Image Description: Kate, wearing a red mask and barely any hair, peers over her glasses at her chemo appointment.
Hair Today. Gone Tomorrow. Back in 2024 (hopefully).
On my birthday this year 2023, my hair began to fall out in earnest. It was expected. It was from the chemo.
There is something a little disconcerting, about running your fingers through your hair and coming away with a handful of it that’s no longer attached to your head…
But, I do find this fascinating. The whole 2-3 weeks since my first chemotherapy was one day after another discovering a new side-effect or symptom. Maybe I’m staying a little too clinical about it, but my body is changing and adjusting to the chemo drugs in expected and unexpected ways, and I’m here for it. It’s fascinating, although not very pleasant.
There is loss here. There is acceptance. There is sadness and hope. There are pictures.
Kate wears many hats and hairlessness.
Here are some bald jokes… I apologize in advance:
When do you know you’re going bald? When you use more toothpaste than shampoo.
I was gonna make a joke about a bald person’s hair. But then I remembered there was nothing to joke about.
What do you call a barber that only works on bald people? An air stylist.
You are so bald that I can simply rub your head and start predicting futures!
What do you call a bald porcupine? Pointless.
What’s the most expensive haircut? Chemotherapy
And my favorite. ~ My hair stylist is my oncologist.
image description: A futuristic robot person looking at a strange calendar on a wall. Midjourney aiart
Updated 2/27/24
March 6, 2024 – Check in with my Oncologist.
March 8, 2024 – Follow up with Cardiologist
My appointments are coming fewer and further between. Blood work once a month and my next doctor checkins with be 3 months from above appointments. My specialty pharmacy asks me if my maintenance med is working and I say: I sure hope so! As far as I know it’s working and I’m cancer free!
Short (not so short really) History of Kate’s Cancer
Everyone was asking: “What’s next?” and “When’s your surgery?” And now it’s just an exercise in keeping track of just how many freaking doctors appointments and medical procedures I have. Why not keep track of all of my dates, from the beginning of this journey… It’s a lot! See for yourself.
December 7, 2022 – Routine check-up with suspicion of UTI
December 9, 2022 – CT Scan that would change my life
December 16, 2022 – Visit my Montana People!
December 27, 2022 – Flight cancellation and much crying and gnashing of teeth.
January 4, 2023 – Diagnosis of Ovarian Cancer from Gynocologist/Ongologist/Surgeon
January 6, 2023 – Bivalent COVID Booster, because… hey if I’m going to Chemotherapy, I better not get sick.
The shrinkage has begun! And I’m all hopped up on steroids at the moment (8:00PM 1/30/23)… they give you a huge cocktail of anti-nausea, antihistamines, and steroids, before they do the chemo drugs, to help prevent side effects and to mostly prevent side effects in the sessions. My appt. Was at 10:00. We arrived at 9:30 and got right in there. Got home a little before 5:30. It was a very long day.
We had so much stuff we looked like the over-prepared parents on the first day of school. We had a cooler, a shopping bag brimming with snacks, a blanket, a neck pillow, a magical staff, 3 iPads, 2 iPhones, and a laptop…
A possible side-effect of one of the chemo drugs that I am being infused with is neuropathy. I could possibly lose some control over my fine motor skills. As a pianist, this is super scary! Teaching piano would be a whole lot harder if I couldn’t feel my fingers, so we are doing everything we can to prevent that from happening. In our over-preparedness, we have a cooler filled with dry ice and small gel packs that fit into therapy mittens and slippers. Basically, we are icing my hands and feet to reduce the blood flow during the treatment, so that we can potentially reduce the possibility of nerve damage.
I put these penguin-looking ice-cold flippers on my hands and feet, requiring the boyfriend to basically be my handmaid for most of the entire 8 hour process. He is being so supportive but he did have to wait on me hand and foot. I felt like queen (at least a little) especially with my MAGICAL Staff!
Side Note: If you ever find yourself trying to sneak a magical staff into a medical facility here are some tips: 1) it is ideal if the staff can break into two parts 2) poster tubes make fairly inconspicuous carrying cases.
Christian is pretty heavy into this AI Art thing. There is a process where you can erase part of the picture and have the AI fill-in what is missing. So of course he turned me into the chemo Queen! He loves how this whole AI Art thing lets him blend reality and fantasy, the chair becomes a throne, the staff becomes extra magic… and I am powerful enough to beat this thing!
