Waiting for Hair: The Toll of Chemotherapy and Cancer

February 10, 2016September 27, 20164 Comments

As featured on curetoday.com

My impatient husband is waiting for me to finish doing my hair. We’re meeting friends for dinner and already running late. This used to be a regular scene at my house on any given weekend night.

Now, I’m bald. I think about this as I sit at a coffee shop and look around at all the healthy people flaunting their hair — mocking me with curls, highlights, ponytails, bobby pins and headbands — while they run their fingers through their locks with no thought. I am green with envy and feel guilty for taking my beautiful hair for granted.

Free at last from the heat of a Nashville summer.

I acknowledge hair loss is a difficult and traumatic event for many during cancer treatment. For me, losing my hair wasn’t hard — it was the waiting for it to grow back that has been the most challenging. I finished my last chemotherapy treatment on Christmas Day and was irritated not to wake up December 26 with a full head of hair.

When I started chemotherapy, my doctor gave me three options of cocktails and explained the potential side effects. I asked her which one she thought would be best.

She gave her opinion and followed it up with, “It’ll give you crazy diarrhea and it’s the most toxic but you won’t lose your hair.”

Really? I was shocked my doctor thought I would rather endure weeks of diarrhea just for hair. On my first day of chemo, the pharmacist and I reviewed the side effects again. I decided to go with a less toxic cocktail at the expense of my hair. Up to that point, I only thought “hair” only meant was on my head. It was then that I learned I could lose everything. Yes, everything.

Two weeks after my first treatment, I ran my fingers through my hair and out came a handful. Within the hour, I called some friends to come over to shave my head. We made a celebration out of the event and created many styles. I had a mohawk over salad, a side shave over pizza and a nice patch in the front with a curl over dessert. No tears were shed, but there were a lot of laughs. Eventually, we shaved it down to a nice stubble and it felt great during that Nashville summer.

Even though I bought a wig and countless people sent me scarfs, I decided to be out and proud with my bald head. As if it were any consolation, I have a nicely shaped head without any Gorbachev birthmarks or funky lumps. I often forgot I was bald and people are pretty cool these days about not staring too much. A fellow survivor even bought me lunch once.

Much to my surprise, the stubble stayed and I never got Mr. Clean bald. Angry, I wondered if my shave was premature. Remembering everything, I stopped shaving my legs, until my husband said the hair was braidable. And even more annoying — that one hair growing from my chin. You ladies know what I’m talking about. I welcomed the loss of that little sucker. Nope, it never happened and I’m still plucking that rebel. Eyebrows, eyelashes and everything else remained in tact.

Halfway through my six rounds of chemotherapy, I got a two month break from chemotherapy for surgery. I was ecstatic when my hair started to grow back and continued to do so even after I resumed treatment. I thought that maybe I wouldn’t lose my hair this time. Sure enough, the day after the thought existed in my brain, I woke up to a softball-sized bald spot on the back of my head. I resolved not to do a complete shave and just let it be.

Today, I’m almost a couple months from the end of treatment and my hair is the definition of a hot mess. Picture a combination of cradle cap, a modest mullet and that terrible men’s hairstyle that looks like a wall at the front hairline. I’ve been wearing hats and oozing with jealousy at everyone and anything who has hair. This includes my German Shepherd and cat who just shed it throughout the house. I take a picture of my head every day and even though I feel my hair growing back, it doesn’t look like it in the photos. A watched pot never boils.

Having a buzzcut for the last six months is starting to take it’s toll. I am so ready to run my fingers through my hair again. No matter how many times my husband tells me I’m pretty, I still do a double take when I pass a mirror. I feel less feminine and despise how my bald head screams cancer patient. I’m ready to move on.

Who knows when my hair will grow back to what I consider a respectable length. But what I do know is that I can’t wait for one of those weekend nights, when we’re already late and my husband’s waiting for me to finish doing my hair.

Read on curetoday.com: Waiting for Hair: The Toll of Chemotherapy and Cancer

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A Chronology of Hair Loss

October 21, 2015

November 3, 2015

November 10, 2015

November 26, 2015

December 13, 2015

January 3, 2016

January 13, 2016

January 23, 2016

February 10, 2016

Defeating Cancer Using the Law of Attraction

January 26, 2016August 3, 2017Leave a comment

As featured on curetoday.com

In 2007, I was introduced to the law of attraction through the book, “The Secret.” Using the tips and tools the book provided, I became intentional about what I wanted out of life. Through asking the universe and believing I would receive, I attracted many things I had been dreaming of for years. Love, traveling, money — it was all mine and I was loving the life I had created for myself. So, I tossed “The Secret” on my bookshelf and floated on through my perfect life.

Fast forward to September 2014 when my dream life turned into a nightmare after I was diagnosed with cancer. How could I go from having it all to having it all taken away? We all have the illusion of control in our lives, but this was something I was not able to fix and it drove me crazy. If I could be diagnosed with cancer, anyone could. Then I realized that while I don’t have control over my final outcome, I do have control over my thoughts, feelings and actions. So, I dusted off my copy of “The Secret” and renewed my law of attraction practice.

The law of attraction is a philosophy that states that what you focus on comes into your life, whether it is positive or negative. The book’s author, Rhonda Byrne, explains how we must ask for what we want, believe it is possible and be grateful once we receive. Below are some of the ways I use the law of attraction in everyday life to take back the control of my mental, emotional and spiritual health.

I choose my words. I refuse to own disease. It’s not mine. I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it. Thus, I never refer to it as “my cancer”, but rather, “the cancer.” However, I do refer to, “my healing” and “my recovery” because I want to own those things.

The vision board and visualization. Years before I was diagnosed, I began creating vision boards. This is where photos of my dreams and goals live. It’s a bulletin board placed in front of my desk, where I see it everyday and visualize myself fulfilling each dream and achieving each goal. I don’t worry about how the dream or goal will happen. I focus only on the end result. A couple times a year, I revise what is on the board. At this time, I spend a few minutes on each picture and express gratitude for its realization or future realization. Then I remove, add and rearrange according to what I’d like to focus on in the near future. Every time I edit my vision board, I’m amazed by how much has come to fruition.

Express gratitude. Every day, I mentally list or write down all the things and people for which I am grateful. A day does not pass where I don’t express gratitude for my healing, my perfect health, the perfect health of my organs, my husband, my life, for feeling good, my doctors, my pets, my family, my friends and so on. I also take this time to say thank you in advance and send love, health, healing and positivity to everyone I’ve encountered who is in need. I do this on my daily walk, before I fall asleep, during an MRI and while sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. This practice always leaves me feeling happier and in a good state of mind.

Wite-Out is my friend. Last fall, I had to cancel my plans for a girls’ weekend in Paris due to chemotherapy. To excercise my travel insurance, I needed my oncologist to write a letter explaining my medical status. I have since found the letter and used white out to change my situation from, “due to her chemotherapy schedule and adverse effects, it is not advisable for her to travel,” to “due to her perfect health, it is advisable and recommended for her travel.” This letter hangs in front of my desk so I can see it every day. I’m also planning on going through my medical records with my trusty white out pen.

I say “YES!” When I hear a story of someone who has overcome a dire health situation, I say “Yes!” After sitting in the waiting room and listening to a woman call several people to share the news that she is in remission, I said “Yes!” in my head and mentally cheered her on. When I read that Jimmy Carter’s cancer is responding to treatment, I scream “Yes!” In my previous life, I may have been jealous, but I know saying “Yes!” creates good karma and tells the law of attraction that I want this too.

I keep my mouth shut. I do my best to not talk about cancer. I know, it’s easier said than done for all of us who have had our lives impacted by the disease. But I don’t want to waste my days on E arth giving cancer any more time, attention and energy after it has already taken enough. When someone asks for an update, I share the bare minimum and then change the subject to something positive.

I surround myself with Tiggers. We all have Eeyores in our life and I’ve made an effort to kindly and respectfully stop spending time with them. This past summer, I was really sick and wasn’t practicing what I preach. It was hard to be upbeat and positive while vomiting for half the day. It was then that my army of Tiggers swooped in to fill my negativity trench up with positivity. At the time, I found them annoying, but looking back, I would not be alive if it weren’t for all my Tiggers. They really are wonderful things.

Above all, I believe. This is the key and more important part of the process. I believe, with every cell in my body, that whatever I want is possible. If you’re facing an incurable disease, know that every disease has been incurable at some point in history. I intentionally seek out stories of people defying the odds, overcoming prognoses and doing the impossible. I know these people overcame because they believed they could and not the opposite.

I know what some of you are thinking: “Cancer is serious, real, hardcore stuff and no matter how positive someone is, people do die.”

I know this, but I’d like to think a positive person who kept themselves open to miracles lived longer than someone who was negative and closed. I believe there is a mind-body connection and I welcome all forms of healing.

Ultimately, I understand I may not have control over the final outcome of my physical body. However, doing these activities gives me control over disease mentally, emotionally and spiritually. And most importantly, I’d prefer to leave this Earth knowing I exuded love, positivity and possibility — all of which are things needed in today’s world more than ever.

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This Too Shall Pass: Healing After Cancer

January 14, 2016September 26, 20161 Comment

As featured on curetoday.com

Featured in Heal Magazine, Winter 2016

As I approach mile 10, the discomfort sets in. I’m surprised I made it this far without any pain, considering I didn’t prepare as I normally do. I found it very difficult to get up on a Saturday and run my tried-and-true training plan with a cancerous, symptomatic, metastatic, pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor.

Weeks before, I contemplated not doing the half marathon, but I could not let cancer take away my joy of competing after it had already robbed me of so much. So, out of pure defiance, here I am. My hips and hamstrings are tight, but what’s causing me the most discomfort is my stomach. Just past the mile marker, I reluctantly stop at a Porta Potty. In my previous life, I would never do this because it would affect my finishing time. I would have convinced myself three miles of discomfort was a blip in the grand scheme of life. I exit the bathroom, start running through the pain, tightness and soreness and I hear in my head wise words a dear friend says often: This too shall pass.

Days later, I find myself, once again, in an unrecognizable life. Saturday: half marathon. Sunday: MRI. On Tuesday, I was told I needed to start chemotherapy as soon as possible. On Wednesday, I lost my job. A year ago, I was physically stronger than any woman I knew my age, had a wonderful, lucrative job and was the epitome of health. Now, I find myself asking if this is real life countless times. “God only gives us what we can handle,” right? Well, God has greatly overestimated me because all of this — I can not handle. Not just the rug, but the entire floor has been pulled from under my feet. I wondered if this was the new normal or if this too shall pass. It’s my favorite season of summer, but the days have turned into the least favorite of my life. The disease has gotten ahead of the treatments and I’m scared to get out of bed each day. A good day is when I don’t spend several hours with nausea so severe I have to call my husband to take me to the hospital for fluids and intravenous meds. I’ve become a permanent fixture at the cancer center. Staff members greet me by name with a look of pity and a sick bag. My family, friends and I are shocked to see a beautiful, vain, active, social butterfly disintegrate into an reclusive, bald, shell of a person who wears pajamas and no make-up. They respond with cliche phrases such as, “Stay strong” and “You’re going to beat this.”

While I know these words are intended to comfort and encourage me, they only make my blood boil. As if I had a choice to be strong. As if beating it was my decision. I pretend to stay positive because I know the other option does not serve me and would make my supporters assume I have given up. Though there were many moments I wanted to quit, I desperately prayed to God instead — with every cell in my body — for these days to pass.

Getting out of the hospital bed after abdominal surgery is a process and an art. This being my second time around, I knew what to expect and how I should maneuver. Being cut in half was nothing compared to what I had already endured. Plus, the physical pain is minimized because it was preceded with the world’s most beautiful words, “We got all the cancer.”

I happily push the button to move the bed as upright as possible. Pull myself up using the trapeze. Lower the bed down. Sit up. At a snail’s pace, swing my left leg left. Gently rest it on the floor. Repeat with the right leg. Get my bearings. Grab my husband’s hands. Use my marathoner legs to stand up. Resist the urge to cough. Stand for a few seconds to gather my breath. Inch the right foot forward and then the left. Could it be that this season was finally passing?

I look up at the sky and see every existing color over the next twenty minutes. It makes me feel so small, but part of something so big at the same time, and I realize it’s because I am. It is the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever experienced and tears drop from my eyes. I pass a woman unloading groceries from the trunk of her car. She’s completely oblivious to me and the pinks, blues, purples, oranges and yellows taking shape above her head. I feel both sad for and envious of her unawareness because the beauty of this moment is something only available to someone who has stared its fragility in face. I know I am blessed and cursed for my new eyes which have given me an aerial perspective of life’s most precious moments. I pray to God that these feelings, these thoughts and this awareness will not pass.

Read this on curetoday.com: This too shall pass: healing after cancer.

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