This morning my friend came up to me and said, “I’m pregnant.” My mouth dropped open.
She’s around my age–late 40′s I would guess–and she has two kids almost grown. She wasn’t expecting to be….expecting. I stood there gaping as she said… “all the nausea I’ve been having? It’s the pregnancy.” I couldn’t say a word. NOT a word. Boy was her life about to change…
“April Fools!” she quipped, laughing and rolling her eyes. ”I’m NOT pregnant!” WHOOAAA did she get me! I was already buying her a shower gift in my mind–a year’s supply of Geritol and Ibuprofen.
But the April-fooling was not over for me. I went home after working out to take my usual shower before I headed to Monday chemotherapy for metastatic liver/lung/brain breast cancer. As I shampooed I noticed a tangle in my hair. When I pulled it to loosen it, the entire clump of hair came off into my hands. My hair is falling out; chemotherapy style.
I am sure I remember doctors telling me this wouldn’t happen, since this is a lower dose of chemo weekly than I had the first time my hair fell out in 2004. I even texted my husband when out of the shower to ask him and he confirmed that a few doctors had indeed said my hair will thin but not fall out entirely. So I checked with my oncologist but she confirmed it will fall out. There was no use complaining. I either heard it wrong or she said it wrong. Now it is what it is.
I’m gonna be bald again.
I know losing my hair is not the be-all end-all. I’ve done it already, I remember. What I do know is that without hair I will look sick. And THAT ladies and gentlemen, blows.
The best thing so far in this diagnosis is that I don’t look sick. People can’t believe I’ve really got cancer. That is awesome for me. It lifts me up. It helps me stay strong. I love being the physical representation of the middle finger to metastatic breast cancer. Here, you big bully, look at me; I got this–and YOU DON’T.
But as a bald woman with no eyebrows or eyelashes, I will be unmistakably SICK to the world. Sh-t.
What news to digest on this the National Trick Day of the year. The irony is not lost on me–or my hair.