‘Stay positive, be strong & be brave’ are the three mantra’s most commonly thrown at you when you are diagnosed with cancer. There is a common belief that healing is simply mind over matter however, there is no scientific evidence that positive thinking cures cancer or any other disease. Lots of people with a positive attitude survive cancer, however many don’t. Conversely many people with a negative attitude also survive. I’m not knocking it, it’s just really difficult trying to be positive ALL of the time. I’ve managed to stay surprisingly positive throughout this whole experience however I still have my bad days.
This week brought more medical high jinx, starting with an MRI scan on Wednesday. My hair started to molt that morning, so I sobbed my way through the scan. This was compounded by having Paulo bloody Nutini blasting into my ears for the duration. My choice, god knows why but the other options were dire. I briefly considered ‘My guitar gently weeps‘ but that would have finished me off.
I really hoped I might be the lucky one and escape what is one of the worst side effects of chemotherapy. I’d been religiously drinking my magic juice & having a good tug on my locks every morning to check it was working. The joker (Jane Plant) who invented this elixir claims that it not only stops hair loss, but that your hair will become even thicker & healthier than it was before. Well, she was wrong & I want my money back. My hair started to fall out less than two weeks after my first chemotherapy cycle.
Following hair-gate, I started to feel unwell later in the week. I’d been in town with a friend and a walk in the park, I’d normally find easy, completely exhausted me. I woke on Saturday feeling worse. I should have come out of my neutropenic (low immunity) phase by then, so the hospital asked me to come in as a precautionary measure.
My white blood cell count was at zero which meant I had no immunity. My body was also showing signs of infection so they decided to keep me in. As a result I spent the weekend attached to a drip, being pumped full of antibiotics amongst other delights. Potassium chloride was my tipple on Saturday night. I make it sound awful but it wasn’t so bad. My neutropenic status meant I had my own room and I got to lie down for two whole days which, for someone as active as me, is a novelty: note, positive thinking in action.
Being attached to a drip is a new experience for me. Trying to sleep, move, wash, go to the toilet, eat, type or read is quite tricky, as any slight movement triggers an alarm. When I was well enough yesterday they let me out for a little stroll and I took great delight in perfecting doing the pyjama/drip look. The only thing missing was a cigarette but hey, there’s always a next time.
The nurses were my saviours this weekend: they looked after me; counselled me on all things hair related; buoyed me up and most of all they made me laugh. Humour is one of the few safety valves I can rely on at the moment & their silly banter really kept me going this weekend:
Me: “Can I have a peppermint tea please?”. Nurse: “We dinnae dae any o’ that herbal stuff but I can put a polo mint in some hot water for you if you like!!”
My hair obviously took a back seat this weekend and I’d stopped washing & brushing it to minimise the loss. It was falling out in clumps, so I bandaged it up last night and woke this morning to a big matted bundle not very securely attached to my head. Think dreads, tramp-do, bad comb over and you get the picture. I knew if I brushed it, it would all fall out, so this morning I asked one of the nurses to book me in at the hospital hairdresser and shave the lot off.
This animal was attached to my head
It wasn’t easy, but getting my hair cut was actually a welcome relief and I feel like a massive burden has been lifted. Unlike Samson, cutting my hair gave me back some strength. When your body is failing you, it feels good to take back some control. I joked about giving up on vanity in an earlier post, but when weighed against your health, hair loss is insignificant.
My hair was going to fall out anyway and raising money for charity helped ease some of the distress I was feeling. Now it’s done, and people are undoubtedly shocked at seeing me without all that hair but there’s not a lot I can do about that. Wig shopping is next on my ‘to do’ list.
This week has been pretty horrific. In less than a month I’ve gone from being a healthy, happy young woman to an invalid living with my parents. I wish there was a big magic button I could press to make this all go away but I have no choice but to go through with it. As my mate Sal so aptly put it: “Chemo is like a superhero disguised as a baddie”. It does pretty awful things to you but it makes you better in the end. Bizarrely I’m looking forward to surgery, it can’t be any worse than this.
I’m thankfully home now and due to have my next chemotherapy cycle on Friday. I need to feel 100% before my body is subjected to another chemical overload so there’s a possibility it might be delayed. They’ve assured me if I become neutropenic again they’ll give me something to boost my immunity. I’m secretly hoping they delay this one as it’s my birthday on Saturday and I’d like it to be chemical free.
KillerK 