Bad day gone wrong, redux

I'm trying this a second time. It is difficult because I poured it out yesterday and I don't feel the same way today. But here's an attempt. (I just reread it and it is obviously hurried.  Sorry). 

Thursday night I went to bed confident.  I had told a friend "I can do this."  Apparently, I changed my mind when my head hit the pillow.  At first it didn't make sense and then it did.  I associate sleeping with my hair.  The last thing I do everything night as I settle into bed is pull my hair off my neck so my neck lays bare on the pillow. 

Oh, and I just sobbed.  Buckets and buckets.  Poor Jim didn't see the atmospheric shift and couldn't figure out what happened.  That was Thursday night.

Friday morning was worse.  I woke, after a terrible night's sleep, sad and to a quiet house.  Jim and Miles had kindly (but that morning tragically) let me sleep.  But the quiet house just unnerved me.  I am generally a relatively quiet and solitary creature, but these days I need company in a way I never had before. 

I forced myself up and out of the house and made a deal with myself that I could cry until I got in the car.  I was late for work and hurried into the office. 

I had some sensitive things to take care of at the office.  They required some kindness and finesse and were wonderfully distracting.

By noon, it was time to leave the office.  My hair (removal) appointment was at three.  My work was done.  And the sadness was back. 

I did something that I'd just never do.  I asked a friend if she was home and if so, if I could come over for tea and a sandwich.  I am just not (or was not) someone who would ever ask someone to feed and care for me.  But I am so glad I did.

I went to lunch sad and empty in every way.  I left a different person.  An hour or two of company, food, the opportunity to bury some sentences and then talk about something else with friends was transformative.  It literallly turned a gray, dark and bad day of all bad days into a special afternoon. 

And despite the ugly job ahead, the day went wild and up from there.

I left lunch to meet up with Jim.  Jim had not had the benefit of a transformative lunch and was in a low functioning, deeply grieving, hard-of-hearing, nodding-but-not-with-you kindof way.  The two of us went to pick up our dear friend - who despite having had the hardest of day's herself - insisted on joining us for the hair appointment. 

This friend, who'd held our hands and coaxed us through the first chemo appointment, had slipped on an icy patch that morning, spent the better part of the day in the ER and returned home with several broken ribs.  But she was coming with us.  Period. 

We were this sorry, magical lot.  Me, monosyllabic.  Jim, riddled with grief at the day's work.  Friend, gingerly, carefully, uncomfortably, but for damn sure, guiding us along.

We got to the hair appointment and it was just comedy in the way that Spies Like Us was funny.  It was so awful in every way that we had a great time.  The salon was a riot.  The customers were a riot.  The absurdity of the head shave was a riot.    For the record, the man who helped us was a saint.  He does ten of these appointments a week, could not have handled us more carefully and professionally, and just made an ugly job seem elegant.  That is hard to do.

I guess the bottom line is this awful thing we set out to do was not so bad and actually became an incredible time with people that are important to me because we were comically all banged up but didn't take ourselves too seriously. 

And most brilliantly,  we punted.  After much discussion, we postponed Demi Moore's headshave for a pixie.  I'm currently a dead-ringer for Pink, Michelle Williams and Mia Farrow, but with my face, my body and one bad right breast.  The actual tradegy is that the clippers are still ahead of me (probably less than a week).  But, hey, why do all the hard work in one day when it can be spread over several. 

Incidentally, if you are wondering how impossibly hard it is to give up your hair, I'll tell you.  I wasn't strong enough. I brought it home with me in a ziplock bag.  I know this will seem odd to most.  I just needed it.  I need it in case my boys someday need something that is tangibly me.  My goal is proudly but easily toss this into the trash someday.  But not for a long (cancer-free) time. 

Anyway, I also brought home two wigs.  They look pretty good to me.  And I think that is saything something because I thought my (gray) hair was the bomb. 

With a couple of extra days since Friday under my belt, I can report on the boys.  This has been added to the insult to injury list in terms of Ian.  He is six months.  Recognition is a big developmental step and he is confused by this lady whose hair doesn't fall onto and tickle his face who happens to have his mother's voice.  Sadly, this isn't just me being sensitive.  I can see it in his expression.  I guess the upside is when I put on the wig I get the worlds biggest smile.  The downside: the pixie, the baldness, the bandana at home all currently appear ready to replace the world's biggest smile with a tepid one.  Add that to the fucked up things about cancer list.

Miles, however, has delivered.  The haircut looks "silly" to him.  But aside from that, I am a thousand percent momma.  And he likes the wigs too.  They look just like your hair, momma.  He even used the word blond.  Too late, buddy.  Don't try to butter me up,  now.

Two other points that I made in the original blog and should be noted here.  First, we ended our day in another friend's house after this person I am becoming asked her to feed and care for us.  Technically, I asked if we could play Cards Against Humanity and have a night of diversion and those dirty birds delivered.  Seriously, it was so nice to have some cancer-free fun with people that matter to us. 

Second, you people are amazing.  I just can't believe how you are supporting us.  Notes, and notes, and flowers, deliveries of favorite foods and well-considered kind things from the past, hand-and-beautifully made dangly earrings (made by the granddaughter of a grandmother who rocked dangly earrnings with her bald beauitful head), books to train my mind to influence and shape the world (that's right), water bottles, food deliveries.

To wrap it, I know this doesn't make sense, but I am so thankful.  I am thankful for Friday, which was this awful, spirit-crushing day that turned into a long, rich and enriched gift of day.  I don't know where it came from, but I am glad it found me.  And finally, I know I have cancer, but you people have made me fat and happy and I thank you. 

From the mouths of babes

One of the things I don't want to be is afraid.  

When I was in high school, a friend's Mom told me that there was only one way through difficult things in life - straight through the middle of them.   

This morning I went straight through the middle of something I've been dreading since December 10.

I jumped into the shower first thing.  When I got out, Jim, Miles and Ian were laying in bed and Jim was telling stories.  All casual while dressing, I asked Miles if he wanted to hear something silly.  He did.  So, I told him about the silly side effect of the medicine I'm taking.  "It makes my hair fall out."  I said I didn't want it to fall out, so I was just going to cut it short.  Like Ian's, short.

Miles did not think that was a good idea.  I circled back to what the medicine was going to do.  This time I pointed out that I had a lot of hair, so I would probably get a big lollipop.  And I could probably get him one too.  

Pleased with myself, I worked in a quick reference to Halloween and wigs and moved to close the discussion.  Wrong.  

Miles' social intuition kicked in.  He immediately said I don't think you should wear a wig to work, Mommy.  (What?  Who is talking about work?  Damn, double damn.)  Why not, Miles?  People will think you look silly.  (Here we go)  What should I say if people think I look silly, Miles?  You should tell them that isn't very nice.  (Fuck. Why did I think I was talking to him about lollipops?).  Okay, Miles, if they say I look silly I will tell them it isn't nice, but I think they will like my wig.  And scene, as they say.  

Just to fill out the screenshot, Ian and Jim were playing dead during the whole exchange.  

So, aside from being forced to follow his lead, a relatively easy discussion.  I was proud of myself for going straight through the middle of it.  

I go to work.  I have a good day.  I come home.  Play pirates.  

At bedtime, the hair comes back up.  Miles has some questions about the wig.  Where will I get it?  At a store.  A wig store?  Yes.  What color will it be?  The same color as my hair is now.  Wait for it…

Gray?  He asks.  Gray?  Aghast.  Horrified.  Betrayed.  Speechless.  I mean, I think my blond hair is the defining aspect of my identity.  Gray?  He is lucky Christmas is over.  

Incidentally, I'm on a bit of a high right now.  I'm through the first course of treatment.  I know I can handle it.  The head shave is ahead of me, and the vast majority of women with breast cancer rank losing their hair as harder than losing a breast, so I expect it will be a bad day.  But hey, since it is GRAY, it might as well go.  

Cold and bad night

I know it is cold and there are people without heat, but I had an awful night. I said have fortitude but I do not have a stomach for pain. Last night was humbling for me and probably scary for Jim. We had two sleeping boys, one sobbing Mom and one Dad to manage it all. I was a bit of a mess. Securing stronger drugs are the day's top priority.

You went to The Work today

There are so many good quotes in today's blog. I am starting with one from a favorite of mine. After the dinnertime, bedtime scramble, Jim looked over at me and said "Its great you went to the The Work today." This man could tell you the status of a microeconomic issue anywhere in the world, but doesn't seem familiar with my place of employment. Anyway, I think Jim was being complimentary about my energy-level. Jim explained that due to his approaching AARP eligibility, he has a new tendency to add articles before nouns.

More quotes. I have no idea what childbirth feels like, having had both of mine the "elegant" (surgeon's quote) way - cause thats the word I'd use to describe not being able to feel my legs for two days - but I'm having pains that feel like intense, bone-racking contractions. Or at least that was how I described them to my nurse with inappropriately attractive hair for her profession.

No, I am not in labor. It is just that as a "young, healthy woman" (the long-locked nurse) this is the bone marrow, white blood cell growth goodness.  A few weeks ago, bone marrow was something on a menu.  Now it is a spacer between my teeth for braces except rammed into my backbone and hips.  So, not sure about childbirth but this hurts like hell.  Truthfully, I did have the opportunity to spray some cooling gel for a very good friend shortly after she had her first child so I do know that process appeared to involve some pain, too.

Back to The Work. I dropped Miles off at school and went to work. I got to talk about payroll, staffing, separations, 2014 planning and exit interviews. Hallelujah. Seriously. It was so nice to be there. I also had the chance to talk to some of the team folks today.

I focus on people in my job (just in case Jim wondered).  The professional team people are people experts as well but their focus is on the minds and the bodies.  It was great to talk to them and have their help thinking of my game of strength, endurance, agility and mental toughness.  I appreciate the help and concern.

This paragraph is for all the mommas, papas, uncles and aunts (because it will make them happy).  I was asked about what changes I've made to my diet.  Sadly, all changes thus far have been for the worse.  White, mushy, undifferentiated foods look delicious to me.   The importance of nutrition was discussed.    Vitamins were delivered.  Appreciated, understood, noted.  No need to call and tell me to take the vitamins, Mom.

Last night, Jim provided a tour of apple tv, including a lengthy system update and discussion of features. Jim says it is too early to say this but I'm keeping it real. I am so over the tv in the bedroom.  And in case it was lost in the quotes, lots of pain tonight.

The hungry caterpillar

I moved through a slow, inversion yoga practice Saturday. By chance, I got a warm bask of sunshine in the chest opening poses from the third floor bath window. My practice included headstands and handstands. Not terrible for a rusty yogi. These are the days I really would like to know that I'm going to live. I can see how I'll manage, cope and recover. But I'd like to know I'm going to live. For the first few weeks, I thought of this process as a reverse butterfly - moving back through the coccoon to the caterpillar. I am starting to like the visualization that it is Saturday (it's just a stomachache). The next day is Sunday again and all I need is a few green leaves and a few weeks tucked away while a (amazing/medical/magical/life-altering) transformation happens.

Honesty is mostly overrated, agreed?

There is always the question of how honest to be on this blog.

Let me say I'm trying to be as honest as I can.  I write for me.  I write to express, actually to expel how I'm feeling.  It is equivalent to pushing the breath out of the lungs.  When I push these thoughts and emotions out, there is room for more.  It literally makes it easier for me to breathe.  Maybe I'm training myself for bigger gulps.  (Please Lord, big juicy gulps of something better than cancer). 

The caveat to my honesty is, of course, I am also trying to save some of my and my family's dignity.

For example, when I said the other day the steroids aren't charm enhancers, don't you just know that there was probably a stretch of shouting, sobbing and slightly less than reasonable discussion between Jim and me that night.  Tonight, it seems like that might have been the steroids.  The other night, I could have reached another conclusion that probably would have involved a number of expletives.  But, hey, I love an expletive. 

So today's honesty, the good news is I must feel better because I am sad in a quiet and lonely way I haven't been to date.  I'm going to take this as a positive sign.   You can never feel properly sorry for yourself if you are really miserable. 

The chemo symptoms are lessening.  I went out with a friend this afternoon.  I ate an impressive amount of food today.  I restarted my solo yoga practice.  Unfortunately, my woe is me is still swollen. 

From my honesty, to Jim's.  Jim, as you know, is the sparkle and spontaneity to my plodding and pragmatism.  One of the things that makes me the saddest about this damn diagnosis is how it affects him.  So many of the best things about Jim are foiled by this fucking disease.  His endearing "let's go" "you'd love"" the "how about?" the "why don't we"are all on hold.  I told you my woe was swollen. 

So, I'm sad today, but better.  Nausea (spelled correctly because I finally found the spellcheck) is better.  The snow was nice.  Snowangels were made.  Ian chatters and chatters.  We had Lou Malnati's pizza for dinner.  Jim is having a beer.  The Wizards are losing, but it is only the third quarter.  And there is a tv in my bedroom, which as I already noted, is awesome. 

This is not sugar coated Friday

I have had some requests for sugar coated Fridays to compliment the keeping it real Tuesdays. Not today. Especially, because I am not really sure what day it is.

I'm ok. The chemo is my friend. Sometimes, friends are hard on you. I'm not too sick, mostly I feel somewhere between the day of a bad flu and the day after a bad flu.

Monday had a fair amount of intense nasaeu. Tuesday only had a few of the moments when I had to stop immediately, wherever I was, and get my head on the floor to keep the world from spinning. Today was mostly woozy and lethargic. I mean I wouldn't say it is fun, but I can handle it.

The steroids. Well, they aren't really charm enhancers either.

On the upside, I did feel well enough to wrestle and tickle Miles long enough for him to remember who's the boss kiss-getter(mom), baby (Ian), tickler (Miles) and tricker (dad).

Actually, ironically, this New Year's day feels like a lot of others - just the symptoms are driven by a different intoxicant:). Happy New Year.