It has been 8 years, and I still can’t bring myself to wear my chemo curls for more than a few minutes. I spent much of my life with perfectly straight hair, then chemo took it all away and gave me curls. This madness is just so BIG and FLUFFY and PUFFY, and I just can’t seem to embrace it. Yet. 
He Can’t Remember
Nine-year-old Danny said to me while I was tucking him into bed tonight, “I can’t imagine you bald.” That is because he was 18 months old when chemotherapy took my hair, and he has absolutely no memory of my cancer. I love that.
Letter to a Little Girl
I just wrote a letter to a 9-year-old little girl who will begin year-long chemotherapy for a brain tumor that could not be completely removed via surgery. I am sending her (along with the letter) a pair of comfy, cozy, fuzzy socks because they helped me when I was sick. Suddenly, though, my illness at age 34 does not seem as important as hers at age 9. And also, why must today deliver such sad news?
Raw October — Day 29 (This Never Gets Old) (VIDEO)
Raw October: raising breast cancer awareness — one fact, figure, feeling, and photograph at a time.
This never gets old, and it never ceases to make me cry. This man sang to me during one of my chemo treatments — he sang to every patient in the infusion room on this January 2005 day.
You know how I mentioned in yesterday’s post how my mom and Jordan sat with me during each session? This is one of those times.
Click on the image to start the video. See if it makes you cry.
Raw October — Day 28 (My Survivor Reminder)
Raw October: raising breast cancer awareness — one fact, figure, feeling, and photograph at a time.
My niece Jordan is my survivor reminder — she was born in October 2004; I was diagnosed with breast cancer in November 2004. Every time she turns another year older, I tack on another year of survival. She just turned 8 — that means I am about to celebrate 8.
Jordan’s age is not the only cancer connection she and I share. We also have memories (well, I do; she doesn’t) of infusion-room bonding. Jordan was 6 weeks old when I started chemo, and she sat with my mom and me every time toxic drugs dripped through my veins. My recollections of sickness and despair are tempered by the vision of that sweet, new baby in my mom’s arms — the baby who now has beautiful long hair; perfect freckles; a mean volleyball serve; and a huge hug to share whenever she sees me.
Thanks for being my survivor reminder, Jordan. I love you!
Raw October — Day 21 (Hair By Chemotherapy)
Raw October: raising breast cancer awareness — one fact, figure, feeling, and photograph at a time.
Warning: Chemotherapy can change the color and texture of your hair; meaning, the hair you lose will likely not be the same hair you get back. The proof is in the photo — I lost my straight, blond locks and gained a dark, curly mop.
The hair transformation is not always a forever thing, though, because my dark is not so dark anymore, and my curls are not so curly anymore. With each passing day (there have been about 2,920 of them), I look more and more like my old self.
Hair Headed to Ohio
One of my wigs is in Vienna, Virgina. This one, currently drying after a shampoo, is headed to Columbus, Ohio. I love that I can share my hair; I hate that it’s even necessary.
Tummy Troubles Linked to Chemotherapy
About a year ago, I went to see my OB/GYN for bloating, cramping, and pelvic pressure. I was sure I had ovarian cancer. I didn’t. My doctor sent me to a internist. She tested me for celiac disease. Nope, not that, either, although I did follow a gluten-free diet for a couple of months thinking maybe it would help. It did not. There were other tests I could have taken — one would track an egg moving through my body — but my tummy troubles subsided, and so did my pursuit of an answer.
Eventually, the discomfort came back, then it went away, and this has been the pattern for quite some time now. If I eat healthy, my stomach sometimes hurts. If I eat junky, my stomach sometimes hurts. Often, the pain is so great it makes me want to cry, and at night, I curl up in the fetal position and will myself to sleep. I usually feel better in the morning. To try to cure myself, I’ve played with what I eat and how I eat. I’ve found some recipes that soothe my system — my favorite is a brown rice cake with peanut better and sliced red grapes on top — and I’ve eliminated a few items I believe were twisting up my insides (lettuce). Still, although I can go weeks without symptoms, they always sneak up and cause me at least a day’s worth of sick. This is why I contacted the internist again. She referred me to a GI specialist. I saw her today.
My new doctor believes the culprit might be chemo drugs, which could have mucked up my system. Antigen was the word the doc threw around, and she has ordered a bunch of blood tests, plus a surgical procedure to take a biopsy of some of my intestines and stomach. I will also submit to another test, which will hopefully explain some issues that might be related to my big ‘ol babies (10 pounds, 9 ounces and 10 pounds, 2 ounces). They probably did a number on my pelvic health, my GI friend said, so this test will help investigate further.
I went to the doctor today hoping she wouldn’t just throw meds my way in an attempt to mask what’s going on. She didn’t. For that, I am grateful. She wants to locate the cause of my complaints — I like that. I also went to the doctor today in no way suspecting cancer treatment might come up the guilty party. I’m not surprised, though, because cancer never really goes away. It might not be threatening my life right now, but its presence is always with me.
Beating cancer is half the battle. Living with its aftermath is the other half.
Robin Roberts’ Bone-Marrow Disease Likely Caused by Breast Cancer Treatment
“Good Morning America” anchor Robin Roberts’ bone-marrow disease was likely caused by the breast cancer treatments she received several years ago. Now, she will have chemo to prep for a bone-marrow transplant. See, surviving cancer is not all that simple.
What Does Cancer Feel Like? (PART II)
There is a PART I to this series, and if you have not already scanned the list, you can find it here.
And now, here goes PART II:
(there will also be a PART III)
What does cancer feel like?
>like I’m frozen riding in the car to my very first chemotherapy treatment. This is not happening. It can’t be happening. Please don’t make me go.
>like scream-out-loud pain when the large needle pierces the port that sits inside the skin on my chest and frustration that no one told me I could numb the skin on top of my port with a simple little cream available at Walgreens. I order the cream as soon as I get home from Chemo No. 1.
>like a major science project the way the drugs must enter my body — fluids and pre-meds first to help prevent nausea and allergic reactions, then one chemo drug, then another chemo drug, then a flushing of the line.
>like not much of anything post-first-chemo. The outdoor power walk with my mom once I get home is no different than others I’ve taken pre-cancer.
>like a nervous flutter when my nurse neighbor gives me a shot of Neulasta the day after chemo to help ensure my blood counts don’t drop. But will they drop? And what happens if they do drop? Will I be OK if they drop? How will I know if they drop? My friend gives me a shot the day after each chemo trip, and I get four in all.
>like a terribly tender and sore scalp, as each blond hair on my head weighs a ton and wants desperately to tumble to the floor. I hold it in place with a hair band and a ball cap, and I attend Chemo No. 2 denying that I will need to shave my entire head at the end of the day because the pain will be too great, and the mess in the shower and on my pillow will be too much.
>like a horrible misery as my almost-4-year-old shaves my head, and I begin to look like someone I do not know. “It’s only a haircut, mommy,” he tells me. “You are not going to die.” I hope like mad that he is right.
>like engulfing self-consciousness — I hate my bald head, I don’t want to look at it, and I don’t want anyone else to see it. I cover it with wigs and hats and am only happy when a neighbor tells my sister she can’t believe I have not lost my hair. My cover is a success.
>like a strong community. The chemo infusion room is filled with warmth as patients from all walks of cancer share stories. Misery loves company, and the company makes cancer not so miserable. The guys who sing to me are pretty cool, too. (Click on image to right to view video.)
>like love. My mom and baby niece Jordan sit with me for every chemo treatment, and friends stop by, too. Some bring flowers.
>like my kitchen cabinet is a pharmacy. OMG, all the drugs.
>like I’m getting fatter and fatter. The steroids that prevent allergic reactions to chemo drugs make me bloated and constipated, and the zipper on my favorite Lucky jeans won’t go all the way up. When chemo comes to an end, I will have gained nearly 10 pounds.
>like I’m out of my head. I am incoherent after the fourth chemo dose. I am confused, irritable, and I am not even sure what words are coming from my mouth. I call my oncologist and tell her I don’t feel well. She tells me chemo is tough stuff, and I need more support. Nope, that’s not what I need. I need someone to revive me, because my blood counts are now 700, and they should be between 4,000 and 10,000. I learn this the next morning when I am admitted to the hospital where the doc should have sent me the night before. I am thankful I survived the night at home, and it takes five days in the hospital, a bunch of IV antibiotics, and a blood transfusion to kick-start my weak body.
>like itching and scratching and bumps climbing all over my shoulders and back. I am allergic to the antibiotic cefapime.
>like good news when I learn the results of my genetic test are negative.
>like I am in good hands when I get a new oncologist who is warm and kind and lovely and tells me I do not need the drugs Taxol or Taxotere — the poisons my chemo-is-tough-stuff oncolologist said I needed. I knew I didn’t like her.
>like a repeat performance when I land back in the hospital after another drop in blood counts. Another five days, marked by the possibility that I may have another cancer (false alarm), and I leave after injections of growth hormones launch me back into gear.
>like a small reprieve as chemo ends and I wait for radiation to begin. I now have tattoos — no butterflies or chain links wrapping around my arm, just a dozen tiny, blue pin pricks, and I’m also inked with magic marker all over my chest to aid in the simulation of what’s to come — 30+ days of zapping, five days a week for six weeks.
>like monotony, the drive to and from each radiation session; the undressing; the reclining on a table; the breathing through a tube and holding my breath to move my heart out of the way of danger; the watching as beams of radiation circle and shoot at my body — the routine of it all gets real boring, real fast.
>like guilt because my mom watches my boys every day I report to the place that slowly but surely scorches my skin, and the older boy is not exactly an easy one, and I worry I am asking too much of her — and my husband, who works all day, finds me like a lump when he gets home and must muster up some dinner, or visit me in the hospital, or play with little boys because I have no energy.
>fatigue. I doze off every afternoon at 3:00 p.m. because radiation is tiring. I don’t know why, it just is, and it’s really hard to get off my butt to go to physical therapy for the prevention of lymphedema and to restore range of motion when I just. want. to. sleep.
>like Oh, No, something is wrong with my lungs now because I’m breathing in through this tube, and I can no longer hold my breath. The smart science people investigate and learn there is just a hole in my tube, not an issue with my lungs.
>like I am a weeping mess. I cry at the mere mention of my cancer, and my doctor recommends therapy and an anti-depressant. I accept, and I spend a year and a half with both.
>like calm. Therapy and Zoloft work. I am much more at ease about my condition, and dirty dishes piling up in the sink don’t bother me as much, either.
Bald Isn’t Bad Forever
If cancer ever forces you to lose your hair, you will probably be devastated, like I was.
But, in time, you might like the benefits of bald.
Like no shampoo; no hair drying, curling, flattening; and no time at all to get ready in the morning. (No shaving or eyebrow tweezing either.)
Not that you won’t love it when your hair returns, but bald isn’t the worst thing forever. Just in the beginning.
Tori’s Tresses
My niece Tori looked so much better in my wig than I did. Now, many years later, she and I both have our very own hair!
Horrible Hair Day
To end the trauma of my hair shedding in clumps on my pillow, in the shower, every time I brushed it, I put it in four ponytails and cut it all off. Then Joey and I buzzed the rest until I was bald. It was one of the worst days of my life.
New Tune — Bangs Be Gone
It seems sorta silly of me to complain about my hair, because I have hair, and having hair is a whole lot better than not having hair. I should just suck it up and be OK with the fact that I got bangs back in January, but as much as I thought I would like them (I did actually feel a fondness for them for a few days), the truth is that I really and truly prefer hair of all one length. So, I found some inner strength for the grow-out process, I purchased a few clips+headbands+other stuff, and for a while now, I’ve been blending and securing the shorter hair into the longer hair. It’s not my ideal look, but it’s holding me over, until the day comes when I can let it all flow. And on that day, I will vow — one more time — to never. ever. again. get bangs.
Oh, and the blond — yea, I’m not sure how that happened. Who knew the blond I lost, which was replaced with the darkest of dark curls, would, over time, head back to blond — and almost straight (flat iron takes care of the remaining wave, which really isn’t all that much anymore).
Until Every Woman Knows
Mom probably gave you lots of advice over the years, and now, in the spirit of Mother’s Day, it’s your turn to dish out on some breast cancer wisdom to the moms (and other women) in your life. The gist of the message you should spread is this — not all breast cancers are the same, and not every woman with early-stage breast cancer needs chemotherapy. There’s a test (Oncotype DX) that helps patients understand if chemo is right for their type of breast cancer, BUT, 50% of women who are eligible never hear about this test. That’s why you should watch this video, and then pass it on.
Love Facebook? Connect with Until Every Woman Knows for important information and updates on this initiative!
Back to Bangs
For much of my life, and much to my dismay, I had bangs. I kept them around not because I wanted them, but because I never felt equipped to grow them out — too many funky stages on the path to all-one-length hair, so I resigned myself to the reality that I’d have them f-o-r-e-v-e-r.
Well, reality changed. I got cancer, and I got to lose all my hair. Devastating, it was, maybe even worse than the cancer itself and its treacherous treatments. There was one little silver lining, though — the bangs were gone. And the golden opportunity presented itself: I could grow my hair all over again, and I would not cut bangs — never, ever, again. And for six years, I didn’t. Until today, when I went to my hair stylist and told her, “I want bangs.”
It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the best one. My bangs are longish, and I’ll sweep them to the side — these are not your traditional straight-across variety. I like how they frame my face, how they add some style, how they look warm and chocolate-y with some new chunky highlights, how they’ll hide the wrinkles that will inevitably appear more visible on my forehead. I like them. I just do. Which is a good thing, because, well, I still don’t think I have it in me to grow them out.
Feel-Good Finds: Skin Cream / Giveaway
Welcome to Feel-Good Finds, a series of posts featuring items and products that can cheer you up, calm your mind, and soothe your soul. Whether you’re muddling through cancer treatment or just braving the occasional bad day, pick-me-ups are key. Here, I review all things happy and hopeful. (And sometimes when I’m blessed with extra goodies, I’ll even give them away!)
dermagenics.com
If youthful, healthy, wrinkle-free skin makes you feel good, then DERMAGENICS might be the magic bullet for beating your blues.
My mom (she’s my go-to product tester girl) really likes the Collagen Recovery Cream, and she thinks you might, too.
Here’s why:
It’s soft, smooth, and not greasy at all; it has a pleasant fragrance; it feels light on the skin; and it features a slight tingle that is refreshingly nice.
According to the DERMAGENICS website, Collagen Recovery Cream hydrates, improves, and repairs skin texture, health, and appearance. Ingredients are natural and do not include alcohol, formaldehyde, fragrance, dyes, phthalates, alpha hydroxys, or glycolic acid.
Bonus: it effectively heals radiation and chemotherapy damaged skin.
This isn’t the only DERMAGENICS product, though. There is also an option for women seeking an anti-aging potion, and one for men, too!
Maybe you don’t want to jump right into a purchase, but you still want to give DERMAGENCIS a try. Well, that’s what giveaways are for, and two of you can win a 30-day supply just by entering the contest below.
- Leave a comment and tell us what you’d like to win: the women’s anti-aging moisturizer, the collagen recovery cream, or the men’s anti-aging cream.
- Leave your comment no later than 5PM ET on Saturday, December 4, 2010.
- You may enter only once.
- Open to legal residents of the 50 United States, and the District of Columbia, who are 18 and older.
- Two winners will be selected in a random drawing via random.org.
- Two winners will receive one jar of DERMAGENICS cream (value, $85).
- Winners will be notified by email, so make sure to check next week to find out if you’ve won!
Headwear for Hair Loss: Share Your Thoughts
Bad hair day, February 2005
I told you hair loss is a biggie when it comes to cancer and chemo, right?
It’s so big, in fact, that one woman (a student specializing in Apparel Product Development and Merchandising Tecnology at Central Michigan University) is studying the topic, trying to formulate the best designs for headwear in order to improve the quality of life for women whose hair is lost to chemotherapy.
And who can better communicate ideas for great cover-up solutions than women who have lost their locks?
No one.
What follows are instructions on how you can throw in your two cents on the topic of headwear for hair loss. There’s a survey (takes 10 minutes, tops, and is completely anonymous), plus a blog where you can spill the beans about what you think (also anonymous if you wish).
- Complete an on-line anonymous survey at http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/HeadwearForHairLoss. (This survey is designed for women who have hair loss right now or have had it in the past year.)
- Visit the blog dedicated to this study and comment (anonymously if preferred) on headwear-related topics. The blog can be reached at http://headwearhairloss.blogspot.com/(All women who have ever had chemotherapy-related hair loss are welcome to visit and leave feedback.)
Please participate if you can — you might just make the chemo road easier for those who must travel it after you.
Until Every Woman Knows
Not every woman needs chemotherapy for early-stage breast cancer. For some types of the disease, less than 2 in 100 women will benefit from chemo.
Do you know there is a test to help determine whether the toxic treatment is necessary? The test is called Oncotype DX.
Pass it on.
Until every woman knows.
More information: Until Every Woman Knows.
Hats For You
Hats For You offers hats, caps, and scarves for those suffering hair loss due to cancer and chemotherapy, and from the looks of this online store, there are many options, which is a big thing in the chemo game.
www.hatsforyou.net
Hair loss is a biggie. I mean, a B-I-G-G-I-E, and sometimes even worse than the cancer itself. Just look at what some readers had to say in response to my post, “Hair Loss: How Did You Handle It?”
I did not look at myself in the mirror while I had no hair unless I was wearing a hat and then only rarely. / Caroline
I so want to keep my hair. It took so long to get it where it is, it’s really screwed up to have to start over from zero. / Tracy
This too has been one of the hardest things I’ve endured during this adventure in “cancerland!” / Lisa
I still don’t know how exactly to describe how I felt about my hair loss. I told myself and anyone that asked that losing my hair was the least of my concerns and I really believed that I would be okay with it. I mean it’s just hair, and it does grow back. I had my hair cut short for the first time in my adult life 2 weeks before it was scheduled to dissappear. Someone told me that this might make the transition easier. Many compliments and thank-yous later I found myself in the shower with large clumps of hair in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. I had a complete meltdown that morning, the first. Privately. And I so shocked myself with my reaction and the ensuing fear that my legs gave out on me in that shower. This made it real. / Liane
Yes, options are good. See what you can find at Hats For You!