Shots! Shots! Shots!

Shot #1:  Neulasta is the most painful. It's purpose is to produce more white blood cells to help fight off infection during chemo. But holy bone pain! 

This shot is given on my 3rd day post infusion (when I return the 5-FU bag). The bone pain starts within hours and lasts 3 days. These are the days I feel like Uncle Fester. Hunched over, barely wanting to move. If you stay in one position you're good, the second you move it feels like you've aged 50 years. 

The nurses told me Claritin & Benadryl can help, but you have to start it the day before the shot and by then they stopped administering the shot. The only time I didn't have pain was after returning my 5-FU bag a day later than usual, so the shot fell on 4th day post infusion. 

Shot #2:  Lupron is the most annoying. It's purpose is to put me into early menopause in hopes of maintaining fertility after I'm done with chemo. And holy hot flashes! Chemo alone causes hot flashes, so hot flash on to of hot flash. There are nights I wake up to a wet pillow. It's disgusting. 

It does have one positive affect. Having endometriosis I usually have to battle hormonal skin breakouts, but my skin has never looked better. At the same time it's darkening sun damage I received as a kid, so freckles and sun spots are loud & proud. But I'll take freckles over breakouts any day!

Chemo Round 2

Dr. H decided to drop my 5-FU (the chemo bag I carry for 46 hours) down to the European or American dosage (whichever is lower). I gave a little fight. I didn't want to drop dosage. I want to kick this cancer's butt. I can do this! He reminded me: slow and steady wins the race. 

Even before the chemo I started out with associative nausea. By this round they had prescribed the kitchen sink of nausea meds, and I started taking them. Seriously I'm a walking pharmacy. I still got chemo drunk, but no nausea, and no wheelchair means a successful infusion. With the new meds I was able to keep the nausea under control, and felt better after day 7 vs 14!

And then the hair thinning started. Best way to describe it is imagine taking a brush through a shedding pet, and being left with a brush full of fur. That's exactly what was happening. Hair was constantly falling out. I was getting tired of them falling into my food and having to pull them out of my mouth. Just seeing the hair all over my clothes was breaking my heart.

I had been trying to get a chemo cut for months, but we just couldn't find time. I finally made an appointment with a place that does both cuts & wig consultations. Before the appointment I took a photo of the top of my head. It was terrible. A haircut would be a complete waste of money.

It was time to shave. 

I wish I could say I was strong, but this was by far my most mentally breaking moment. I wasn't expecting to shave. I was told thin. Later rounds. Not after two rounds! When the unexpected happens, I sort of lose it. I've always been that way. I desperately wanted to be sick without looking sick. 

The following week I found my wig, and was working up some courage for the big shave. My aunt had planned on coming over and helping, but it got to the point I couldn't stand looking at all my stray hairs. Fred took over. I could tell he was ready to help me have fun with it, but I just couldn't. My hair was my crown. My most favorite accessory. My identity. I closed my eyes and fought the tears as I felt myself disappear. 

I look in the mirror and see someone I don't recognize. On the bad days she looks like Uncle Fester. On the good days she's the toughest damn chick I've ever met. But for the first time in her life, she doesn't feel confident or beautiful.

I've learned I'm most uncomfortable with pretending the wig is my hair. I get compliments, but I don't know how to handle them. I shrug a thank you, but my insides scream 'IT'S NOT YOU'! When I get compliments in the hospital, I'm quick to explain it's a wig. And then I get "oh, that's a nice wig - you spent money on that one!" And somehow that makes me feel better. A little confidence booster. Being myself. Being authentic. 

It's a strange struggle between wanting to be authentic and hide the fact that I'm sick. The truth is I hate feeling/looking weak, and I haven't accepted this new version of myself. When your body changes so vastly, over such a short period of time, it's harder to accept. Fred does everything imaginable to help, but he can't fix this. 

I've cried over the hair loss a lot. One night I was expressing my fear of loosing eyebrows & eyelashes, it feels as though they are the last feminine features I have. Fred looks at me and says you'll always have your eyes, so I laughed through the tears and added boobs to the list. I love him for always helping me laugh through my sorrows.