An Ode to my Hair

The other day I was sitting outside enjoying the weather, and it hit me that I am going to be bald in several weeks. I have known this for a while now, but it seemed to really sink in a few days ago.

I must admit, I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye to my hair. I know it isn't permanent, and I know it will grow back. I think about how superficial it is to be so upset about being bald, but for some reason, I am becoming more and more bothered by my impending baldness. I'm not necessarily sad and I'm definitely not looking for pity; I'm just angry.

For the most part, I haven't looked too sick throughout this whole charade, and I think it's been easier for me to deal with everything by making sure I look good (at least when I'm having visitors or going out in public). I just feel better when I've done my hair, put on some makeup and made sure my eyebrows aren't overgrown. This is the part of me I can control right now and it makes me feel normal. But I'm about to lose control of one of my best (physical) features: the hair on my head. I don't know yet if my eyebrows and eyelashes will fall out too, but it is a possibility. If any hair below my head decides to fall out, I bid thee farewell and I hope you never grow back. I really hate shaving.

I realize I can draw in eyebrows, I can wear false eyelashes, and I can put on a wig, a hat or a scarf. But I still have to take it all off at night and wake up in the morning and look in the mirror at a person I did not choose to become. No one chooses cancer. No one chooses to lose his or her hair. It happens to so many people, yet I'm sitting here pissed off that it's about to happen to me, and I wish I could just let it go. But I know it's about more than just my hair.

Maybe because I haven't looked sick, I haven't completely dealt with the fact that I am sick. I haven't always felt great, but taking care of my physical appearance has made me feel better mentally and it has helped me stay positive.  I think what makes me the most angry is that I'll be losing my hair so late in the game. I'll be on the mend, yet I'll look more sick than I have for the past several months. I'll feel better, but I won't look better. I'll be reminded every time I look in the mirror that I've been sick because now I'll be able to see it on the outside instead of just feeling it on the inside. I'm good at leaving things inside, but I'm not so good at letting them come out. I'm picky regarding who gets to hear and see my actual feelings. People will now know just by looking at me that I must have cancer. I don't want strangers to know. I don't want people to look at me and feel sorry for me. I somehow have to deal with the fact that I have absolutely no control over this.

Then there is dealing with my hair when it starts to grow back. I'm lucky because my hair grows fast, but I'll be in a constant battle of cutting off a mullet. This is so ironic considering my obsession with mullets that started back in high school, during the days of dial up internet, when mulletsgalore.com only had like eight mullets listed on their website (is that website even still around?). I realize I now have the advantage of knowing how awesome or terrible my hair looks at any length. I have warned John to ignore me when I'm in the bathroom in the mornings yelling at my short hair because I hate it and there's nothing I can do to it to make it look good but put a hat over it (I also look terrible in most hats).

So now I would like to take a moment to apologize to my hair for every time I complained that it is too thick. I am so sorry; I love you and I will miss you. There is no such thing as too thick because I can always get you thinned out at the salon. I am thankful that you grow quickly and I hope you do not change too much when you grow back. If you do change, please consider getting rid of some or all of my grays.

And now, I end this post with some of my favorite hair moments:

  

 We've had some good times, hair. Until we meet again...

One Step Closer

This past weekend, I traveled to Emory to have my Trifusion catheter placed in my chest and to complete my stem cell harvest.  Just to explain, this particular catheter can be used for the rapid withdrawal and return of blood, which is necessary for apheresis (the collecting of cells). The tip of the catheter is in a large vessel near my heart. The other end exits the body below my collarbone. The portion between is tunneled under my skin. The catheter is three tubes in one inside the body and separates into three tubes outside the body. It's quite lovely. I'll spare you any selfies with my catheter on display.

Prior to the harvest, I had to put on my big girl panties and give myself shots of something called Neupogen twice a day. This drug stimulates stem cell growth so the harvest goes well (the more the merrier). Side effects can include some bone pain. The bone pain really didn't feel much worse than growing pains, but that pain might have been dulled by the killer headaches the drug caused me to have. Luckily I've dealt with both migraines and spinal headaches in the past, so I'm no stranger to head pain. These headaches felt a lot like the spinal headaches I suffered after my epidural when I had Olivia (the epidural was worth the headaches, in my opinion), but these didn't go away if I lied flat. They also did not go away after taking my painkillers. It did help when I reminded myself this was only a temporary side effect, and I powered through. I can completely understand someone who is not used to bad headaches complaining a lot about this side effect though.

I also had to go on a high magnesium, high potassium, high calcium diet leading up to the harvest. I did not balk at my diet filled with scallops, halibut, cheese and other tasty goodies the week before. Although it was an expensive diet, it was quite satisfying for my palate.

My father and I got to Atlanta on Saturday night since I had labs in the morning on Sunday, and we were supposed to be there until Thursday. Everything went so well, however, they cut me loose on Tuesday to come home. I followed the directions they gave me for preparation to a tee, so I know that helped.

We had a hell of a time reserving the type of hotel room we needed  (a two bedroom since I'm not keen on sharing a bedroom with my Dad), and now I know why. I knew some of it had to do with Mother's Day on Sunday, but Emory graduation was also being held Monday. I did not know this until Monday morning when I turned on the Today Show as I was getting ready and caught the local traffic report. Everything was moving great except all traffic around Emory because graduation started at 8:00. I had to be at the hospital at 7:30. It was 6:15 that morning when I got clued into everything. Great.

I showed up to the area of the hospital I needed to be at 7:32 (not too bad considering the cluster fuck of traffic in the area). Then I waited. And I waited some more. At 9:00 they called me back to the prep area for my Trifusion cath. I hadn't taken any pills that morning (no Xanax and nothing for pain), my head hurt like a mofo because of the Neupogen injections I'd been giving myself, and I had not eaten because I was not allowed to. It literally took everything in me not to kill everyone around me. All I could think about was the episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm when Larry gets pissed because he's always having to wait so long at his doctor's office. What's the point of making appointments?  I thought to myself, "What would Larry David do? I probably shouldn't do what he would do. Just sit here and keep playing Candy Crush" (because that's not frustrating at all).

So the nurse began to prep me, and she tried three times to access the port in my arm. The more the port is messed with, the more uncomfortable it gets. They tell you the port won't bother you, but they are liars. It's really annoying and I hate it; I can't wait to have the thing taken out. After the nurse's third attempt, gritting my teeth, trying not to yell at her or punch her in the face, I asked her as politely as I could muster for an IV. PLEASE. Just don't blow a vein. Thankfully she got the IV on the first try. 

A little after 10:00, they came to take me to the OR. This was about fifteen minutes after some woman was brought back to the prep/recovery area, was put in the slot next to mine, and continued to moan like she was dying for like 15 minutes. I overheard she just had the same procedure I was about to have done. Before they came to get me, the doctor came to see her and decided to give her enough Benadryl to knock out a small horse. Thank you; now she can stop scaring all of the other patients in the area into thinking this procedure is going to kill them.

Once again, the sedation did not affect me quite like they thought it would. The nurse who administered my drugs right before the Trifusion cath was put in was taking me up to Hemapheresis afterward, where they were to complete the harvest, and he told me I must be an expensive date because he expected me to fall asleep during the procedure. Yes sir, I can hang all night with the big boys. I was way more relaxed than I was when they performed my last bone marrow biopsy, but it was nothing that was going to knock me out.

When I arrived at Hemapheresis, they hooked me up to this machine:

I stayed hooked up to this machine for the remainder of the afternoon. Blood was coming out of me in one tube, another was returning my blood to me (after the machine separated the stem cells), and the third tube returned calcium to me. The red bag in the picture is my bag of stem cells. The bag that looks like pee is actually platelets, with which the stem cells will be stored. I requested not to be photographed since I want everyone to think I look perfect every day (yeah, right - I pretty much live in yoga pants and t-shirts right now), but I'm in that bed on the right, wearing yoga pants and a hospital gown :-). I was able to harvest a greater number of stem cells than I will need for three transplants. This all happened in four hours. They thought it might take me three days. I am a bit of an overachiever.

Luckily everything went smoothly, for the most part. My labs looked good on Tuesday morning and they didn't have to give me any infusions, so they sent me on my way. I won't lie and say I felt absolutely perfect; I was very tired after the stem cell collection, and this Trifusion cath is even more uncomfortable than my arm port. It will only be in me until I'm done with my transplant, so I'm going to do my best not to complain about it. I keep reminding myself things could be so much worse and I kick myself back into gear.

So, while we were in Atlanta for a few days, I had some very tasty food (and not so tasty food). I'll keep this part short since this isn't really a food blog, although those who know me well know I LOVE food. 

General Muir, a Jewish deli near Emory, is definitely worth a meal (whether it's breakfast, lunch or dinner) if you're in the area. They have one of the best burgers I've ever eaten (only slightly under salted, but the texture of the burger was perfection) and they have a really great breakfast. We also had a delicious lunch at Chai Pani, which is also in Decatur. Go here if you like Indian food (and if you don't like Indian food, I don't understand you, my husband included). I could get into great details about why people should eat at these establishments, but that could be its own separate post, so just trust me.

I also wanted to try Legal Seafoods since I had never been. A lot of seafood is high in magnesium, so this was going to be great for my pre-harvest diet. I have now been, and I will never return. Service was terribly slow, and I would have been fine with this (I could have excused it as being relaxed), except my food came out cold. If you're going to charge what they charge for their food, you better serve the shit hot. My crab cake tasted really good, but it would have been excellent had it been hot. My shrimp and scallops, however, were both overcooked, and I find this to be completely unacceptable for a restaurant that is as highly touted as Legal Seafoods. Conclusion: this place is a tourist trap; do not go.

Since we got to come home a couple days early, we didn't hit everywhere we wanted to eat. The next trip is only a day trip, so I doubt we'll go anywhere then, but I will be there the weekend before I am admitted to the hospital for prep visits, so I'm going to try and eat as much good food as I can before I'm trapped in the hospital for 2.5 weeks.

Two weeks from today is the day I will be admitted to the hospital and the day I will be receiving my chemo. I then get my transplant on the 29th, which is my husband's 40th birthday. We'll be partying in the hospital room, celebrating  his 40 years on Earth and a sort of new birth for me.