I've had a series of silent panic attacks this weekend....on top of the nausea and weakness. This particular bit of information I just figured out (I've been in a fog this weekend and only now seem to be emerging).
I panicked when my nephew refused to see me without hair, when I felt my mood spiral downwards, when I looked at myself in the mirror, etc etc.
I understand perfectly well what the chemo is doing to my body and I can even articulate my current (and any future) physical change to the world with full graphic details. But somewhere, deep down, all this is taking its toll on me.
I feel trapped, caged, limited, old and robbed of my own self.
One of my colleagues, over a lunch of lamb, fries and salad, related the cancer experience of one of his friends. The patient had breast cancer, went through the treatment, the cancer went into remission, but resurfaced some years later. The second time around, she refused treatment. It was too hard.
And now I understand why. I am still early in this game but I can tell you this much: tonight, for the first time since being diagnosed with cancer, I prayed for there not to be a second time for me.
This one time, I FEEL I can do it. But anything more would be beyond my capacity too.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Exposed skull
Hey Woman,
You are a twit! Have all those biology lessons vanished from your brain?
No hair means you will feel cold, and colder at night.
Don't blame me for tossing and turning all night long if you feel cold. Just get your bum out of bed and find me a cap.
New in town,
Your exposed skull.
You are a twit! Have all those biology lessons vanished from your brain?
No hair means you will feel cold, and colder at night.
Don't blame me for tossing and turning all night long if you feel cold. Just get your bum out of bed and find me a cap.
New in town,
Your exposed skull.
Friday, 8 April 2011
Chemo #2 - The ice is melting
I had my second chemo today. The day started early with blood test at 8 am, awaiting the results of my FBC, followed by the doctor's review, his green light to proceed with Chemo #2 and finally the lying around for 2.5 hours welcoming those magic chemicals that world leaders should really be paying attention to!! .
Alhamdulillah, Chemo No 2 was not too bad. It was actually better than No 1. simply because I was less nervous. I knew the drill and went about it a bit mechanically.
Now the absolute highlight of the day was the meeting with The Wolf (my taciturn onco). The ice is melting people! He did not make small talk with me (maybe that's a bit much to expect from him) or look up at me for longer than was absolutely necessary, but hey, he asked about my 1st chemo experience and gladly prescribed some solupred instead of prednisone when I told him how the 1 sec presence of prednison on my tongue can get me to throw up! He also did some poking around on my breast and underarm area and seemed satisfied with both.
Note to Breast: Darling, please overlook all this attention....we have one final hurdle coming next week IA, then this relationship will be on the mend and we can get rolling in the hay!
Unlike hospitals in the 1st World, hospitals on this island are a rather depressing sight and feel. An example in case: chemo treatment is done in only one hospital here and the treatment room is housed in an old stone building and contains 11 beds that are so close to one another that you can see the toes of the next patient peeping out from under sheets! There is not a chair for any accompanying relative/friend or personalised attention as is the case in private clinics. Only a tv set on low volume and fans can count as decoration and they do their best to detract from the drab atmosphere.
I am not complaining here. Just a statement (my opinioned self taking over). See, hospitals here will provide the same goods (i.e drugs and all) as clinics but minus the service. On the other hand, clinics will provide the whole package in exchange for 60,000+ Mauritian Rupees (the kind of cash I don't want to transfer to any corporation anymore!). That was a choice I had to make and I picked the peeping toes. So I'll live.
See, I try to rationalise and see the brighter side of hospital chemo. And I did see it. Alhamdulillah. By doing some people watching. The beds closest to me today had an old man who looked quite ill, a 40+ woman who pretty much kept to her side away from us all and a white gentleman who spoke impeccable french.
And that sufficed to put things in perspective. WE ARE ALL IN IT. The young, the old, the white, the brown (and all shades in between), the male, the female, the well-off, the poor.
It was humbling to see that we live in a mixed bag of cancer.....a bit like those fancy nuts I used to buy in the US!
Alhamdulillah, Chemo No 2 was not too bad. It was actually better than No 1. simply because I was less nervous. I knew the drill and went about it a bit mechanically.
Now the absolute highlight of the day was the meeting with The Wolf (my taciturn onco). The ice is melting people! He did not make small talk with me (maybe that's a bit much to expect from him) or look up at me for longer than was absolutely necessary, but hey, he asked about my 1st chemo experience and gladly prescribed some solupred instead of prednisone when I told him how the 1 sec presence of prednison on my tongue can get me to throw up! He also did some poking around on my breast and underarm area and seemed satisfied with both.
Note to Breast: Darling, please overlook all this attention....we have one final hurdle coming next week IA, then this relationship will be on the mend and we can get rolling in the hay!
Unlike hospitals in the 1st World, hospitals on this island are a rather depressing sight and feel. An example in case: chemo treatment is done in only one hospital here and the treatment room is housed in an old stone building and contains 11 beds that are so close to one another that you can see the toes of the next patient peeping out from under sheets! There is not a chair for any accompanying relative/friend or personalised attention as is the case in private clinics. Only a tv set on low volume and fans can count as decoration and they do their best to detract from the drab atmosphere.
I am not complaining here. Just a statement (my opinioned self taking over). See, hospitals here will provide the same goods (i.e drugs and all) as clinics but minus the service. On the other hand, clinics will provide the whole package in exchange for 60,000+ Mauritian Rupees (the kind of cash I don't want to transfer to any corporation anymore!). That was a choice I had to make and I picked the peeping toes. So I'll live.
See, I try to rationalise and see the brighter side of hospital chemo. And I did see it. Alhamdulillah. By doing some people watching. The beds closest to me today had an old man who looked quite ill, a 40+ woman who pretty much kept to her side away from us all and a white gentleman who spoke impeccable french.
And that sufficed to put things in perspective. WE ARE ALL IN IT. The young, the old, the white, the brown (and all shades in between), the male, the female, the well-off, the poor.
It was humbling to see that we live in a mixed bag of cancer.....a bit like those fancy nuts I used to buy in the US!
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Send Off
Not much to write home about today.
Ramdom thoughts from no particular location:
Ramdom thoughts from no particular location:
- A delicious Bouillon Mee Foon with "Heart" and the Mascott is the perfect send-off before chemo;
- A clean bathroom requires that I get dowm on all fours with a hand mop to pick up all the hair that I have shed lately;
- Waterworks therapy (letting my tears flow freely for a few minutes daily) works like magic;
- I have pointy ears. Like elves. I would have been useful had it been Xmas time!
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
Going, going.....gone!
I'd be lying if I said the whole losing hair business is not affecting me. It does affect me. That's a fact.
To try and alleviate this traumatic phase, I had my head shaved today. So technically speaking, my hair is now gone.
How do I look? There is only one word to describe me now...vulnerable. Not ugly. Not beautiful. Just vulnerable.
Amy, in one of her posts, related how losing your hair makes you FEEL you have cancer. I confirm this. I now feel I have cancer.
The trouble with this disease is it is 20% physical and 80% mental (my assessment). And I am using percentages for a specific reason here. I take that from my surgeon. See, he likes to throw figures at me. According to him (and I trust science in general), I had X% risk of developing breast cancer to start with, there is Y% chance that I will be cancer-free after treatment, Z% probability that it may recur in the other breast, and so on and so forth.
Alhamdulillah, I am not overly concerned by any of these numbers. I am not trying to beat the maths here. That's just me.
But to come back to the physical/mental ratio, I place this disease in the grey zone where if it does not kill you physically, it can kill you mentally.
Cancer consumes you. It does not allow you to forget. It clamours for your attention every single day. There is hardly any respite from it. Gravity on Planet Cancer is stronger than on earth, my friends.
If your body will deal with the cancer in the way it can (aided or not by medicine), it is mostly in your mind that the cancer will cause most of the damage.
So to survive this onslaught, you draw on every fibre of mental stamina that you possess. Because at the end of the day, only your inner force can force you to lift your head and look at your body minus certain parts reflected in a mirror, only your soul can absorb the shock of possibilities being written off your future forever, and only your beating heart can accept that you will die.
To try and alleviate this traumatic phase, I had my head shaved today. So technically speaking, my hair is now gone.
How do I look? There is only one word to describe me now...vulnerable. Not ugly. Not beautiful. Just vulnerable.
Amy, in one of her posts, related how losing your hair makes you FEEL you have cancer. I confirm this. I now feel I have cancer.
The trouble with this disease is it is 20% physical and 80% mental (my assessment). And I am using percentages for a specific reason here. I take that from my surgeon. See, he likes to throw figures at me. According to him (and I trust science in general), I had X% risk of developing breast cancer to start with, there is Y% chance that I will be cancer-free after treatment, Z% probability that it may recur in the other breast, and so on and so forth.
Alhamdulillah, I am not overly concerned by any of these numbers. I am not trying to beat the maths here. That's just me.
But to come back to the physical/mental ratio, I place this disease in the grey zone where if it does not kill you physically, it can kill you mentally.
Cancer consumes you. It does not allow you to forget. It clamours for your attention every single day. There is hardly any respite from it. Gravity on Planet Cancer is stronger than on earth, my friends.
If your body will deal with the cancer in the way it can (aided or not by medicine), it is mostly in your mind that the cancer will cause most of the damage.
So to survive this onslaught, you draw on every fibre of mental stamina that you possess. Because at the end of the day, only your inner force can force you to lift your head and look at your body minus certain parts reflected in a mirror, only your soul can absorb the shock of possibilities being written off your future forever, and only your beating heart can accept that you will die.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Urgent - Email addresses needed
Bad mood it is on Planet Cancer. Although it's been a reasonably good day, I have, underneath all the purple I wore today, felt quite blue.
My scalp itches, my mirror is showing me someone I don't really think is me, I feel fat and I have just enough energy to shuffle myself around the house.
And it occured to me that world leaders are stupid. All that money spent on weapons and warfare can be so easily saved.
Here's how. You have enemies, you want to stop them from doing you any harm, then just feed them some chemo drug. They will start throwing up all over the place, develop bad constipation and lose body hair (and personal confidence) and generally feel sufficiently crappy about themselves and the entire world that you no longer appear on their radar! It's that simple.
I must email Obama or Osama..or maybe both!
My scalp itches, my mirror is showing me someone I don't really think is me, I feel fat and I have just enough energy to shuffle myself around the house.
And it occured to me that world leaders are stupid. All that money spent on weapons and warfare can be so easily saved.
Here's how. You have enemies, you want to stop them from doing you any harm, then just feed them some chemo drug. They will start throwing up all over the place, develop bad constipation and lose body hair (and personal confidence) and generally feel sufficiently crappy about themselves and the entire world that you no longer appear on their radar! It's that simple.
I must email Obama or Osama..or maybe both!
Monday, 4 April 2011
Is there a secret barber in you?
I woke up this morning with my mind made up. I wanted to cut my hair today i.e reduce its length from the 7 or so centimetres to about 1 cm. It simply could not wait any longer.
Now, since the onset of hair loss on thursday, I have been planning to go to the salon to have the job done. My 2 sisters have both volunteered for the job, but somehow upon waking up today, I decided that the right man for the job is no other than my dad. And I can tell you, I made the right decision.
If you don't know my dad, let me give you a quick picture of him. He is 72 years old, the quiet type, ever-ready for service and happy to live in simplicity.
The news of me having cancer was hard on both my parents For my mom (a former nurse) it became easier with time since she is somewhat familiar with cancer treatment and its side effects. For my dad, it was harder I think. The information on steps of the treatment had to be dosed rightly and often repeated several times just so it would sink in slowly in him.
Somehow, his brain could not fully wrap itself around the concept of me getting bald (hell, my brain is still having a hard time with this one!!!). We would talk about it, but up until I actually started losing hair, I think he was skeptical about the whole thing and hopeful that it would not happen!
So this morning, I purposely asked him to cut my hair and to prove the necessity of it, I took him outside and ran my fingers through my hair. Sure enough, a nice little pile of hair came off and he looked at it a bit quizzicallly.
It took just that to convince him that the moment had arrived. We then went about setting up a place for the deed.
We picked the living room. My mom brought an old bed sheet and my father sharpened the only pair of scissors he could find. He then proceeded to chop chop chop.
Dear God! If at the beginning, I felt a bit teary, by the end of it I was bursting with laughter! My dad found himself ENJOYING cutting my hair!!!! He was so pleased with the end result that he said he might consider turning into a barber!
So now, with my prisoner cut (which incidentally looks good -except for the odd patches where the scissors went too deep), I am delighted and relieved that my father is part and parcel of this joyride called cancer. Alhamdulillah!
Ownership is important and sometimes, having a secret barber in you helps just that little bit more :)
Now, since the onset of hair loss on thursday, I have been planning to go to the salon to have the job done. My 2 sisters have both volunteered for the job, but somehow upon waking up today, I decided that the right man for the job is no other than my dad. And I can tell you, I made the right decision.
If you don't know my dad, let me give you a quick picture of him. He is 72 years old, the quiet type, ever-ready for service and happy to live in simplicity.
The news of me having cancer was hard on both my parents For my mom (a former nurse) it became easier with time since she is somewhat familiar with cancer treatment and its side effects. For my dad, it was harder I think. The information on steps of the treatment had to be dosed rightly and often repeated several times just so it would sink in slowly in him.
Somehow, his brain could not fully wrap itself around the concept of me getting bald (hell, my brain is still having a hard time with this one!!!). We would talk about it, but up until I actually started losing hair, I think he was skeptical about the whole thing and hopeful that it would not happen!
So this morning, I purposely asked him to cut my hair and to prove the necessity of it, I took him outside and ran my fingers through my hair. Sure enough, a nice little pile of hair came off and he looked at it a bit quizzicallly.
It took just that to convince him that the moment had arrived. We then went about setting up a place for the deed.
We picked the living room. My mom brought an old bed sheet and my father sharpened the only pair of scissors he could find. He then proceeded to chop chop chop.
Dear God! If at the beginning, I felt a bit teary, by the end of it I was bursting with laughter! My dad found himself ENJOYING cutting my hair!!!! He was so pleased with the end result that he said he might consider turning into a barber!
So now, with my prisoner cut (which incidentally looks good -except for the odd patches where the scissors went too deep), I am delighted and relieved that my father is part and parcel of this joyride called cancer. Alhamdulillah!
Ownership is important and sometimes, having a secret barber in you helps just that little bit more :)
This weekend
This weekend has seen me socialising quite a bit....which inevitably will translate into me going back to being a recluse tomorrow. I am so looking forward to that :)
Now, what exactly did I do? Let's see...visiting my favourite Dr., laughing at the antics of OJM, pickling some love with the 3 monkeys, re-watching Zee TV Awards (OK, this does not count as socialising), attending a beautiful prayer ceremony followed by yummy briani and begging hugs and kisses from Rayyaan. That last bit is something that I do shamelessly whenever the little man is around...well since he is more interested in my phone than in me, I figured it's quite fair to make bargains like 10 kisses in exchange for him being allowed to play games on my phone, or hugs in exchange for whatever it is he wants, etc.
Overall, Alhamdulillah, it's been a good weekend. I am thousands of hair lighter on my head, 5 scarves richer and hopefully a few degrees wiser (what with me getting older by the day and all!!!).
Random thoughts from Planet Cancer:
(a) The hair falling bit is quite an experience! I can actually feel the roots of my hair hurting!!! Not a pleasant sensation, but quite amazing given its newness...The annoying part is to have to pick up all the hair from every surface and constantly brushing my clothes so that the fallen hair does not tickle me!
(b) Am I imagining it or my nails have started growing black? A week or so should confirm this.
(c) I must restrict the verbal haemorrhage (some call it diarrhea) that I tend to inflict on others just because suddenly life looks beautiful to me :) Alhamdulillah.
(d) Cancer is such a good teacher! It's giving me a crash course on myself....tough love style! I'll remember to be grateful!
Now, what exactly did I do? Let's see...visiting my favourite Dr., laughing at the antics of OJM, pickling some love with the 3 monkeys, re-watching Zee TV Awards (OK, this does not count as socialising), attending a beautiful prayer ceremony followed by yummy briani and begging hugs and kisses from Rayyaan. That last bit is something that I do shamelessly whenever the little man is around...well since he is more interested in my phone than in me, I figured it's quite fair to make bargains like 10 kisses in exchange for him being allowed to play games on my phone, or hugs in exchange for whatever it is he wants, etc.
Overall, Alhamdulillah, it's been a good weekend. I am thousands of hair lighter on my head, 5 scarves richer and hopefully a few degrees wiser (what with me getting older by the day and all!!!).
Random thoughts from Planet Cancer:
(a) The hair falling bit is quite an experience! I can actually feel the roots of my hair hurting!!! Not a pleasant sensation, but quite amazing given its newness...The annoying part is to have to pick up all the hair from every surface and constantly brushing my clothes so that the fallen hair does not tickle me!
(b) Am I imagining it or my nails have started growing black? A week or so should confirm this.
(c) I must restrict the verbal haemorrhage (some call it diarrhea) that I tend to inflict on others just because suddenly life looks beautiful to me :) Alhamdulillah.
(d) Cancer is such a good teacher! It's giving me a crash course on myself....tough love style! I'll remember to be grateful!
Saturday, 2 April 2011
Dear Hair, I love you
Dear Hair.
It's time to say goodbye. Not Adieu. Just goodbye.
I will miss you.
You've been with me when I was in a diaper and ever since. How can I not miss you?
We've had a long and loving relationship and I have lots of good memories of us which I will cherish all those months that I will not be seeing you. Let me mention a few here.
I remember how you used to be long and black as the night in my childhood and teenage years. I used to wear you plaited and combed back....like a real dork.
Then in my 20s, some form of fashion sense started growing in me and I introduced you to a pair of scissors. I dared not over experiment though. So I would reduce you to mid length all the while making sure you could still be twisted into a bun. Made me less dorky, but still quite demure looking.
Then towards my late 20s, I started experimenting with colours on you. I must say I have sometimes gone overboard with the colour palette! I am sorry!! You must have seen all shades of brown, red, burgundy and some light yellow for quite a few years!
Ah yes! Remember that one time, right after my trip to Pakistan? I did go totally ape on you and had Sasha chop you off to above shoulder length! That made me pretty cool. Lots of people liked it but I felt awkward after a while, so I let you grow back to mid length again.
Talking of Sasha...you know, Sasha is undoubtedly a richer man thanks to you. All those treatments, shampoos, conditioners, serums that he made me buy for you have made my purse leaner and his fatter. But that's okay. I know I chose the best for you :)
Oh yes! Then there was the trip to Malaysia and our experiment with japanese rebonding! It was so cheap there that I could not resist. And you were great! You cooperated wonderfully....being all silky and smooth on me :) So much so that you lured me into buying a GHD hair straightener last December. That little excess of zeal cost me a small fortune but both you and I were very happy with the results.
Hair, I have not been the only one to love you. He loved you too. He would sniff you and like that you smelled good. His nose is now buried in someone else's hair. That's okay too....somehow.
My love, it's time for me to kiss you goodbye.
Just remember this: you are part of me. I will not forget you. Come back soon.
I love you.
S
It's time to say goodbye. Not Adieu. Just goodbye.
I will miss you.
You've been with me when I was in a diaper and ever since. How can I not miss you?
We've had a long and loving relationship and I have lots of good memories of us which I will cherish all those months that I will not be seeing you. Let me mention a few here.
I remember how you used to be long and black as the night in my childhood and teenage years. I used to wear you plaited and combed back....like a real dork.
Then in my 20s, some form of fashion sense started growing in me and I introduced you to a pair of scissors. I dared not over experiment though. So I would reduce you to mid length all the while making sure you could still be twisted into a bun. Made me less dorky, but still quite demure looking.
Then towards my late 20s, I started experimenting with colours on you. I must say I have sometimes gone overboard with the colour palette! I am sorry!! You must have seen all shades of brown, red, burgundy and some light yellow for quite a few years!
Ah yes! Remember that one time, right after my trip to Pakistan? I did go totally ape on you and had Sasha chop you off to above shoulder length! That made me pretty cool. Lots of people liked it but I felt awkward after a while, so I let you grow back to mid length again.
Talking of Sasha...you know, Sasha is undoubtedly a richer man thanks to you. All those treatments, shampoos, conditioners, serums that he made me buy for you have made my purse leaner and his fatter. But that's okay. I know I chose the best for you :)
Oh yes! Then there was the trip to Malaysia and our experiment with japanese rebonding! It was so cheap there that I could not resist. And you were great! You cooperated wonderfully....being all silky and smooth on me :) So much so that you lured me into buying a GHD hair straightener last December. That little excess of zeal cost me a small fortune but both you and I were very happy with the results.
Hair, I have not been the only one to love you. He loved you too. He would sniff you and like that you smelled good. His nose is now buried in someone else's hair. That's okay too....somehow.
My love, it's time for me to kiss you goodbye.
Just remember this: you are part of me. I will not forget you. Come back soon.
I love you.
S
Friday, 1 April 2011
People Watching
There are bird watchers, deal watchers, perv watchers, dolphin watchers, all sorts of watchers out there. I am a people watcher.
That's why I enjoy travelling by bus :). I get to watch all sorts of people. And I mean ALL sorts! My bus ride to the office today was consumed by that entirely.
I watch people's shoes, their clothes, their demeanour, their expressions, their gait, anything out there that is on display. I watch them talk to others or talk on the phone. Once in a while, I see those who talk to themselves too. I watch the solitary folks as well as those that move in flocks.
People fascinate me.
Mind you, I am quite allergic to people. But that's another story.
People watching works like therapy for me. I see bits of myself in others, just like I sometimes see bits of others in me.
The rest of my therapy consists of a combination of chocolate, all sorts of carbs, my bed, fruits, some Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, walking and Rayyaan.
I guess each one of us has his/her own "thing". People watching works great for me! It's amusing, enlightening, readily available and best of all.........FREE. Ha!
PS: Am I strange?
That's why I enjoy travelling by bus :). I get to watch all sorts of people. And I mean ALL sorts! My bus ride to the office today was consumed by that entirely.
I watch people's shoes, their clothes, their demeanour, their expressions, their gait, anything out there that is on display. I watch them talk to others or talk on the phone. Once in a while, I see those who talk to themselves too. I watch the solitary folks as well as those that move in flocks.
People fascinate me.
Mind you, I am quite allergic to people. But that's another story.
People watching works like therapy for me. I see bits of myself in others, just like I sometimes see bits of others in me.
The rest of my therapy consists of a combination of chocolate, all sorts of carbs, my bed, fruits, some Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, walking and Rayyaan.
I guess each one of us has his/her own "thing". People watching works great for me! It's amusing, enlightening, readily available and best of all.........FREE. Ha!
PS: Am I strange?
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