Once I gave the green light to chemo, which I was able to do even before I left the exam room yesterday, they didn't waste time getting going. The scheduling guru at the cancer center still had to run everything past my insurance, so I don't yet have a date for the chemo class, but then, this all fell at the beginning of the big kickoff weekend for summer, so I'm okay with him having a life outside of the clinic. If he doesn't get me set up until Tuesday afternoon, I'll understand.
Why did I choose afternoon just now? Because Tuesday morning is already spoken for. They called me right after I talked to the cancer center dude (on his direction) to arrange getting a port installed early that day. I have super crappy veins. I've known this since I was in my late teens. My veins are small, deep, and they roll away from needles. I also feel everything that goes in or out of them. IVs are particularly distressing to me, and they have been since I was 18 years old. So when the cancer nurse said that the chemo infusion drugs are known to irritate veins, I became very comfortable with my choice to have the port installed. I have done zero research into this beyond speaking with a family member who had one and hearing from a distant friend whose wife has been battling breast cancer for a few years now. These two people both praised the port as the best thing to make this process tolerable. I don't know for sure where it will go in. I assume they'll put it in my upper chest, but that's only because I had a roommate in college who had a central line there roughly three decades ago. The only part of it that I see as a negative is that I will be even more reluctant to lie on my stomach if I have this, meaning it would be best if I put a freeze on my Massage Envy membership while I go through this. Won't Slow Hand be surprised when I show up months from now, potentially still bald and less chubby.
It occurs to me that I gave the wrong impression about hair loss yesterday. I'm not afraid of it, and I'm actually looking forward to the opportunity to do a little advocacy. I appreciate that some people are distressed by the change in appearance, and that hair may represent their sense of identity or beauty that they aren't prepared to sacrifice. But I view it a little differently. I don't intend to feel ashamed or crushed by the potential loss of my hair. I don't hide what I'm going through. I'm honest and forthright about it, and I sort of enjoy being the embodiment of a teaching moment. People who aren't exposed to cancer or lupus or whatever else directly are welcome to ask me what it's like. Having a neon sign on my head, so to speak, is my way of giving them permission to ask. If I want to feel flirty or whatever, I'll go buy a shiny, obviously-fake lilac wig, to wear for fun. Otherwise, I have plenty of colorful scarves and ball caps with the CU Buffs logo on them to keep me safe from the sun.
While I was down here making arrangements for the next steps in my treatment and driving my daughter and her cat to the vet, the Mr went up to the mountains on a gorgeous day to plow the snow off the neighbor's road, so that his (the neighbor's) guests can get to his cabin without him. He sent back lovely photos of how it looks up there. I had really counted on being able to go up and finish our cabin build this summer, once the snow melts. Now I will be lucky to get up there by Labor Day, if my chemo has ended by then. I doubt I'll have much energy to climb the hill otherwise. I'll have to be satisfied watching him and T building the cabin from afar.
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