One week and one day after round one of chemo, I'm feeling remarkably healthy — gratefully so and with a short new 'do I'm calling my onramp to bald. I've always liked Tyler's buzz in the back/mop on the top, so I decided to get my own version of it for the last week before my hair starts to fall out.
It took me most of the week to admit to myself that I was going to miss my hair. The thought of running into people who haven't seen me in a while or who don't yet know I have cancer and seeing their eyes bug out has me on edge a wee bit. I'll get over it. It'll be fine. Cute hats and head scarves will get me through the next few months. And for the next week, I'll enjoy my mop buzz. Looking back on this first week of chemo, I really am surprised it went as smoothly as it did. I was prepared to feel a lot lousier than I ever did. I fended off a mild fever during my first few days after treatment, but didn't get any of those icky aches and chills that most fevers bring. At one point, I got just a half of a degree below the 100.5 call-your-doctor/go-to-urgent care temperature. Other than that, I hovered in the mid-99s as I napped and read, napped and read, never had any nausea, ate well and got good rest, as my mom helped around the house, cooked, got the kids tucked into bed at night, etc. By Monday morning, that jittery internal jackhammery sensation that felt like it was buzzing throughout my body on day one had faded away. I worked 3/4-ish days for Monday through Wednesday, then took it easy on Thursday and Friday — working a little but mostly hanging out with my mom. Each day I worked, time flew in the company of my fantastically supportive mentor, Teresa Moore. At one point, after I'd been plugging away for a few hours — all focused and in my zone — she got up from her desk and walked across the office just to give me a hug and say, "Look at you. You're doing so great. I'm so glad you're here." Some friends have asked me if I've thought about joining any support groups. I might check one out someday, but honestly, all the love and food and helping hands I've been getting day to day from family, friends, neighbors and colleagues makes me feel like I have my own 24/7 on-call support group. It's humbling. Truly. I don't expect every round of chemo to be as easy on me as this first one was. An acupuncturist I talked to a couple weeks ago was asking me if someone would be giving me a ride to my treatments. When I said heck no, I live a block away, he said, "I hope you're up to that walk after your treatments. Some of my patients have trouble even getting out of bed." ... "And of course, each treatment hits you harder and harder and HARDER." As I listened to him, I felt a quiet surge of holy-shit-it's-not-going-to-be-that-bad-is-it? dread. My memory of that second remark has twisted his words into a much harsher version of what he actually said. But still ... really? Come on, man. You need to work on your talking points there a little bit. I haven't looked up "cumulative effects of chemo" on the interwebs or in any of my cancer books. Just feel like the sanest approach is to keep taking things one day at a time, not worry about problems that some (or even most) people have with chemo, and just deal with one situation at a time. Folks have been asking how Sylvia and Tyler are holding up. The short answer is very well. They don't show any signs of feeling scared or anxious about cancer. They're extra gentle when they hug. They ask age-appropriate questions. Tyler (6), when I come home from a doctor's appointment: "So, you don't have cancer anymore?" Sylvia (8): "When you get your new breast, will it look like the other one?" We're learning that the "normal" ups and downs of parenting kids this age (i.e., fits over the slightest shift in plans, or the way they bicker/pick fights with each other morning, noon and night) can drain our patience much more quickly than usual. I've said more than a few times, "I can't fight cancer and keep fighting with you at the same time." Alas ... the challenges of parenting two young kids don't miraculously fade away just because cancer's intruded into your family. So, we're doing the best we can, trying not to let the crummy days get us down too much, taking deep breaths, laughing ... all things that get you through life with or without cancer.