People say, "Oh, hair grows back." Yes, this is true. But the question is, why do people say that? Is it because they feel bad? They don't know what else to say? Is it a super uncomfortable conversation to have? Check, check and check.
But the process of losing your hair is something you will NEVER be prepared for, even if it happens more than once. You still look at your pillowcase in shock when you see all your hair littering it. You are still disgusted when you wake up with a mouth full of hair. And no one will ever understand what it is like, unless it happens to them. Here's a clip from my latest shower: Hair stuck all over your hands because there is so much of it, clumps of hair piled up on the drain so the water won't go down, and hair stuck all over your body, in crevices you don't want it to be stuck, which is so beyond skeevy, if you have any sort of sensory issues like me. Ew.
I wasn't expecting my hair to start falling out again, I thought it did that a few weeks ago. So my latest bout of hair loss just about wraps up my last 3 days. You know, when people say, 'I just want to crawl in a hole and never come out.'? Well, I say that a lot. I never realized that you have to be specific about what kind of hole you want to crawl in, the comfort level of this hole, how you want to feel while in the hole, how long you want to be in the hole, etc.
I've been in a 'hole' (my bed) for the past four days. In that hole I took some severe pain in my hip and ribs, a fever, a headache, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, constipation, diarrhea, my cat wandered in every now and then, and of course hair loss.
I crawled into my hole around 9:00 PM on Thursday night with a full stomach, my first dose of Tylenol codeine for some pain and a doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow (Friday). I was startled at about 4:11 AM by the fact that my body was ON FIRE, and I was curled up in such a tight little ball, it hurt. Mommy to the rescue! My temp reads 101.4, what the fuck!? Ok, don't panic. Do I call the doctor's office? The chemo nurses always tell me specifically to call if my temperature is above 100.5 after treatment. But it's been 2 weeks since my last treatment. I'll call anyway and the nurse will tell the on-call doctor and he will tell me to go to the ER or wait until my appointment later. Totally logical thought process, no? I call.....listen to some really bad muzak, what could the nurse possibly be doing at 4 in the morning?!? Oh, she picks up! I tell her that I have a high temp and my last chemo was 2 weeks ago, blah shit blah, as calmly as possible, and she goes, "Is this an emergency?" Pause.
*Now, I want you to say this out loud in the most snottiest attitude you can muster up. Got it? Ok. Because she said it, even snottier than that.*
Are you fucking serious??? That is why I'm calling!!!!!!! YOU are supposed to tell ME if this is an emergency! This of course, I did not say. I squeaked, "I guess not, nevermind." And then hung up and started to cry. Now I know what took her so long to answer, she's probably fielding phone calls from dumbass cancer patients like me!
Ok, so we'll wait until my appointment at 11. No problem. I chow down a granola bar (because you never take ANY medication without food, if you are me) and another dose of tylenol codeine. Pass out, with mom in bed of course. When I wake up, I still have a fever and I feel even worse. I know, not possible, right? Now, I know you are all wondering, I can hear the whispers, 'Did she throw up?' Well, yes. Yes, I did. I decided to skip the third dose and go for some regular tylenol instead for the fever. I literally threw up as soon as I swallowed the tylenol. At least I'm consistent.
I honestly don't know how I got to the hospital. I don't remember putting clothes on, I mean I could barely open my eyes, and when I did, it may have been for a few seconds at a time. I felt super nauseous, so my mom packed her double lined reused plastic bags in her purse and I had the glass of ginger ale in hand.
Now, because I feel like death, it's only natural that next few things happen. I walk/crawl into the waiting room and the nurse at the window says, "Carla, don't look so happy to be here. (giggle, giggle)" That is not funny. I can't even fucking open my eyes to see which one you are!
As soon as I am about to assume the fetal position in a waiting room chair, they call my name to get my vitals. Fastest they have ever been, EXCEPT, it is the nurse I am so grateful for never getting because she just. seems. so. dumb.
I step up on the scale, which becomes part of the 'vitals ritual' so quickly. It looks similar to this.
I see the doctor, she's perplexed, it must be an infection, so she wants to take lots of blood and cultures. First order of business, pee in a cup. Sure, sure, I've peed in a cup before. Whoever designed the cups you pee in should be shot. Several times. How impractically small these cups are! There is no one on this planet that can pee in one of those, without making a mess of pee. It is IMPOSSIBLE. And now is definitely the time I want to sit in the bathroom and peel open the little alcohol moist towelette to clean the mess of pee. Everywhere.
Next, back to the treatment room for bloodwork, anti-nausea medicine (thank you!) and some tylenol. STOP. You are using my port. I didn't put on my numbing cream. Oh, sweet jesus! Really?!?
The second person who should be shot, several times, is the person who invented the freeze spray numbing shit in a can. IT DOES NOT WORK.
While I am getting blood taken, I eat a granola bar, because then I won't be nauseous, right? Um, oops now I am more nauseous. Oh good thing my mom has her double lined reused plastic bags with her! She whips them out of her purse, here! Put the fucking bags away, mom! Are you serious? We are in a hospital.....they have that shit here, you know, for the cancer patients! (We walked away with a few hospital grade vomit bags for free).
So I am sent home less nauseous, some tylenol working on my fever and a prescription for methadone.
Yup, methadone. Call A&E, we've got an 'Intervention' episode on our hands again! Have I mentioned before that I would be the worst drug addict ever?
Methadone = less pain, major dizziness and lots of vomiting.
I finally crawled out of my 'hole' to see the light of day, today (Tuesday). Just to go to the hospital for another round of chemo, which to my relief was changed to Abraxane. Which I equate to 'the one that got away.' So happy I won her back, she was so good to me two years ago.
Yes, I would rather be bald. And I will be soon enough.
Disclaimer: It took me about 6 days to write this blog.
