A Hairy Situation

I used to lay awake some nights dreaming of the romantic and torrid love affairs I might have if only things were different. Yes, if only my locks were long and luscious, we might have had a more pleasing and sensual affair all this time.  I envisioned secret rendezvous at the most expensive salons and fat residual paychecks from starring in Pantene Pro V commercials.  Alas, I've been stuck in a bad relationship with my hair for the past ten years and yet I just can't seem to let go...

My relationship with my hair has quickly turned from utter hate... to a love/hate ambiguous limbo... to just plain "like" with a reluctant admittance of love.  I had a change of heart.  I have realized my hair was never really that bad but my complaints were these: too fine, too flat, didn't ever grow long enough without looking straggly. I had a bad hair day every day.  I've been doing my fair share of groveling and begging it not to leave me, even still,  but my efforts are proving fruitless and rendering me helpless.   It wants to go in a killing-me-softly kind of way.

The tipping point began after my second chemotherapy treatment three weeks ago.  I would see a few extra strands here and there on the couch or on my dinner plate and knew the process of departure had begun.  At first I'd wake up in the middle of the night panic-stricken, touch my head, and make sure it was all there.  Phew, it was.  Then, with heart racing upon awaking I'd check my pillow for evidence of the impending break-up only to sigh with alleviation.  No trace.  Was it to fall out strand by strand, massive chunks or pull a dramatic all-at-once maneuver?  This I did not know.  This was worse than any of the other break ups I was accustomed to - at least I always had my vanity in the aftermath.  Also, I've never been dumped by my hair before.   Maybe I'm some weird anomaly  I thought hopefully.  The one girl who doesn't lose all her hair during ABVD Chemo treatment.  I could see the headlines in the local newspaper reading "Otherworldly Girl Retains Roots During Chemo."  No, it wasn't catchy enough and probably not so newsworthy.   But as the days wore on it became clear. This was goodbye.

 As I write this blog a lone strand of hair lays across my lap top taunting me.  What a tease. I suppose I won't be doing that for a while.  I think it knows I'm talking about it, maybe I should be careful what I say.   I've come back to edit this sentence and two more have joined it.  Buddies, just great.  My tresses fall out more steadily now and for the past two days I've almost clogged the shower drain.  It's everywhere... the sink, the bathroom wall, the kitchen counter and thankfully still on my head.  I can almost hear the ominous sound of taps playing in the distance.   Regardless of when it all finally goes or when I feel brave enough to shave it - it will most certainly be a poignant moment in time.

 I have faith we'll get back together one day after we've worked out our mutual issues with each other.  We'll both say I'm sorry and start out with a clean slate.  Given my new found appreciation for ANY hair that grows on my head coupled with the fact that it tends to grow back more beautiful after treatment will hopefully lay the foundation for a more healthy union.  And after all, some things are just meant to be.

The Abyss

It was a thick mahogany brown desk that stood between my fate and I.  The room, although warm, felt piercing and icy.  I sat, crippled in my chair, not from disease, but from fear of what I was about to hear...what I already knew in my heart to be true. I wanted to be anywhere else, but was forced be there in that moment to experience what was to be the most painful feeling of my life.  I was obligated by life itself to hear words as sharp as razors slice into my very flesh to the bone, to the core, to the soul.

When my doctor uttered the words, "you have cancer" I was sure she had to have been talking to and about someone else.  I wanted to look around me for the person I had been mistaken for but there was no one to be found.  That dagger was meant for me.  What I really heard was "you just died."  My heart broke at once and devastation painted my blood.  It was though I was told the love of my life had past away, that love of my life being me.   I felt as though I could faint, cry, scream, disappear and explode all at the exact same time.  And yet I could do nothing but stare at the floor motionless as if time stood still.  I eventually muttered "I think I'm going to faint" but never did.  Unfortunately, I remained fully conscious, fully aware and in utter and complete anguish.

My doctor then went on to say that it was some type of lymphoma and I remember thinking "at least it has a pretty name."  At least that suits me, I thought.  Lymphoma.   It had a nice ring to it.  She could have said a mouthful like epithelioid hemangioendothelioma.  It could have sounded much worse, that much I knew.  And then I felt guilty for thinking such haphazard thoughts.

Somehow I managed the courage to speak and asked her how advanced my condition was and even more bravely if I would even live.  Her face grew grim once more as all ounces of hope drained from my body and she said "we just don't have enough information yet" and "once it gets into the spleen..." as she trailed off.  I had heard enough.  Had she gone on I wouldn't have listened anyway.  My capacity for earth shattering news had been filled to the brim and was overflowing with a grey slimy sludge that pervaded all my senses.

As I look back now, two months later, I realize that I did die that day in a sense.  Nothing about my life has been the same since and I often don't remember the women I used to be before.  I am certainly not her now nor will I ever be again.  I have hope that once I put myself back together the person I come to find is ostentatiously far prettier both inside and out than a pretty name for cancer will ever be.

Not Just For 4-Year Olds

While in the midst of my two month cancer temper tantrum, something radical occurred.  I don't remember if it was mid kick or scream or during one of my symbolic body-hurlings to the floor.  Either way, it was pivotal.  Suddenly, it was as though I looked around and no one was really watching anymore.  The drama show had ended but someone forgot to tell me on their way out the theater doors.  Not even a mopping janitor was left or a bored sleeping patron sitting in the nosebleed section.  I was alone, I was tired... and I wanted to go home.  The four year old in me quickly wiped away the crocodile tears.  I hoped the reviews would be good as I did give quite the performance.  Oh, and wouldn't you know something else happened...I was happy.

Wallowing in my own misery for that long made me feel like such a has-been and I was finally ready to through in the towel.  I think the ceasing moment really came when someone flat out told me how negative I was.  He was so matter-of-fact I felt sorry for him and even worse for me.  He didn't know me all that well but what he did know of me was pretty crummy.  It made me scared to think that someone could perceive me in this light when I knew deep down inside that wasn't my true essence.  "But...but..." I stammered coming up with my best excuses for acting like a pouty child these past few months. "I have cancer and they pump me with drugs and  it's poison and I can't go out as much and sometimes I feel awful and I have bills I can't pay and I'm going to lose my hair & I have nothing happy to look forward to for so long and there are no guarantees and what if x,yz and woe is woe is woe is me."  I felt sheepishly small.  I realized I was entitled to every excuse I had stated and then some but that it made me look uglier than the cancer itself.

And so then and there I vowed to change one of the only things I could: my perspective.

La Grande Entree

I must preface this blog by stating that I have officially sold myself out.  I have cancer.  I have a blog. I even gave it a name...not the cancer, the blog.  Apparently I am more cliche than I thought.  At least I still have my good friend honesty to console me in these times of disappointment since dignity just plain walked out the door.  Honesty, being my most redeeming quality.  For the past three months all I've stated (matter of factly I might add) is how commonplace it is to suddenly find out that you have cancer and then start a blog.  To make matters worse half the time I told people of my diagnosis they encouraged me to do as such.  As if it were some cancer right of passage.  It felt more like a job I didn't want to accept and did I even apply?  A blog was much too demanding and too much of a burden for my new found cancer-life.  "What next?" I pondered.  Was I now expected to suddenly dust off those rose colored glasses I was apparently wearing and find the real meaning to life, become a highly wise and enlightened individual, start a charity, solve world peace and of course celebrate my new blog, perhaps the book and selling of the movie rights? No.  I didn't ask to be thrust into this cancer world I was in and I certainly wasn't going to enjoy my time in it.  Take that cancer!

I was determined NOT to be this kind cancer patient.  I'm exaggerating of course, but only slightly.   In fact, I still do not call myself a "cancer patient."  It just seems so unlike me, even still, healthy, wheat-grass shot taking, organic-vegetarian food-loving yoga girl, who can count on one hand the amount of Advils popped in a two year span.  How did this all happen? Hodgkins Lymphoma by the way.  No one knows.  It's 2013 and with all the medical and scientific advances made daily all I get is a shrug and 6 months of chemo.   Some say the mono virus may have something to do with it.  How I wish I never kissed that boy my freshman year in high school.  Was he the cause of my new awful fate?  It SO wasn't worth it in retrospect although if you asked the 15 year old me I might have said otherwise.  Hindsight is 20/20.  I figured I would throw in at least one actual cliche for good measure.

My mind has been combed over more times than most balding men comb in a lifetime.  Where did these tumors come from?  Why did my little lymphies get so confused and start replicating the bad guys.  I'm not so often confused, why the hell were they?  Maybe it was all a big conspiracy?  Did I mention the Monsanto Company too many times on Facebook?   Were they out to stop me, cancer being their method of choice?  Perhaps it was something more spiritual?  Some big lesson the Universe wanted me to learn the hard way down the long bumpy cancer road.  I admittedly did have a lot of negative thoughts this past year.  Could the stress have manifested itself into this ugly monster? Surely some others who belonged to the cancer free club had to have much more stress than me.  Or maybe it was from negative thoughts pummeled upon me by the Lauren naysayers of the world?  Sad, but true, there are a few. Perhaps my well water had been contaminated?  Did I live too close to a power plant?  Was some neighbor down the way showering his lawn with noxious dare-I say-it Monsanto products and was I the unlucky soul caught in the updraft?  Finding the cause still continues to be an exhausting and daunting task and truth be told, I may never get to know.  It did ultimately lead to a very extensive crystal collection but that's a story for another day and may even deserve its own blog.

I did and still do feel cheated. And deeply saddened.  I WAS already happy before my diagnosis, I WAS already spiritually inclined with super healthy eating habits to boot. I WAS already a good person with a good heart. I didn't need to learn more lessons, at least not this way.  I didn't even litter for goodness sake!  I even listened to all the anti cancer propaganda. "Drink green tea!" I did this - 5 cups a day!  "Eat broccoli, garlic, and plenty of antioxidants!" Yes, I did that! "Don't eat meat!" Five years a Vegetarian and counting! "Don't live by that power plant " It's confirmed, I didn't!

I did EVERYTHING right. Mostly... 90%.  I give myself an A- in the Human Category allowing for a few vices here and there.  Admittance number two, I DID smoke cigarettes socially. Capris.  Not anymore of course, lung toxicity is a high risk with the kind of poison they pump me into me during infusions.  However, my boyfriend will testify I never inhaled.  It's true.  We made the discovery one night back in the old smoking days several months ago.  Who would have known Clinton and I would have something in common after all.  And no, that doesn't make me a Republican.  And yes I did i did indulge in a glass of wine or two... or three or four but was someone else really counting? I sure wasn't, except for maybe now.   It was as if I was simply plucked from underneath my little happy tree and thrown into the pit of despair.  No warning, no heads up, not even an "I'm sorry, this is really going to suck." "Best wishes," perchance?  Not a chance.

It is with the same grave look of disdain I gave myself before writing this blog that I give again in finally accepting my illness, my cancer.  I have it for now, but I certainly don't have to like it.