From the moment you are diagnosed with cancer, all of these people whom you have never met, start making a massive fuss about you. They can't do enough for you as you slowly descend into the world of all things cancerous and how to treat them.
Appointments are made with very nice people who do all they can to help you as you head towards your initial treatment. In my case, this was my big op to remove the tumour from my left breast and then to reconstruct it, by importing living tissue from my stomach.
This is just the first bit. The cosmetic surgical replacement of the familiar, that now no longer exists because they found a lump of mutated cells within your breast.
As I have had my babies, I am okay with it, as I won't be nursing any more offspring. Plus, Only I look at my boobs these days, so as long as they look okay, that's fine with me.
The replacement reconstructed breast, certainly is worth the giant Jokeresque smile that will now and forever scar my lower abdomen.
And, throughout all of this, you are at the centre of it all like some highly worshipped deity. Then, all of a sudden, in recovery, it suddenly stops as you are home alone in pain without a healthcare worker in sight.
It's positively soul destroying.
But then, the reality of your cancer starts to kick in when you realize that the operation was only the start of it and that the real kick in the teeth is the follow on treatment. That bit where they inform you of how they are going to try and eradicate the possibility of your cancer returning within the next ten years by blasting your immune system with either or chemotherapy or radiotherapy, or both.
This is the nasty bit, as one of its consequences will make my hair fall out. Call me vain, but, it's the one thing I quite like about the way I look. I have a long fat face that reminds me of that Looney Tuner Droopy the dog in addition to my funny little piggy eyes. I am no oil painting. But I have always liked my lovely sunny yellow hair. I have never once dyed it even in my advancing years. It remains to this day a beautiful blonde colour. But now it will all be going. I will probably wake up to find it on my pillow or see it waving me goodbye for now as clumps come away as I brush it in a pathetic attempt at normality.
Apparently, two weeks after my initial treatment of chemo will see all my current lovely repunzel locks gone.
For the first time since I was diagnosed with cancer, I suddenly became really angry about these constant intrusions in my life. And this one just takes the fucking biscuit.
I will have to wear a wig, or a hat or something, until my lovely locks grow back.
I am also dreading the effect that the chemo will have on my body. Apparently, having this treatment, although it's the most successful, can cause another tumour to grow.
I really hope that isn't another shitty episode I will be an extra in, I really do.
I am not a celebrity, please get me out of here as soon as possible.
In the meantime, if you see me, I will be the cartoon dog in the wig, looking forward to next spring with new hair and hopefully, no more cancer.
No comments:
Post a Comment