HAIR, MORE OR LESS

I was expecting to lose my hair; I just didn't know when. So before I started chemo treatments, we stopped by the American Cancer Society to get a free wig. When we got in there, they had a large supply of lovely wigs. I was very self-conscious about the whole idea. I already had a miss-shaped face due to nerve damage from a tumor in my ear. One side of my face sags like I've had a stroke, and has no movement. So I felt like my hair was my last stand for any beauty. I was afraid the wig would look different and the whole idea of losing my hair was depressing. But we selected a wig that looked very close to my own hair, and I put it on my head, and wore it home. We stopped by Cassie's, and she liked it. Then we went to a fish supper at school and several people commented on my new hair-do, not even knowing it was a wig. Some friends (who knew it was a wig) were there and complimented me. But being scrutinized as the center of attention is upsetting, sometimes. I just wanted to go home, hide behind closed doors, and have a good cry.
So I did cry a little, along with prayer, when I got home, and I felt better.

Well, it finally happened. Exactly two weeks, to the day, from my first chemo treatment, my hair started to turn loose. I guess it was thicker than I thought, because it took three days of combing, brushing, washing, and drying before it got too thin to wear in public. So I wore the wig to school, and felt very self-conscious all day. But people were kind; some even said I looked younger. By that evening, my hair was becoming every one's problem, as it began to lay around everywhere; the bathroom, the kitchen, the pillow, etc. So my husband and I discussed it, and decided we could take care of this problem at our own bathroom counter. I laid my head on my arms and he started cutting with the scissors. Then he continued with the electric razor. Every so often I'd look up into the mirror, and say, "THIS IS AWFUL! THIS IS AWFUL!" It began to look like an old man's weekly stubble. He was feeling bad about it, too, like he was doing something mean to me. But we both remained steady. Afterward, I cried in the shower, while I washed off the remnants, and he cried in the other bathroom while he vacuumed up hair. I felt like I'd been stripped of my last redeeming beauty. My daughter, Cassie, came by and finished the job later, by lathering it all up and shaving the stubble with a razor. So then it was smooth and the stubble no longer pulled every time the head covering was touched. Seeing yourself bald is really shocking. The face looks heavy and mean and pale. My husband aptly described this event as "a very humbling experience" for us both.

But I soon adjusted, and began to see some positive aspects to this dilemma. It's kind of nice to feel the water run over your scalp and know that it won't take 30 minutes to dry and style your hair. The wig remains fixed all the time, and it takes about 2 minutes to stick it on your head. You can pull clothes on over your head and then put on your hair! You don't mess up your hair while you're sleeping, because it is sitting on a Styrofoam head on the bathroom counter. You don't have such a problem with hot flashes, because your head is air-conditioned. Just throw that dew-rag over the side of the bed along with the socks you kicked off, and sleep on dear sister!

Of course, you lose other hair, too. Private hair, eye brows and lashes, and even leg hair. You don't have to shave the pits for a while (in fact, that doesn't come back as thick as it left). Some lashes may stay, and eye brows can be thickened with a cosmetic pencil. But leg hair is forever.

SIT IN THE GREEN CHAIR

The day after I got my medi-port/power-port installed, I went for my first chemo treatment. This was actually a pleasant experience. The first thing, Stacy, the nurse, said, was "Just sit in that green chair." Which green chair? There were 10 identical recliners, each with their own side-table, a medicine pole, and a small flat screen TV on a extension arm. All this in a big pleasant great-room with a huge sky-light. While we recieved treatment, we could get a snack and a blanket from the warmer, and even unplug our med pole and go down the hall to the bathroom. Eugene and Cassie had dropped me off, went and got me lunch, and then left again to get lunch and shop around until I was finished.

The nurses were very compassionate, (Smart, too. They were ordering and mixing the drugs. I mean, if you're gonna take life changing drugs, get an expert to mix them, right?) and they allowed us patients to be independent. They cared for us without spoiling us. The oncology room was a bright, hopeful place to be. Most of the patients were happy, and hopeful, not grumbling. (Of course, 'you always have the exception' said one nurse softly, as she slyly rolled her eyes around and toward a loud complaining woman. She was the only patient that I heard complain in the whole 3 month regimen. But I found out later that this was her third time around. When I asked her how long she would have to take treatments, she replied, "Till I die, I guess." I think this sort of experience gives you a whole new perspective on life and death ( and on being nosey into other people's lives.)

Sometimes, patients brought a friend or family member. If we were alone, sometimes we chatted with each other, comparing experiences, read a book, watched our little TVs, or even took a nap. Sometimes every chair was full, and sometimes only one or two. It took me about 3 hours from the time I had my blood drawn till the last drop of chemical was in my veins.

They gave me good 'piggy-back' (additional) meds to keep me from being nauseated, and steroids to keep my feet and legs from swelling. But some of these drugs dry out the contents of the gut, so if this ever happens to you, learn from my pain, and take fiber suppliments and drink lots of water. The time of discomfort is shortened if you know this and start ahead of time. Of course, you can be a stubborn experiential learner, and learn it on your own. Some people just insist on learning from their own pain.

CHEMICAL WARFARE

The very next day after getting the power port installed, I went for my first chemo therapy treatment. The doc said a new study was out that said breast cancer has better results without the Adriamycin, so my chemo regimen was cut down to four treatments, (one every three weeks) instead of eight. Yippee!



I heard a story awhile back about a couple who bought a house. There was a young tree by the front sidewalk. The wife, thinking 'trees; shade and comfort', started nurturing the tree. She watered it, fertilized it, and mulched it. It just looked worse and worse. One day when they came home, the husband thinking 'trees = leaves and work', reached down and pulled the tree out of the ground. The wife said, "What are you doing?! I've been babying that tree, trying to get it to grow! He replied, "I wondered why it wouldn't die. I've been spraying Round-up on it." That's where I'm headed now. Some nurture me while others poison me. I'm just glad no one can pull me up by the roots, because my roots are anchored in Jesus.

ANOTHER GREAT GIFT

Well, you might know it! After all the surgeries, tests, and doctors visits, I started getting 'letters' from all of them telling me how much money I owed! Doctor bills started coming in a steady stream. Of course, 'blessed insurance' is great; after the deductible. But what do you do till then? Just pay the fiddler, baby! Money came in from several sources; friends, churches, and one very special contributor, Cassie, our baby daughter. She had some money put back, and she brought it to me, and said, "I want to help you. I know you would do it for me, if I needed it, and you had it. So I have it, and you need it. I want to help." So, once again, love came through in a tangible way. Exactly enough came in to pay the deductible for 2007, and again for 2008. And once again, all the hairy, scary details are falling into place. God is good. All the time.

MORE TOOLS FOR THE FIGHT

Valentine's Day. A day for romance, right? The plan was, to get my power-port installed, and then Eugene and I were going out for supper, just the two of us. Well, what is it they say about the 'best-laid plans of mice and men. . . ?
To start with, I couldn't have my morning cappuccino, because I was having 'surgery' with anesthesia, about 11a.m. Secondly, there was a large backlog of patients there, because of an ice storm/power outage delaying treatments and tests for the last two days. We got there early, got checked in, and the the wait began. We waited, and waited, and waited some more. I kept thinking "I'm in the wrong place for surgery. What am I doing in radiology, for surgery?" Usually, it's my husband who is fretting over delays. But not today. We traded personalities today. He was cool as a cucumber, waiting patiently, all day. I was a fretting whine-bag. I paced the floor. I asked 'How much longer?' Then I read a magazine, and paced some more. Finally, they got me back into a curtained room, and on my own cot about 3 p.m. After another while, the nurse came in and gave me a shot of antibiotics and some 'don't care' sedative. After the medicine had time to kick in, they rolled me back to the ex-ray room. What? Ex-ray! For surgery? When I asked why I was in ex-ray for surgery, they said, 'This isn't surgery, it is a radiology thing. We do this procedure in ex-ray all the time.' So, they started in, telling me that this would be a little sting, and rubbing disinfectant and stuff. After they started poking and stinging and whatever else, (I was answering them back, for crying out loud!), she asked me if I was doing okay, and I said, "I'm still caring!" She laughed and gave me more sedative, and I was out. No one had told me how painful this installation of power port would be; only how wonderful the power port would be in the long run. And it was wonderful in the long run. It saved me a lot of needle pokes in the next few months. But the delay, along with the extra 'don't care sedative' cost me my romantic supper. I tried drinking juice and water, then eating soup, then half a banana, and lost it all. So we went home to bed and some pain meds, and hoped for a better day tomorrow; which, of course, came with the sunrise, and a good sweet cappuccino!

FEARFULLY AND WONDERFULLY MADE

About three weeks after the hysterectomy, I went to the oncologist to get the final plan for chemical warfare on this enemy. He explained it all and actually repeated the plan which had been put before me by the surgeon and the other oncologist from St. Louis. I was beginning to feel comfortable about the plan of action, since all the doctors were in agreement.
The doc sent me over to the hospital to get an ECHO cardiogram and blood work to make sure my blood counts were healthy and my heart was good to go, as one of the chemo drugs can damage the heart, if it isn't strong to begin with.
I laid there and watched my own heart beating faithfully, those supple little valves flapping back and forth, and was amazed at how well God made us. Those little parts of our body just keep on going, and we take them for granted, and really make them work. I remembered a friend who had died recently after a long illness, and I thought, "That's what takes us so long to die of disease, because God made us so well in the first place." We truly are "Fearfully and wonderfully made," just like the Bible says.

GIFT OF LOVE

In early February, I stopped by Beth's house, and she had gotten her long beautiful hair cut. I asked if she had given it to Locks of Love, because a friend of hers had done that before. She said, "No, it wasn't long enough." Then she handed me a box and said "I have an early Valentine's gift for you." I opened it, and it was her hair, all wrapped in bands, just like they do for Locks of Love. Tears came to her eyes, and she said, "I just thought that if you have to lose your hair, it might mean something for you to wear mine. " Then tears came to my eyes, and I was speechless. It was a very touching moment. Beth's primary love language surely must be giving gifts, as she does it in such a moving way.

I did research about having a wig made, as I would need one in a few weeks. But it turned out that we would need much more hair, and it was very expensive to have one made from real hair. Also, real hair wigs are much more high maintenance. So, I put the hair in a shadow box with Beth's picture, to remind me of her gift of love.

CATCHING A WHOPPER!

When the wraps came off after my hysterectomy, I discovered I'd been sewn up with a fishing line in a running stitch! The doc had twirled the loose ends around and taped them to my stomach. When I left the hospital, he said "Now be sure and don't be hanging that fishing line on any door knobs." The thought made me cringe! In a few days, the nurse removed it by untaping the ends and pulling it straight out with one big long swish! That was easy! I didn't even have time to say "Ouch!"
I guess since I've been stitched up with fishing line, my husband thinks he has caught himself a big wh0pper!

THE CRYING DAY

I have heard of women who said they cried for days after their hysterectomy. My emotions ran level for about 3 days, and then I woke up knowing "The crying day has come".



I have this wonderful place in my dining room where the sun light floods in through a south window all day. After my family had left for the day, I sat down in a chair by that window, uncovered my belly to the sun, and gently stroked the scars as I began thanking the Son for all the life that had come from me. Life that has brought pleasure and pain, laughter and tears, expectation and regrets, choices, privileges and responsibilities, seen growth and delays, brought patience and impatience, and wonderful surprises. Tears did flow. Not tears of depression, but reflective tears of thanksgiving, mixed with grief at my loss. But it occurred to me that God places ovaries in a woman like a time release capsule, to release the hormones, as they are needed to create a cycle in her to bring continuation of life to the world. When it has served its purpose, it is time for it to diminish and the next generation comes forth and repeats the whole wonderful plan again. I'm glad I got to be a part of the continuation. I have much to be thankful for. My children are all grown up and well in body and mind. They are productive, caring people who will contribute to the good of this world, and are a blessing to other people.



Life is a process, and we are all somewhere in that process. A 'crying day' is part of it. We can take comfort in the fact that the crying day will pass, and we'll be better for having gone through it. But we must remember that good, happy days will pass, too, so we should enjoy them to the fullest while they are here. Because we really don't know how long they will last and it could be a while before the next one comes. We should really praise God if we have several good days in a row! And most of the time we do, don't we? So no more whining! Not today.



I've often wondered, "Why do we have to wait till we're over fifty to learn this stuff? Are we slow learners, or what? And why do we expect our children to know it in their 20's, when we didn't get it till our fifties?" I helps me to have patience with young people when they think they know it all, while they don't even have a clue. I remember people in the former generation who exercised the wisdom to love me in my ignorance, knowing life would teach me in the long run. And life has really taught me some valuable lessons. So, laughing or crying, every generation lends a hand, and learns from, the generations on either side of them.

THE PATCHWORK QUILT

In the process of testing to see if more cancer could be detected, they found that I had big cysts on both ovaries; one the size of a baseball, and the other the size of a golf ball. Dr. Jacob, my gynocological oncologist, thought these weren't cancerous, but why not remove them? After all, at 54 years old, I didn't plan to have any more children, and the ovaries push estrogen, which feeds breast cancer. So, out the door they go. Since he was removing the ovaries, he said we should remove the whole works while we're at it, and not have to come back to complete the job in a few years. Because of the size of the cysts, and doctor didn't want to cut through them, this must be an old-fashioned, cut-you-open kind of surgery. So six weeks after my mastectomy, I was back on the surgery table again. I woke up in terrible pain, and when they asked me to get up and walk, I only made it to the door and had to get back in bed. But the nurses fixed me up with good pain meds, and I was on the mend. The cysts turned out to be benign (no cancer.) When we got home, we had more good food and visits from our wonderful network of ladies in the church.

A few days after my surgery, I caught a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I was beginning to look like a patchwork quilt, with all the seams running ever-which-way. But I thought, "So, who hasn't been comforted by an old patchwork quilt at some point in their life. Heavenly Father, you make me a warm comfort to people. You just stitch me up in any pattern you desire. I know the finished product will be something worth having."