Monday 28 October 2013

Waiting ...

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

1 comment:

  1. Hi Serena,

    I 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.