Treatment Update

First treatment with port access today. Last week access was left in after insertion, so I wasn't sure what accessing the port would actually be like until today. I must say, it made everything so much easier. Just a quick prick and slight burn with the administration of Lidocaine for numbing and then insertion of the needle which I didn't even feel. A quick 10 minute process with no anxiety, no pain and no boo boo's! I must admit, never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be singing the praises of having an "implanted vascular access device." I received my half hour dose of targetted therapy with no problems and was off on my way to the best medicine of the day - meeting my friends Becky and Cindy downtown for lunch.

I did experience a chemotherapy patients worst nightmare today - a windy day. I haven't really been covering my head much unless it's cold, but today since I was going out to lunch I decided to wear a hat - cute little newsboy number - and, yes, it blew off my head. After that I just gave up and went without cover - sometimes it just doesn't seem worth it to worry about it. Like I said to nurse Deb when she was worried that my bandage might show and I was heading out to lunch - it is what it is.

Any Port in a Storm

Well, it looks like the drama associated with IV 's will be soon be over. At a meeting at the clinic today, it was decided that I will receive a port implant on Thursday morning to help me weather the tempest that is chemotherapy and immunotherapy treatment delivery. The port is "installed" in my chest during a brief surgical procedure under local anesthesia. My procedure is scheduled for 7:00 am and once I've recovered, I'll be able to receive my chemotherapy treatment (a change from Wednesday to Thursday for those of you following along).

I spoke to a woman who had a port during my treatment last week, and it appears to be quite easy to manage, nothing bothersome and makes everything that much easier. Since I will be having treatments for a year it sure makes a lot of sense, and will take the worry of whether or not it will be a difficult insertion or not out of the chemotherapy equation. For anyone who knows me, I have a tendency to suck it up - just ask anyone who's heard my rant about how the doctor's never give me any drugs and everyone else gets all kinds of drugs. I've finally realized that this is the one time in my life I'm probably allowed to be a little less tough and there really is no need to have IV anxiety for another year.

For more info on Ports, please see link under Breast Cancer Links.

On another note. Today was my first day out and about in the world with no hat and my new "hair". I did go out on Saturday, but it was cold and I wore a hat. Today was in the 60's and I went au naturale to the hospital, Walmart, Marshalls, the Humane Society, the Bank, TJ Max, Rite Aid and P&C, so I guess I'm ok with how it looks now - hopefully will continue that when it's all gone. It felt great - it was warm and a little breezy - I've decided I can't wait to jump in the pool and feel the water on my head. A friend of mine once said hair is highly overrated and I'm beginning to believe him. Showers are shorter, no hair to blow dry, and definitely no bad hair days. Of course, I'm saying all this while I still have a little bit of hair on my head - I may change my mind once I've lost the last of it, but for now it's rather freeing.

What's the buzz?

This afternoon my wonderful hairdresser Willow took me to the next step in my survivor journey. I've given a lot of thought to how I feel about the loss of my hair and came to the realization that it's not necessarily the loss of the hair, but what it represents. This may sound funny coming from someone who lost a breast a mere two months ago, and has spent a day a week for the last 3 weeks in the Oncology clinic, but this step really brought home what I'm faced with. A friend said yesterday that when you loose your hair, you know you have both feet in - chemotherapy becomes real, and that's a very true statement. Not only that, but now I'm not only a cancer survivor on the inside, but on the outside as well. Complete strangers will only have to look at me to know what is happening in my life
(yeah, as opposed to the complete strangers who may be reading this....but I don't have to look back at them). So, here's the tip - when a cancer survivor wants to talk to you about the loss of hair - don't respond with it's only hair, it will grow back - to steal a line from a title of a book by Debra Jarvis, it's not about the hair - it's about the milestone that the loss of hair represents. Talk to her about what she's really feeling.

Yikes, what's that in my hand?

It's my hair, that's what. Yes, today, 2 weeks to the day from my first chemotherapy treatment, my hair has started to come out. I put my hand through my hair today and came away with a handful. The nurse told me it would be 2 to 3 weeks after the first treatment when my hair would come out and I've been waiting for the day when it would happen - I didn't know how I would feel and honestly it felt really weird.

A wonderful friend of mine sent me a book, I Am Not My Breast Cancer, by Ruth Peltason, which is a support group in a book. When I came away with hair in my hand, I immediately opened the book to the hair loss chapter and read entries from brave women around the world and how they coped with hair loss. I learned there were as many ways to cope as there were women with breast cancer. It's funny, even though you know it's going to happen, you aren't really prepared for it when it does. I still can't put my emotions into words, I just looked at the hair in my hands and went, huh, how about that. Now what am I going to do? I know I do not want a wig, nor do I want to wear "chemo scarves" but I'm just not sure how I'll feel about being bald in public - how will other people react? I guess I'll find out. I'm also worried about my mother who has mid-stage Alzheimer's disease and lives with me. I hope she remembers why I have no hair and I don't have to explain multiple times a day, day after day. It took almost a month of daily explanations until she could remember I had cancer - but she thinks it's in my arm....something I don't bother to correct.