February 2012.
Round Two. I am looking forward to getting this one done. I measure this process in time and percentages. After today, I will be 25% of the way through. Amazing! The past two weeks have been a roller coaster of crazy. For two days after the first treatment, I felt like I was superhuman. I was pumped up on steroids and could have spring-cleaned my whole house. This chemo thing is amazing. I wish that I felt like this ALL THE TIME. STOP. Wait a minute….and downhill we go. After feeling great for a couple of days, reality hits, and hits hard. The pain starts off slowly and builds to excruciating. I cannot get out of bed for a few days and nothing seems to help. Dr. O gives me more drugs to “help” but it feels like nothing is working. Carl keeps telling me that we just need to get through it.
This time Andria is with me and my sparkly shoes are present. I am a big fan of consistency. The shoes seemed to work last time, so I will keep the ritual of wearing them to boost my spirits. Once I am all hooked up, a little Italian lady sitting across from me starts to chat with us. She is an appointment or two ahead of me, and she looks at me and asks, “Bella, why is this happening to us?”. I tell her that I don’t know. She begins to tell me the story of her hair. After her second treatment, on Day 19, she was in the shower, and her hair literally fell off of her head. All of it. Feck. I have already cut my hair short. It has never been short, EVER. I have always had long, thick hair. Her story gives me a sense of dread. Why are we so defined by our hair? What is it about losing my hair that is so scary? After all, I have pretty much complained about my hair for as long as I can remember.
That night, I call my friend and hairdresser, Monica, to ask her to come over to shave my head. There is NO way that I can deal with it falling off of me in chunks. She is calm and sympathetic through each phase from cutting it short, shaving it, and styling my wig. She has been a key player in this process, always encouraging me and crying with me when needed. Even once my hair starts to grow back, she is there trying to make a fistful of grey, curly sprouts into something reasonably presentable.
That same night at the dinner table, I tell Ava that the medicine will make my hair fall out. She starts to cry and begs me not to let her see it when it happens. I make her that promise, wondering if it is the right thing to do. I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it, so how can I expect a six year old to understand and deal with it? This is getting REAL, and fast. Carl continues to be his calm, solid self. How is he doing, I wonder? The shitty part of cancer is that it is not just happening to you. It is happening to everyone around you - your kid, your husband, your mother, your sister…everyone that loves you is in pain but not showing it. Instead, everyone shows their strength so that you have more to keep you going. There are some people in this world that do not ask for help. I am NOT one of them. My posse showed up in droves to take care of us - me, Carl and Ava - and I accepted the help because I knew that we? needed it.
The best advice that I can give is to take the help. Everyone around you wants to DO something and it’s easier if you simply tell them what you need. They are relieved to be helping you, regardless of the ask. My mom was there every day that I couldn’t get out of bed, to take care of me and my home. My bestie, Kim, and my niece, Denika, took care of my girl and made sure that she was shielded from the worst of it. So many friends brought food and happy visits. I am eternally grateful for my village. They surrounded me with love and help when I needed it the most.
25% completed…two done and six to go…
- Kim