Things Went Good on Chemo #6
My white blood count has drifted back down. It's at 1.6, down from the last treatment's 2.4, but still above the 1.5 cutoff. But the last drug I get, the D.T.I.C., didn't burn this time. (I get it more diluted now.) But I'm wicked tired today, that fatigue thing. I foresee a day of bad telelvision and a nap. Tough life, I know.
I can't help thinking that if I was getting radiation, I would be three-quarters of the way through instead of halfway. But I'll grit my teeth and stay the course unless the doctor feels that radiation is the better option.
I've started wearing my wig in public a lot. Not the fun one, but the innocuous one which makes me look a little frumpy and middle-aged but normal. I don't like it. I don't like being frumpy and middle-aged looking. I can stand middle-aged, it's the frumpy that bothers me. But I do like not being taken for the cancer lady or the dyke. As best I can guess, I'll have hair again in September.
It's so funny, the hair thing bothered me when it was falling out because it looked so utterly horrible--long strands of black-gray hair covering a pale scalp. But I didn't mind once it was shaved. It's only now that I become more and more self-concious about it and the whole hat and wig routine. I'm thinking about getting another wig. One that is less an approximation of my hair (the approximations tend to be frumpy because I have short curly hair, and most short curly-haired wigs approximate the look of the woman who 'gets her hair done once a week.' When I got fitted, one of the things the wig lady and I looked for is a style that didn't look like the kind most often picked by sixty-year olds.) Wigs are expensive, though, and this one wouldn't be covered by insurance.
The other thing is that my doctor said it was okay if I dieted. So I will. Not with any real intense seriousness, mind you, but it's easy to gain weight when someone tells me to coddle myself. It's also easy to gain weight when I am either tired or hurting--comfort food. Right now the 14 day cycle works that I have treatment on day 1, feel toxic and weird and tired for five days, then the pain in my arms hits for another five days, and then I feel pretty good, if a bit wiped out. Then the next treatment. Oddly enough, the predictability helps. The illusion of control.
Sorry I'm whining these days. Maybe it's time for more wig pictures.
I can't help thinking that if I was getting radiation, I would be three-quarters of the way through instead of halfway. But I'll grit my teeth and stay the course unless the doctor feels that radiation is the better option.
I've started wearing my wig in public a lot. Not the fun one, but the innocuous one which makes me look a little frumpy and middle-aged but normal. I don't like it. I don't like being frumpy and middle-aged looking. I can stand middle-aged, it's the frumpy that bothers me. But I do like not being taken for the cancer lady or the dyke. As best I can guess, I'll have hair again in September.
It's so funny, the hair thing bothered me when it was falling out because it looked so utterly horrible--long strands of black-gray hair covering a pale scalp. But I didn't mind once it was shaved. It's only now that I become more and more self-concious about it and the whole hat and wig routine. I'm thinking about getting another wig. One that is less an approximation of my hair (the approximations tend to be frumpy because I have short curly hair, and most short curly-haired wigs approximate the look of the woman who 'gets her hair done once a week.' When I got fitted, one of the things the wig lady and I looked for is a style that didn't look like the kind most often picked by sixty-year olds.) Wigs are expensive, though, and this one wouldn't be covered by insurance.
The other thing is that my doctor said it was okay if I dieted. So I will. Not with any real intense seriousness, mind you, but it's easy to gain weight when someone tells me to coddle myself. It's also easy to gain weight when I am either tired or hurting--comfort food. Right now the 14 day cycle works that I have treatment on day 1, feel toxic and weird and tired for five days, then the pain in my arms hits for another five days, and then I feel pretty good, if a bit wiped out. Then the next treatment. Oddly enough, the predictability helps. The illusion of control.
Sorry I'm whining these days. Maybe it's time for more wig pictures.
posted by Maureen McHugh at 10:45 AM
2 Comments:
"It's my blog and I'll whine if I want to."
Go with the whining now, and save the wig pictures for when you're feeling annoyed with us.
We still have to get pictures of Shelly, Adam , and Pat in the wig.
Also, there's a whole other wig to try out.
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