had. I really need to learn to stop expecting so much I guess. My treatment began, and my daughters and I watched funny Vines and videos. We laughed enjoyed our time together. Trying to forget that while we were laughing poison was being pumped into my veins. Trying to forget I was now practically bald and wearing a wig.
Before we knew it, it was time to leave. We hurried out of the clinic and headed toward the mall. We were all very hungry! We enjoyed some good food, good laughs, and some quality time walking around the mall. We laughed, we talked, and we enjoyed being with one another and doing what mothers and daughters do. We all forgot about cancer for a few hours. When I got home, I faced having to take my wig off. Trust me--it was annoying me so badly I was looking forward to it. Yet I was dreading removing it. That meant everyone in my home had to see me with very little hair. It meant I had to see my husband looking worse than I ever had since we met not quite four years ago. No wife wants her husband to see her at her worst. And certainly not in such a new marriage. Yet I had no choice. He wasn't home when I arrived home, and I was thankful. He was at the school with his kids. I took advantage of the time to wash my face and get ready for bed. Then I put on my night cap to cover my head. I was in bed when he arrived home. He walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed next to me. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want him to see me. He talked to me for a few moments. Chastising me for cutting off my hair without him. I explained I had no choice and had to do what was necessary. I then realized he was wearing a toboggan on his head. He never wore a toboggan. He pulled it off to reveal that he too had shaved his head. He had asked me several times to remove my cap, but I had refused insisting I was ugly. Finally, I removed it and he convinced me I did not look ugly. But I certainly was no beautician. I laughed and said "well, I wasn't going for perfection. It simply had a purpose". We then went to the bathroom, and he used the clippers to even up my remaining hair. This left me with a very fine buzz cut.
I am currently one day out from treatment, and I feel fine. I felt a little "off" this morning; but I was given a flu shot yesterday while at treatment, so I'm contributing the strange feeling to that rather than my treatment. I stopped getting flu shots two years ago since they always made me feel sick, and I normally got sick more that particular winter than others in which I didn't get a shot. I got a manicure and pedicure today, then I went to the grocery store--normal routines for me. It felt good to do something that was part of my life prior to cancer.
I feel this particular blog is the hardest I've had to write so far. I've tried to keep all my blogs as upbeat and as positive as possible. However, it wasn't easy to keep this one upbeat. The past two days have been very hard for me. I know it's only hair, and I have much tougher times ahead of me; but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. It doesn't make looking in the mirror any easier. Cancer sucks--it steals so much from a life. It simply isn't fair that the treatment that saves our lives can also cause such devastating side effects. It wrecks havoc on our bodies in so many ways. It reduces our immune system to nothing where a simple cold poses a threat, it causes bone pain that is indescribable, it can cause numbness and tingling in the hands and feet that can stick around for the rest of your life, it can damage other organs in your body, etc. The list is endless. But one of the worst side effects you can see is what it does to your appearance. Fighting cancer is tough; but facing cancer is just as tough. You face cancer each time you look in the mirror and see how it has affected your body and your appearance. As hard as this has been, I will face cancer. I will fight cancer, and I will face cancer. Not just because I have no choice; but also because I refuse to let it beat me. Cancer may have knocked me down, but I will stand back up.
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