Taking the Scenic Route

CT Scan this Friday

So, not a PET scan, just the CT scan (I don't know why,) Friday morning.

This will be the much anticipated scan to see how my body is responding to chemo.

I have a couple fantasies about this scan and the results I hope for.

The first fantasy, which I have since rejected, is that they would send me through and I would be so miraculously clean and clear that they would all be shocked and puzzled and would insist on sending me through again, just because they wouldn't believe I could be so healed after only three rounds of chemo.

But as I said, I've rejected this fantasy, because I came up with a better one.

In this version they send me through and I am so clean and clear that the technicians and my oncologist and all the doctors give each other knowing looks and high fives, but then they say they've seen it before, occasionally, in fact it's been "documented in some scientific findings" as a possible outcome, and then they give me a reprieve and say I don't need to do any more Taxotere, I'm done with chemo, just Herceptin for the rest of the year.

Because here's the deal, I know they wouldn't just let me stop chemo unless there's some data to back that up as a solid move.  And because I am so mentally tired of the side effects of the chemo, I'd happily trade in my planned miracle for a reprieve from the drugs.  Yeah, I'd love to have the chemo just stop.

I'd love to get the feeling and strength back in my fingertips.  I'd love to avoid the three more rounds of nausea and constipation and lack of taste buds and fatigue and worry about white cell counts and fevers.  I'd enjoy it if my hair maybe grew in a little thicker, though I am shamelessly accepting of my baldness (I forget about it often, yes, even in public.)  I'd love to know that I could spend the next ten weeks of summer doing something else, even if it's recovering from a surgery or two.  I would really love to have the strength to truly enjoy the summer with my kids and garden.

Wouldn't you?

So that's my fantasy: don't any of you actual nurses and oncologists burst my bubble on it okay?  That's what I'm going into the scanner thinking about Friday morning.

Fourth chemo treatment happens next Monday, June 1st.

The haircut

The only short haircut I have ever had was a shoulder length bob I got when I was seven.  What I remember is that my cousin Bobbi had gotten her hair cut, and I thought she looked really cute.  So I got mine cut too.  I remember regretting it pretty quickly, and have basically had long hair ever since.

So late last week, basically while I was sitting in the chair at the hospital, getting my body pumped full of chemicals, I decided I should get my hair cut short before it started falling out.  My thought was that it would be a way to prep the kids for the change, let them know that mommy was still mommy even if her hair was different.

So I had Bob arrange an appointment with Kim, the sweetheart stylist who has been cutting our hair since we moved to St Helens.  Her Salon Allure is a half a block down the road from Bob's office, and I first found her after Luke bolted from someone else's salon chair half way through a haircut. He was 4, he didn't like the other woman's attitude, but after we found Kim he agreed to try again: she was young and totally cute, treated him with respect and humor, AND introduced him to gels and colors for "cool" effects.

So Kim has seen the kids grow big these last two years, and we all trust her.  And I figured that if the kids saw me go to Kim they would understand it was just a haircut, nothing too weird.  Really, I was just getting a haircut for them, for the kids, helping them with the transition.  It was all just for the kids.

So we made an appointment for Thursday evening.
 

 

I look a little concerned here, don't I?

I sent Bob and his sister Lisa off to have pizza with the kids after they got me settled.  And Kim went to work.  I told her something short, like I would never dare do otherwise.

What I got was a great time with Kim, and a crazy new look.  I was in shock that night I think.  The kids were blase, calm.  "Mom got her haircut" "Like your cut mom" ho hum, eat more pizza.  Bob just about fell out of his chair when he saw me.  But big smile, so I knew it was okay.  But I was in shock.  I didn't know how to walk or hold my head or wear my coat.

By the time we got home, and took this next picture, I was exhausted.

Then I took sister-in-law Lisa out to Stacey's house to join an already underway jewelry party.  Girlfriends are an amazing tonic for uncertainty.  Girlfriend praise can get you through the scare of the new.

By the time I got home from that party I could smile for real about it.

And then the next morning I had my first short hair shampoo, and the weirdness started all over again.  But it's definitely something I'm getting used to fast.  Here's with it still wet:

I like that my hair is never in my face anymore, that it doesn't need much done to it.  Now I'm just trying to figure out how to deal with the bangs, and what various products DO to all of it....  And mostly just realizing that the whole idea of "for the kids" was a good ruse on myself.  I needed this cut for me, getting one part of the future baldness shock out of the way.