The waiting game

There hasn’t been too much to report lately. I feel as though I am in a strange state of limbo. But not the fun kind of limbo, like these people are experiencing:

The fun limbo. Although not really that fun if you're terribly uncoordinated like I am.
The fun limbo. Although not really that fun if you’re terribly uncoordinated like I am.

Rather, I am in a sort of cancer limbo. Somewhere in between being sick and being healthy. In between the chaos and instability of the past year, and what I hope to be the more calm and predictable pace of the next phase. I feel as though I am just waiting. Waiting to be approved to return to work. Waiting to have my 3-month check-up with my oncologist. Waiting for my hair to grow back. Waiting for all the plans I have to become a reality. Waiting for my life to resume.

And of course, waiting to see if the treatment worked, and to know that I didn’t go through hell for nothing. Unfortunately, I’ll be stuck in limbo waiting for that particular answer for quite awhile. So I guess I need to adapt and adjust accordingly. Which, luckily, I’ve gotten pretty good at.

I am also waiting to see if these terrible hot flashes will subside. I got about a two week break between chemo-induced hot flashes and hormone-induced hot flashes. Turns out, they are pretty similar. I even take a mild anti-depressant to try to combat them, but it seems to be failing me. Just another pill to pop.

I’m sure there are many menopausal ladies out there that can relate to the horrific discomfort that is the HOT FLASH. I wake up multiple times throughout the night, feeling like my face is on fire, with my body covered in sweat. Then I lie awake, remember oh, right, I had cancer. This sucks. And I wait for it to pass until I can finally go back under the blanket, and wait for the next one to hit.

This isn’t an uncommon thing for a woman to experience. I get that. But I am not supposed to be experiencing this for another 25 years. I try to flip my thinking and remind myself, I’m doing this to prevent a recurrence of cancer. I’m doing this to increase the odds I won’t die. And when I think of it that way, it doesn’t seem so bad. A small price to pay, really. But when I feel as though I’m on fire, I’m not thinking about the benefits of cancer treatment. I’m thinking about how shitty it is to have cancer in the first place. How frustrated I feel that I will be dealing with side effects for a long, long time.

Last week, I went to a Justin Timberlake/Jay-Z concert in a big stadium. I don’t typically go to shows like this. I prefer more intimate performances, and less of a spectacle. But I thought it would be a fun time, and it really was. It was good for me and my husband to be out, on a weeknight, doing the kind of thing your average young couple in the city might do.

There was a moment when I looked around at the other people in the crowd who surrounded me. My peers. People my age. Girls with their long hair, and their breasts sitting right where they should be. And I thought to myself, I have been through so much more than any of you. You all have no idea.

When the concert began, I felt my emotions take hold and my eyes even got a bit misty. It still feels surreal, to be out, in public, enjoying myself. I have experienced so much misery in such a condensed period of time, that the happy moments catch me off guard. Those moments where I feel like my life has returned, like it was all a bad dream.

And then, I was hit with a hot flash. My face felt as though it would melt right off onto the dirty floor, and flow through the aisles, mixed with all the spilled beers that had been kicked by overzealous concertgoers. I thought I might pass out and topple over my chair, while everyone around me continued to dance and sing along, oblivious to my scorching body temperature. I remembered the cancer. And that I’m not like those other people. And that I’m not back to my normal life. Not just yet.

And so, I wait.

My friend drew this for me when I was doing chemo. It is super hostile and I love it.
My friend drew this for me when I was doing chemo. It is super hostile and I love it.

Hot town, summer in the city

Today I completed radiation #15. 10 more to go. Woohoo!

My skin has started burning a bit more, and I have some very unattractive little red bumps. I also have started to notice that my scar near my armpit is stinging. So that’s not fun. But all in all, still not too bad.

Whenever I get a bit frustrated, I remind myself what chemo felt like, and I think, At least I’m not sitting on the toilet with my head resting on the sink while my body shakes and my nose bleeds and my bones throb. And then I immediately feel better again and able to deal with whatever minor discomfort (in comparison) I’m faced with at present time. So thanks, chemo, for giving me a super unpleasant and unique perspective on what it truly means to feel ill.

Today I was a bit of a grumpypants. The weather where I live has been unbearably hot, which is not ideal when you’re receiving daily burns to your skin and have to travel every day by crowded public transit without air conditioning, back and forth to the hospital. On my way to my treatment today, I sent the following texts to my sister:

Sooooo pissed right now on fucking streetcar fuckkkkkk!!!!
Sweat is pouring down my face and back and I’m going to be late cuz it’s just sitting in traffic.
I want to murder everyone!!!!! Everyoneeeeee!!!!!!

So, yes. You might say the daily grind of going to the hospital is getting to me a tad. I even started to feel a bit sorry for myself today during my treatment and almost cried while I lay on the table, I suppose from the combination of exhaustion and overheating. I thought about how I haven’t had a break from this cancer business in over nine months now and I could feel the anger starting to boil from deep within. But I realized that crying while having a tube in my mouth and a plug on my nose would likely make matters a lot worse, so I chose to stifle my emotions for the time being.

10 more to go. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

To give myself a bit of hope and something fun to do, I’ve started collecting several photos of ladies with short hair, in the hopes that eventually my hair will grow long enough to have some sort of actual style vs. the buzz cut look I’m forced to sport right now.

Every time I see a short-haired girl out on the streets, I stare at her and oooh and ahhh. I’ve become a tad obsessed. To the point that I now even feel that people with long hair are a bit boring. I’m not part of their club anymore. I’m part of a new club, full of fierce, bold women who’ve shorn their long tresses in an act of defiance against what society deems to be feminine and pretty. Or, who’ve lost all their hair to cancer and chemo and had no choice in the matter.

Whatever. Almost the same thing.

Here are some of the photos I’ve collected.


I never thought that I would have hair as short as any of these, but now that I am, I am strangely excited about it. I just want it to grow. At lightning speed. Is that too much to ask? I think not.

In conclusion, I want the heat to go away, radiation to end, and my hair to grow. Whaddya know, three wishes. Now all I need is a genie.

Come on, come on, and dance all night
Despite the heat, it’ll be alright