a life just ordinary

So, I am almost done with chemo. Out of four sessions, I have one left to go. All of this has happened so very quickly, which is a blessing in disguise. I think if I had too much time to dwell on things it would be much harder. I find I do better in a whirlwind. (I will give you all a moment to find your surprised face.) Here are some of the lessons that I have learned throughout the chemo process, however.

Glitter In The Air

When you dye your hair pink and it starts to fall out, there is a bit of cognitive dissonance. When I decided it was time to buzz it all off, it didn’t seem like my hair. It looked more like a Muppet had exploded on the back patio. Then, as that started to fall out, in the sunshine, the pink bits of hair could almost be mistaken for glitter. I have to admit that I loved the idea of bald Muppets and being followed by a trail of glitter more than I probably should have. In the few days before session two, I said goodbye to my almost all of my hair.

Now The Hard Part

Luckily, my doctors have been pretty great about keeping the sickness at bay. I am on more anti-nausea meds than I can count, but it keeps the really yucky side effects to a minimum. I am tired and run down, but only for a few days. A few extra naps and some pampering from my family and I tend to bounce back.

The hard part, through this has been twofold. The first, and most admittedly the vain part, is the loss of my hair. I could deal with a really, really short ‘do. I could even handle things with a buzz cut, all things considered. The patchy baldness, I could definitely go without… but I have some pretty cool hats. I have become a master of penciling in my eyebrows too. And I have some pretty cool wigs, that if I were less of an awkward human being I might even be able to wear in public. (The first wig lasted all of an hour before I was batting it out of my face and picking it out of my teeth.)

I think the hard part is never feeling dressed up, or put together. I looked at my buzz cut as my combat look, as I battle this stupid disease. And while I have never been one to shy away from combat boots with formal wear (thank you 1990’s) it does make it harder to feel girly. In the scheme of things, I guess this just means that my definition of “girly” is just going to change… as will the phrase fight like a girl. This is not and will never be an insult to me again. 

And The Even Harder Part

The harder part is learning when to ask for help. I am admittedly a little controlling, a little bossy… we will just say I am FULL of leadership skills. But when you are down for the count with a cocktail of poison swimming through your veins it is hard to do all you need and want to do. This is the position I am least comfortable with. I have always been the “do-for-yourself” type, and reluctantly ask for help. Which is why, all of the notes and the calls, and the text messages mean so much. Because there are a lot of people out there who know that I don’t ask for help… and yet they keep offering. There are a ton of people who simply know that the best help is to just reach out and say hi. And there are plenty who don’t take my (bullshit) no for an answer. Admitting that I need help is the hardest part sometimes, but knowing that I don’t always have to admit it… well that just makes me one lucky girl indeed.

So, from fuzzy wuzzy, the woman who is willing to fight like a girl, thanks for all of the support. The best is yet to come. On the 14th of December I will ring the bell at my final chemotherapy treatment, and while my fight is not over; this will be a bit of the battle that I feel like I have won thanks to a pretty amazing group of friends.