The Litany Against Fear

I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. (Frank Herbert)

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

My Hair is Gone

When my hair started falling out I was dismayed. It meant I couldn't hide my condition from the world anymore. I was particularily concerned with how all the patients at work would respond to seeing me suddenly bald. It was going to cause a great deal of concern and interest, and I wasn't sure I could handle it. I tried cutting it short to begin with, but that didn't last long. It was thinning so badly, and I kept finding my hair everywhere. I lost about 1/3 of my hair when I was in highschool due to a medication I was taking for my seizures and it was extremely upsetting then. My hair thinned, but it was never as dramatic as it has been this time around. Back then I kept it in a pony tail and put on a hat (I even had special permission to wear my hat in class). Despite my reservations, once I had made the decision that my hair had to go I felt at peace. So one night I asked Peter to shave it all off. I only cried a little, but I honestly don't know why because I didn't feel upset that it was gone. Now I'm all buzzed and I've got some great scarves to wear at work and when I go out. I get stares, particularily because I'm so young, and lots of people ask lots of questions that I didn't expect them to ask. I'm going to have to get used to it I guess, especially at work. Norton enforces his company policy of "no such thing as a bad day" with an iron fist. Even before my diagnosis I'd been reprimanded for not being cheerful enough. He also has a policy of making our patients feel so welcome that they think of us as friends. So not only do I have to be cheerful despite what I'm going through, the patients that do in fact think we're "friends" don't hesitate to ask what I feel are rather personal questions. Dr. Norton didn't ask me to keep the truth from the patients, but I know he was relieved when I told him that I wouldn't let them know how serious it was. It would be just too difficult to try to remain upbeat and cheerful while explaining how dire my health really is. So I tell them that it was caught early and my doctors expected me to go into complete remission.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

My First Chemotherapy

I wasn't prepared for it. Nothing I read, nothing they told me, nothing could prepare me for the terrifying process of a chemotherapy infusion. I brought my sister-in-law and husband for moral support, but it was not enough. The treatment room was full of people and there wasn't enough room for them to be close to me. They sat a few feet away trying to talk about other things and stay positive. I couldn't even hear them. When they went to get something to eat I cried. Big silent tears that I couldn't contain despite my best efforts. Treatment took all day because they had to go slow the first time. Other than being physically and emotionally exhausted, I had no side-effects to the drugs. I wasn't prepared for that either.

The side-effects did come, only later. Some the next day, some the day after. Each day it seemed like there was something new. None of them good. After five days I was about 85% recovered, so I went back to work.