chemo

This is a big week! It’s my last week on medical leave and it’s my first week of chemo!

Since surgery, there has been so much anticipation leading up to this phase of my treatment. It’s fair to say I had the same questions as all of the supportive people around me: When will it start? How long will it last? Will I be able to work? And the question no one wanted to ask but I couldn’t stop wondering: Will I lose my hair?

So, I start chemo tomorrow, Thursday, May 16. My treatment plan is AC-T (Adriamycin and Cyclophosphamide followed by Taxol) and it will last for 16 weeks total, with infusions every other week.

Just as I felt with surgery, the sooner we do it, the sooner it’s over. But this isn’t the same as surgery – it’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Surgery was one procedure that lasted about 2 hours and it has taken four weeks to recover to the degree where I can go back to work next week. It has been traumatic and I’ve come to terms that I will never feel the same physically, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. However, I never felt “sick.” Yes, there have been the moments where I needed help but the strangers I’ve asked to hold doors for me don’t know I have cancer. I secretively think the girl at DryBar thought I had a run-of-the-mill boob job when I asked her to be gentle because I just had surgery in my chest region.

Ultimately, I felt that I chose surgery. I felt that I made the decision to do what I had to do – lumpectomy vs. mastectomy vs. double mastectomy. And while surgery took away so much, it gave me freedom from cancer.

When you are presented with chemo, it’s more of an instruction or order than a choice. It’s also a long-term commitment. And it reminds you that you may still have cancer. I’ve been treated locally and we hope it’s all been removed, however since I’m triple negative, there is a chance some of those cancer cells broke off and spread and we need to systematically eradicate anything that may still be in my body.

Chemo has the ability to make you feel and look “sick.” I can partially wrap my head around the flu-like symptoms, the low-lying nausea, the bone pain. It’s the obvious elephant in the room that I grapple with. THE HAIR! And the anticipation of losing it.

As soon as I was diagnosed with breast cancer, “cold cap” was one of the first things people recommended I look into. It’s a medical device/cap worn during chemo that is meant to freeze the scalp in order to preserve your hair. I heard success stories and I told people I would be fine when wigs were recommended.  

But eventually, I dug further and spoke to women battling cancer now, the MSK social worker, nurses and my doctor. I learned the facts (these are very topline and vary depending on the chemo protocol): there’s a 30% success rate, it’s expensive, it’s another 90 minutes added to treatment time and it’s obviously COLD!

I will be honest, I don’t want to lose my hair because I don’t want to look sick. And it’s not about strangers on the street and in public settings. It’s about the people closest to me. I don’t want my mom and my friends to worry about my wellbeing. I don’t want pity. And I don’t want David to have to deal with another physical change to my body – or be the punching bag when the anxiety of it all kicks in.

I spoke to someone today and she said something so funny yet true. “By the end of chemo, we aren’t supposed to be sick anymore but that’s when we look the worst.”

But at the end of the day, hair grows back. Why was I so eager to have my natural breasts removed but so extremely scared to lose my hair?

So, I’ve been vacillating back and forth for a week on what to do. I guess when I comes down to it, choosing the cold cap creates a bit of a grey area for me. Regardless of the money and time, I’m struggling with the fact that I don’t know if the cap will work for me and I can’t handle the unknown. Literally, I want it all – or nothing at all (shot out to O-Town) and I don’t want to be in a situation where I can’t manage my own expectations. I’m not up for disappointment. I want all my hair as it is or I want to shave my head when the time comes.

Well, there’s nothing like waiting until the last possible minute to make a decision. Earlier this afternoon, I called and cancelled the cold cap services. Considering conversations I’ve had with my cancer chicks and non-cancer chicks, I think it’s the best decision for me. But by no means do I think that’s the right decision for everyone. My decision was also based on other factors including my hair thickness as well as my aversion to cold. I do know the latter sounds quite wimpy. But that’s just me.

And personally, this decision has helped me come to terms with the fact that I’m starting chemo tomorrow.

And oddly enough, what it might feel like sitting in the waiting room.

I spent a good amount of time over the past three years in waiting rooms at Penn for both my dad and myself. I internalized narratives while we would sit and wait. I convinced myself that my dad was the healthiest sick person there and he had superpowers no one else had. At the same time, when I was waiting to see my oncologist for screenings, I was shouting inside – “I’m not sick! It’s a precaution!”

So last Thursday, when I waited to meet my oncologist, it hit me that I wasn’t the caregiver and I wasn’t there for a precautionary appointment. I was there because I was the patient. I looked around and saw women in various stages of their treatment and I had to remind myself that I do have cancer and while surgery is over, there’s still quite a journey ahead. 

At the end of the day, I don’t know how chemo will affect me but what I do know for sure is that everyone in the waiting room is a superhero, whether for themselves, their caregiver or just another woman in the waiting room looking for some hope – with hair or without!