Today I went in for my third round of chemotherapy treatment
at Children’s Hospital. They injected me with some cancer-killers, took out
some blood and then sent me home without any pricks or scars; all thanks to my
wonderful, ‘bionic-woman-like’ VAD. It’s all quite exciting!!! .. If you’re one
to get excited about biomedical ventricular engineered ports. But it really is
amazing. When I was first diagnosed, they surgically placed an access port
under my breast that’s directly connected to a small tube they ran underneath
my skin. It goes up all the way through near my neckline where it can access
and pump blood to the rest of my body. Aside from a small poke to access the
line, treatments and blood tests have been completely painless; so to speak.
But the reason I’m waiting... Like I said, I’m on round
three of chemotherapy and, although past the point of expectance, still no sign
of any hair-loss. I’ve yet to start balding.
You’d think this is something to be fortunate about, but to
be honest, I’ve been instinctively preparing myself for this certainty since
day 1. In fact, I’ve already invested quite a horde of my savings into some
stylin’ hats, have gone for a wig consultation and fitting, and have even been
wandering around the house with my hair pulled back tight, just to get used to
the exposure. I’ve become impatient. And impatience has driven me to paranoia.
When I shower, I’ve been strategically gathering my hair in a feeble attempt to
trace any excess strands. I brush it constantly, thoroughly searching the bristles
on my comb for any clusters of hair. Nothing. The suspense is maddening.
I guess it’s bittersweet. Although I do claim to be ‘prepared’
for this, inevitable yet slow-approaching event, my doctor did warn me that the
affects will start to happen quite abruptly. So although I believe I’m as
prepared as one can be to lose 14 inches of natural healthy hair, I can’t say
for sure how calmly I’ll react. And regardless of my self-reassurance, there is
no denying that I will wake up each day to a physical reminder of my
diagnostic. I’ll wake up to face a weaker, vulnerable, more exposed version of
myself. But as I’ve expressed from the start, we are optimists. And because of
this outlook that I’ve pledged to maintain and breed, I must persist with
positivity. So, I’m waiting ... continuing to mentally prepare for the rush of
emotions that will follow gently pulling out that first clump of hair. Waiting ...
longing to kill the suspense, the crazy paranoia and just move on to a satisfied
state of balding acceptance.
Starting to wonder if the hair could fall out due to stress before
it does due to chemo ..
Continuing to breed optimism either way,
- - Serena Bonneville J
Hi Serena,
ReplyDeleteI found out about your story through a colleague — her husband teaches at your school. A year ago, I was undergoing chemo for Hodgkin's Lymphoma. While I can in no way compare, I can relate to what you are going through a little bit.
From what I read here, you're being very courageous and I believe having the right attitude like you do is hugely important. I feel that you have to accept this as your path right now and as difficult as it's going to be, acceptance may make it a little easier.
Regarding the hair, I lost mine around this time last year. All I can say is at least it's toque season. I did go through a little bit of denial when I started to shed but it didn't take too long to accept the fact that I don't normally shed hair all over my desk.
Anyway, I hope you don't mind my rambling here, but I wanted to try to offer up a few words of support. Keep it up with the blog (a personal journal was helpful for me too), lean on all those rallying around you and best of luck in your journey.
Justin