It's Just Hair . . . Right?

I’ve tried just about every hair-style out there, but now I can officially add Sineade O’Connor’s to my portfolio.

After having this last round of my Poisoned cocktail, “the Devil’s Kool-aid,” my hair decided to go! Which was probably a good thing, considering the kids thought I was loosing my mind along with my hair, (probably because I kept asking them if we had a cat that I didn’t know about?)
But then by day 14 after and my first treatment, I was shedding so much that I could literally pull my hair out by the fist full. And though I’ve had my share of “bad hair-cuts, or even a color job gone wrong, I wanted to lose my hair on my terms, and so we had a head shaving party on the 11th.

I was worried that at the last minute I’d have that totally panicked look on my face and freak my kids out. But as it turned out, I shouldn’t have been so concerned, cause my kids couldn’t wait to shave my head!

Can you believe the sadistic little monsters actually enjoyed it?

I thought for certain that my youngest would cry and hold my hand. After all, she did tell me she didn’t want me to be “bald like daddy.” But then she valiantly took up the clippers and had a go at my head as well.

And yes there were tears, but it was not do to the loss of my hair. Instead, I found myself fighting back emotions from the out pouring of love and support from so many wonderful friends and family who came to support me and my family.

Imagine my surprise when family, firefighters, EMS and friends all showed up at the park we we’re using, and then over forty firefighters, EMS, as well as my two little boy’s, shaved their heads in support of what I was going through.

I’m not one who can usually be found speechless, but words can not express how I felt at such an amazing scene. But then perhaps God is the only one who knows how hard it was for me not to break down at the sight of so many wonderful people gathered there that night.

Just a few day’s prior to this, I’d had to have emergency surgery do to an infection in my left breast and was hospitalized for a couple of day’s. Planning my meals was about the only highlight for me to look forward to, and since everything tastes like burnt ashes, you can probably imagine how bored I was beginning to get. At one point, I even considered pushing my IV cart into the elevator and visiting another floor. But it wasn’t until I tried combing through my hair that everything really hit me.

Like a bad scene from the Twilight Zone, I felt like I was in my own horror movie as globs of hair just kept coming out. I knew to expect this, but nothing can quite prepare you for the reality shock of it all.
At that moment, I can honestly say I was very scared and alone . . . but more then anything; I was worried about how my kids were going to react. They’d been through so much already.
Knowing that your mom has cancer is one thing, but physically seeing the results is a whole different ball game.

I didn’t know how they were going to cope with me looking so different? And yes, I was also feeling very vane.
After all, not all of us can look like Sineade O’Connor.

I went to bed that night, depressed, ugly and very uncertain as to how I was going to cope with everything.
As I lay there, I remembered a story of a young mother that was going through a very difficult time in her life. She had six small children waiting for her at home, and had just crossed the street to deliver something to a neighbor.
Feeling overwhelmed and tired, she glanced back at her own house that was all lit up, and began to think of the six hungry faces waiting for her. There was still homework that needed to be done, and a list of many other things that required only a mother’s touch, but on that night, the burden of being a mother was just too much to bear.
Glancing up at the sky, the young mother said, “Father. Can I just come home and stay with you? I just don’t think I can do this for one more day, and it would only be for a little while? Please, Father. Just for a little while?”

The young mother waited, but she heard nothing. Defeated, tired and lonely, she looked back at her home, and then in the stillness of her heart she heard the words, “Child, you can not come home, for if you did, you would not want to leave . . . But I can come to you.”

As I lay there thinking how alone I too was feeling and that I didn’t know if I could be strong enough to cope with one more thing, or even how I was going to help my children get through this, something very special happened . . . I received some unexpected visitors. At first it was in the form of my Nurses Aid. She was the same Aid who’d helped take care of me when I’d had my double mastectomy.
We started to talk and in no time at all I was laughing. About an hour later, (Now almost 11:00 pm) A friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, drove up from the Ogden area and stopped in to see me.
In the day’s that followed, there were so many phone calls, text messages and visitors stopping in to see me, that I found myself thanking God, for all the outpouring of love. Friends have picked up my kids and taken them swimming and to movies, they’ve gone to other people’s homes and felt welcomed and loved. And there has been so much support and help that I think my children are coping with everything a lot better then they would have with out it.

But most importantly, I think the true lesson out of all of this I’ve learned is for me, and that is when it seems too hard to go on, there is always someone who reaches out and helps me get through the darkest of my days. Whether that helping hand is from a loved one, a friend or even God, it helps. It all helps . . . But most importantly, I wouldn’t be able to get through any of these moments without each of you!

I value your words of wisdom and all of the kind gestures, but most importantly, I value your friendship. I know I couldn’t do this without all of you, and though I might have lost my hair, a couple of boobs and two nipples, I’m still me. And with so much love and support from my family and friends, how can I not be thankful to be who I am?

CHEMO OR PREGNANCY . . . ONE OR THE SAME???

Who in the heck ever invented Chemo had a very sadistic personality. I mean, really, it’s bad enough dealing with the pesky baldness, but morning sickness? Are you kidding me?

I’ve quickly learned that since the medication kills off your fastest-growing cells, including ones in your digestive tract, common side effects are either explosive diarrhea, the kind of constipation that requires a Lamaze coach, or, horrifyingly, both. Most people assume nausea is the worst part of chemo - nope, it's actually what goes on at the other end. And as of July 27th I’m becoming an expert on what to avoid on the food chain so I’m not permanently nesting in the bathroom.

This last week the port was surgically put in the right side of my chest, and then I started my poisoned cocktail. And I just have to say that everyday has been filled with one surprise after another!
I can usually be found saying WTH? Partly, because I’ve already lost my mind . . . another side-effect of chemo. The other reason . . . well, crap, I’ve already forgotten. See. It’s hopeless.

It’s at times like this that I’m glad I have a fourteen year old around the house or I’d have to start leaving sticky notes for myself. I tell my son that God has a sense of humor, and that’s why I’m experiencing all of this in his teenage years. (It also helps alive the head butting when he thinks he really does know everything and I won’t have the brains to correct him if he’s wrong.)

At least being forgetful isn’t the worst side-effect. I find it’s the emotional baggage I have the hardest time with. Thankfully my poor family knows I’m dopey anyway and they just accept me. We’ve also been very appreciative to all the meals that family and friends have brought in. (Otherwise my children would be living off of cold cereal and peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches.)

As for myself, I’ve been told to add a lot of bran and fiber to my diet.

Yeah, I know, nothing says open up and say ahh like a good ole’ Metamucil cookie. Well, the good news! I can’t taste it, but then I guess it doesn't matter since I’m now trying to eat to alleviate symptoms, cuz I’m sure as heck not able to eat for enjoyment.
Alas, chocolate has taken on the taste of mud. Which I find to be a cruel and unusual punishment! I mean, didn’t I go through the whole food tasting weird, crap when I was pregnant?

See what I mean about being sadistic. Messing with a woman’s chocolate should be outlawed!

Not only has the whole food changing diet been an eye opener for me, but I’m grudgingly learning my limits as well as to where my speed bumps are. And yes, it is only a speed bump. I tell myself this at least a hundred times a day, and then I look down to make sure that I don’t have a nine month belly sticking out and cankles on top of my ankles.

I’m also staying on top of my pain meds. Yep. No being brave. No saying, "Oh, it's only a little queasiness, I can take it." I’m being a wimp and slamming the drugs when I need to, cause I quickly learned after surgery and all the nausea, that it is a lot harder to control pain or nausea once it starts than to prevent it in the first place. . . . Then again, maybe that would explain all my brain farts lately.
So if I’ve forgotten something, or I’ve left one of my children somewhere please send them home and accept my apology for having lost my brain. This will soon pass . . . I hope.

As for now, it seems that my life and my schedule is in the Dr’s hands, but no matter how exhausting the rounds of chemo are, or the emotional mind games I play with myself, I’ve found there is always a bright side to my many office visits . . . and that is staring at the imprint on the paper from the Dr.’s exam table. (You know the scratchy white stuff you have to sit on.)
It shows that my butt isn’t growing like it did when I was pregnant, which in its self is a miracle! It also tells me that all these pesky, and yet nauseating symptoms are actually from chemo, which means I’m definitely NOT pregnant, and that one day, God willing, this all will be a thing of the past.

Who in the heck ever invented Chemo had a very sadistic personality. I mean, really, it’s bad enough dealing with the pesky baldness, but morning sickness? Are you kidding me?

I’ve quickly learned that since the medication kills off your fastest-growing cells, including ones in your digestive tract, common side effects are either explosive diarrhea, the kind of constipation that requires a Lamaze coach, or, horrifyingly, both. Most people assume nausea is the worst part of chemo - nope, it's actually what goes on at the other end. And as of July 27th I’m becoming an expert on what to avoid on the food chain so I’m not permanently nesting in the bathroom.

This last week the port was surgically put in the right side of my chest, and then I started my poisoned cocktail. And I just have to say that everyday has been filled with one surprise after another!
I can usually be found saying WTH? Partly, because I’ve already lost my mind . . . another side-effect of chemo. The other reason . . . well, crap, I’ve already forgotten. See. It’s hopeless.

It’s at times like this that I’m glad I have a fourteen year old around the house or I’d have to start leaving sticky notes for myself. I tell my son that God has a sense of humor, and that’s why I’m experiencing all of this in his teenage years. (It also helps alive the head butting when he thinks he really does know everything and I won’t have the brains to correct him if he’s wrong.)

At least being forgetful isn’t the worst side-effect. I find it’s the emotional baggage I have the hardest time with. Thankfully my poor family knows I’m dopey anyway and they just accept me. We’ve also been very appreciative to all the meals that family and friends have brought in. (Otherwise my children would be living off of cold cereal and peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches.)

As for myself, I’ve been told to add a lot of bran and fiber to my diet.

Yeah, I know, nothing says open up and say ahh like a good ole’ Metamucil cookie. Well, the good news! I can’t taste it, but then I guess it doesn't matter since I’m now trying to eat to alleviate symptoms, cuz I’m sure as heck not able to eat for enjoyment.
Alas, chocolate has taken on the taste of mud. Which I find to be a cruel and unusual punishment! I mean, didn’t I go through the whole food tasting weird, crap when I was pregnant?

See what I mean about being sadistic. Messing with a woman’s chocolate should be outlawed!

Not only has the whole food changing diet been an eye opener for me, but I’m grudgingly learning my limits as well as to where my speed bumps are. And yes, it is only a speed bump. I tell myself this at least a hundred times a day, and then I look down to make sure that I don’t have a nine month belly sticking out and cankles on top of my ankles.

I’m also staying on top of my pain meds. Yep. No being brave. No saying, "Oh, it's only a little queasiness, I can take it." I’m being a wimp and slamming the drugs when I need to, cause I quickly learned after surgery and all the nausea, that it is a lot harder to control pain or nausea once it starts than to prevent it in the first place. . . . Then again, maybe that would explain all my brain farts lately.
So if I’ve forgotten something, or I’ve left one of my children somewhere please send them home and accept my apology for having lost my brain. This will soon pass . . . I hope.

As for now, it seems that my life and my schedule is in the Dr’s hands, but no matter how exhausting the rounds of chemo are, or the emotional mind games I play with myself, I’ve found there is always a bright side to my many office visits . . . and that is staring at the imprint on the paper from the Dr.’s exam table. (You know the scratchy white stuff you have to sit on.)
It shows that my butt isn’t growing like it did when I was pregnant, which in its self is a miracle! It also tells me that all these pesky, and yet nauseating symptoms are actually from chemo, which means I’m definitely NOT pregnant, and that one day, God willing, this all will be a thing of the past.