Chemo is going pretty smoothly so far. I had to skip one treatment because my white blood cell counts were too low, but otherwise it has gone swimmingly. Fingers crossed: I will have followup scans in November to see where we're at.
On September 8, my dad passed away after several years of physical and mental decline. He suffered from a disorder known as Lewy Body Syndrome, which shares some of the physical debilitations of Parkinson's along with dementia.
My dad was always an upbeat guy, and even when he became demented he chose (I like to believe) to relive happy memories traveling the globe. Even though I'm glad for his release, losing a parent is a tough milestone. I feel blessed that the five of us were in California for Dad's 80th birthday in June.
June 18: My last visit with my daddy.
Who's the new girl?
So there I was, horrified at the prospect of losing my hair, and boy, was I in denial about that. (I've always been a little vain about the exclusivity of having reddish hair.) Some people don't lose their hair on my relatively mild taxol regimen, and I thought I'd squeak by.
Well, it started to fall out by the boatload and was threatening to look like witch hair. I had two choices: find a production of "Macbeth" and audition to be one of the three witches. ("Boil, boil, toil and trouble") or shave it off. A much more practical choice. Although the witches' brew idea does somehow play into the whole chemo thing. ("Cool it with baboon's blood. That will make it firm and good.")
Boo hoo, poor me, getting the buzz cut....until I looked down and saw ALL THAT GREY STUFF on the floor. Ick!
Frumpiness, be gone! Et voila, the new me. I have released my inner Ann-Margaret (now including long bangs.) In your face, cancer!
My pink brigade along with my wig "artiste," Bonnie.
Thank you all, dear readers. Your interest in my saga gives me strength.