HOUSTON: WE HAVE HAIR

I'm one week short of 3 months post Chemo and I can finally see some real hair growth progress. Unfortunately the hair growth is not limited to my head. My leg hairs, nose hairs and down-there-hairs have all begun to grow. It's like spring on my body. I might just sprout some Magnolias under my armpits. I have to admit not shaving, waxing, tweezing, lazering was the best part of Chemo. Now, if scientists could somehow harness the power of Chemo to just to the areas of hair we don't want, they'd find a cure for Cancer.

My wig still sits in my closet, never once worn, all forlorn. I'm not not a wig girl. I wear scarves when in company and go Godiva when I'm not. I'm so sick of these scarves. Nothing says Cancer Victim quite like a head scarf. I'm so weary of being blatantly stared at. I'm tired of that sad look people throw my way, the one that says "Poor you". And then I have to give them a wry, half smile to reassure them I don't mind their invasion, when all I want to do is give them the finger. Children are the worst transgressors. They have no shame. I was once in an elevator on the ground floor with my then 4-yr-old when an obese man stepped in and pushed 18. Floors 1 to 5 I was praying: "Please, please, please, please don't say anything." Floor 5: "Mommy why is that person so fat?". Floor 6: "Mommy why did you pinch me?". Floor 7 to 18 red-faced, please-let-me-disappear silence. To that man, I am deeply sorry. I know what it feels like to look different, to be starred at, pointed at. I know even though it's often children who are just being children, it still hurts like crap. And crushes. And makes you stay home rather than go out anywhere. 

When you are going through Chemo you really don't care. You are in a fight and all that matters is getting through. When you're coming out of the exhaustion and the draining psychological and physical 100 pound dumbbells on your shoulders are lifting, you suddenly care about how you look. So you check your head every day for new hairs, you count your eyelashes and scrutinize your eyebrows. They say a watched head never grows but I'm seeing progress. 

I went back to gym yesterday. Another milestone. I walked for 30 minutes at a snail's granddad's pace and thought I was going to faint. But I did it. And I'll go back today. For those just starting Chemo know this: you will get your life back. It doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't happen 3 months later. But it will happen. At least that's what I keep telling myself. 


For those who read this blog often or have followed it throughout, I have a feeling I might have repeated some of what I've just written. It's like deja write. But my chemo brain is worse than ever.   I was at Target yesterday and found myself staring at baby shampoo for 20 minutes wondering:"Why?". I still don't know. 

DONE

Apologies. I know I should have updated this blog sooner. As my dear friend Duckie pointed out my readers need a happy ending. You absolutely do. You have been wonderful, supportive, caring readers. You've left me messages of hope, encouragement and strength. I've survived this surfing on waves of positive vibes.

Here's the thing. Chemo has short circuited my cerebrum. This is about the 9th time I'm trying to write this. Words are not flowing freely. I mean "I've survived surfing on waves of positive vibes". Who writes that badly? Turns out I do. Me and aging hippies doing that free writing course in Haight-Ashbury.

My chemo fog is bad. Very, very, very bad. (Insert your own adverbial phrase please 'very' is all I can muster.) Please forgive me if my wit is witless, my sarcasm lost on myself and my sense of irony so literal that, unlike Alanis, it's not ironic, don't you think? Where were we? I have no idea.

I'm done with chemo. I had my last round just under 2 weeks ago. The usual side effects, plus some lovely new ones: My feet are constantly freezing cold, my finger nails look like crinkly potato chips and my skin has gone so thin that my temporary breasts have shifted to almost under my armpits. Attractive right?

But I'm done. So from here on I can focus on recovery and move on. I still have one more operation where they'll replace the afore mentioned underarm boils with Grade-A, Hollywood tittys. I'll also be on Tamoxifen for at least 5 years. Side effects include night sweats, hot flushes and mood swings. So it's essentially menopause. Great. 

I'm moving from cancer victim to cancer survivor. And that, my lovely, loyal readers, is the Happy Ending. I'm riding into the sunset with my bald head slathered in SPF100. Yeeeha.

DONE

I will be updating the blog from time to time to let you know how I'm doing and to post pictures of my slow growing hair.  

ALMOST BALD

Joan Rivers is one of my all-time favorite comedians. She has a documentary called: "A piece of work" which highlights just how much work being funny actually is. She works her ass off at funny. Ok, she gets it surgically worked off, but that would be a joke to her. She writes down every single joke she has ever written on a card and catalogs them in an extensive, alphabetized, wit-filled cabinet. P being her largest section. 

I bring this up because it's hard to be funny or make light of a situation that is gut-wrenchingly painful. You have to work at it. 

My wrecking ball to the heart came last night. I was forced to shave down my hair to a near bald becuase it was falling out everywhere: bed; cushions; towels; tables and food. Campbell's Vegetable and Hair soup is not my favorite flavor. Andy Warhol may have missed the ultimate social commentary there, but I digress. 

Knowing this blog is meant to be light-hearted and uplifting I'm choosing to channel Ms. Rivers. She would take one look at my picture and make some wildly uncomfortable, inappropriate joke like: "She looks like she just got liberated from Auschwitz." Oh come on, it's what you're all thinking. Or: "She looks like Justin Bieber age 50."

I really do look like a cancer victim now. Full victim. Not the tough/hot chick with a number 2. And so, when I look into the mirror I have 2 choices: cry or think of a fabulous Ms. Rivers quote: "Kelly (Pickler) shaved her head to fight breast cancer. Britney shaved her head because the Slurpee machine broke. (Just something to think about.)"