It’s Only Hair

Right on schedule, hair started falling to the floor like needles on an unwatered Christmas tree. Probably not noticable to others, but each morning our bathroom looked like a salon floor. As hard as it was to take the plunge, the hair everywhere was getting old fast, so I texted Pam. Sweet Pam gave me my first buzz cut, all while having the nicest chat. Another saint among the many. I can not say thank you enough.

So I say, “It’s only hair,” and that I really don’t care that much about this side effect, but I might dodge mirrors for awhile. (When the topic of wigs first came up, Jon suggested I borrow a friend’s . . . A friend whose hair looks nothing like mine. Laughing too hard to respond, that did make me think that yes, I do care more than I might admit. And it was a much-needed, laugh-til-you-cry moment.) On the upside, I probably gain at least 15 minutes getting ready each day. Bonus. Erika arrived home for her J-term break and gave the thumbs up to my wig and hat options. She and Jon both said all the right things. Jon, who knows more song lyrics than anyone I know, pulled out just the right one–Randy Travis’ Forever and Ever, Amen. “But honey, I don’t care, I ain’t in love with your hair and If it all fell out, well, I’d love you anyway.”

Amen.

 

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TMI 4

My weekly lab visit this morning did not give me the report I was hoping for, but instead the neutrophil # had dropped a bit. Another blood indicator showed that my #s are about to 'pop up', the expected swing after a chemo treatment, but since that hasn't happened yet, I received a shot for a shortterm boost to white cell production. That should help over the next couple days, but it looks like another weekend of burrowing in. I'm good at that, so it's not all bad. I will also get a Neulasta (spelling??) shot Friday with my next chemo treatment (and probably at following rounds as well) to prevent the neutrophils from getting so low.

A bright spot in the week was the word from the genetic testing that the breast cancer genes are normal. While they can never predict with full certainty that cancer is not hereditary, this is as close to that as possible. Good news that neither I nor my family are at higher genetic risk.

The hair is beginning to go. I am not sure how long this might take, but at least it's good hat weather. Years ago, in a Sunday School activity, children were sharing about what and who they loved. I remember one sweet girl blurting out how much she loved . . .her hair. Her response made me laugh, in part because I have never loved my hair. I suspect its departure might make me like it a little more–isn't that always the way?

And speaking of missing . . . I miss my sister after getting to spend day after day together after years so far apart. She just called from Melbourne, a mind boggling thing, really. To hear so clearly someone on the other side of the globe still amazes me. Technical, medical, and fake hair miracles abound!

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That Wasn’t Horrible

This past week I felt too blah to blog, but can report that Round 1 wasn't horrible. I had been told that the first one wouldn't impact my weekend too much, so I went ahead with prior plans. Two involved beautiful spaces–the new concert hall at the Ordway, and a church conference in an inspiring and peaceful sanctuary. As I pondered gorgeous halls, the infusion center was an obvious addition to the trio. Perhaps it doesn't have the striking woodwork or artistry of the other two, but the love I witnessed there from kind, caring nurses or caregivers accompanying chemo recipients filled the space with a unique sort of light.

TMI 4 or so ~ Well, as the week progressed, so did a few side effects and I've discovered a much earlier bedtime. Today's follow-up check revealed low neutrophil numbers so I was told to avoid public spaces, crowds, etc until they rise back up, probably during the week ahead. If they don't, I can receive shots to help with this. So although I hate changing plans, if there was ever a weekend to curl up at home, this classic Minnesota one is it. Beth and I visited 'It's Still Me', a wig salon run by a breast cancer survivor who helped me order a wig and figure out a few head covering options for when that time comes. Sorry folks, no photos 😉 Having a wig on my head is just a weird experience . . . but another adventure along the way.

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Huh?

Because my first round of treatment begins in the morning, I finally made myself read through some of the very thick chemotherapy packet. TMI, indeed. This is the kind of detail that makes me feel faint or wonder how much time it's going to take to document all the side effects so I can respond accurately when the staff check in with me. All of them have been lovely, by the way.

I skim over the handout on trastuzumab. Who names this stuff? In one of the cautionary sections, I see that you should not take this treatment if you are allergic to Chinese hamster ovary cell proteins. Umm, what?! Are they checking to see if anyone really reads this? Could you make up any stranger string of five words? Who would ever, ever examine, consume, or wonder about Chinese hamster ovary cell proteins? How would I know if I was allergic?

Maybe it's time to just watch a movie and try to sleep tonight. I plan to post after the treatment tomorrow, with a goal of titling it That wasn't horrible . . .

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