Okay juggalos/lettes,

I need some advice.  As you are well aware, my hair is growing back in.  However, it's growing back in grey, and it's starting to harsh my mellow.  I feel like I have enough weird appearance things to deal with and looking older than I'd like is just one more thing than I'd like to handle right now.  So, I'm going to dye that grey right out of my hair. 

So, do I dye my hair
a) Hot pink - This would be cool.  However, I already have a shaved head.  Is dying it an "outrageous" color overkill?  I mean, the shaved head is punk as fuck already, so maybe pink is just beating a dead horse.

b) Black - This is what I'm leaning towards right now.  It would be in keeping with the  hardcore shaved head look, but not be particularly startling.  Plus, I could hang out with the goth kids and smoke their clove cigarettes (it's not a carcinogen if you're already on chemo)  (that was a joke, btw)

c) Platinum - Pro: I can dye it another color if I get bored of it.  Con: I could look like that weird fitness instructor from the 80s.

Help me, blogosphere!  You're my only hope!

Ask and you shall receive.  It's time for some pictures:

(Actually, first, time for a disclaimer.  All of these pictures were taken on my iPhone because I'm way too lazy to be bothered with owning an actual camera.  Therefore, I apologize in advance for the picture quality.)

Here is a picture of my left eyebrow. 

My left eyebrow is driving me nuts right now, and hopefully you can see why.  There are just a handful of actual, normal eyebrow hairs left, but they are all scraggly.  I feel like I should be grooming them, but it seems wrong to pull out eyebrow hairs when I have so few left.  Plus, they will fall out on their own.  If you look closely, you can also see that some baby eyebrow hairs are growing back in.  Am I supposed to be grooming those?  For some reason, plucking my baby eyebrow hairs while my normal eyebrow hairs abandon me makes me irrational angry.  I should either be mourning the loss of one, or battling the regrowth of the other.  Not both.  Seriously, Cancer, throw me a bone, here.

Also, can you see how thick and lush my hair regrowth is?  It's still mostly white, which makes me feel like a post-menopausal woman (which, I guess, technically I am now, but you know what I mean), but it's really coming back.  I think I'm going to dye it fire engine red or something.

Here is my right eyebrow.  You can see how sparse the actual brows look.  If I try to draw them in, it looks like the kind of pencil you see on 70 year old ladies, surrounded by some actual hair.  It's really funny looking.  You can also see the total lack of bottom eyelashes on my right eye.

Another eyebrow pic, but check out my upper eyelashes, too.  They look funny, like gapped teeth.

My actual teeth aren't gapped, but are Cullenesque (or whatever vampire reference you prefer).  This is a result of trying to floss and is a side effect of one of the clinical trial drugs I'm on, Avastin.  Avastin makes tissues more likely to bleed, and chemo in general drops my platelet count, so I don't clot so well.  As a result, my gums bleed freely.  I like to pretend I'm in Fight Club when this happens.

And to end, here is a picture I took of myself at the hair salon back when I still had hair!  (Also, check out my awesome calculator watch, which I've managed to lose in the past 2 weeks.  WHERE ARE YOU, AWESOME CALCULATOR WATCH?  I MISS YOU!!!)

Here are 3 things I did today:
1) Shaved my legs
2) Penciled in my eyebrows
3) Plucked an errant beard hair (c'mon girls, you know you have them too)

At most, I should be doing two of these things.  How is this fair?

Lower eyelash count is holding steady at 2.

I have been hacking away at an update for like a week, and honestly, I've got nothing.  Part of it is that my mom said that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all (actually, my mom never said that, but I've heard that it's the kind of things moms say), and this cycle has been a complete and utter bitch.  Another part of it is that they gave me a Neulasta shot which made my bones hurt which made me need vicodin which makes me way more interested in drooling than writing.  But, at any rate, I'm still around.  I'm tired and run down and nauseous and my bones hurt, but otherwise, I'm still the same snarky, irreverant cancer patient as always.

I did, however, want to discuss PICC lines a little bit.  If anyone ever suggests that you get a PICC line (like a port, but for your arm), punch them in the face.  Twice.   Because they will shove a plastic tube up your arm veins while you are completely awake, and that's not okay.  I felt violated and had to call a Take Back Our Veins hotline afterwards.  It's pretty amazing that I didn't become a militant lesbian after the experience.  (That being said, I do have perfect militant lesbian hair, right now, and I'm kind of sad it's being wasted on me.)

Also, I only have one more chemo left.  FUCK! YEAH!  (Sorry, Grandpa)  I went through this period where I was sad that chemo was ending.  It's like I felt like I hadn't been appreciating my chemo experience enough or being "present" through it.  Then I realize that's what normal people call coping, and stopping to smell the chemo roses is what crazy people do.  And while I'm crazy, it's only like a fox.  So, now I'm super excited to be almost done with chemo.  Go me!!

And finally, although my head hair seems to be coming in nicely, I have almost completely lost my eyelashes and brows.  While I'm "whatever" about the lashes, I'm a little sad about my eyebrows.  How will people be able to intuit subtle changes in my emotions if I don't have eyebrows? I tried to draw them on this morning, and it was so lulzy, I indulged in a nice round of self-mocking.  So, if you're having trouble telling what emotion I'm trying to convey (hint: it's probably either irritation or snark), I'll understand. 

I got out of the hospital yesterday, but spent all day there today getting a PICC line put in (like a port for my arm).  I'll write a longer update later, but I just want to say that they did not give me enough drugs for the venal rape that I went through.  Not enough drugs at all.

I'm supposed to get out of here today, which is good because shit is getting weird.  In addition to the moaner, we now also have a random yeller.   It's like a regular Halloween extravaganza around here.

Edited to add: My oncologist just walked in to tell me that he's running a little behind because someone is having a "hair emergency."  I don't even know where to begin with that.

New update:  I will be leaving the hospital early next week (probably Monday).  They want me on round the clock IV antibiotics for a full week before letting me go.  My blood cultures are looking good, though. 

As I understand it, my chemo would be pushed back a week from my vacating the hospital.  I'm not sure what this means in terms of my final chemo, but, you know what?  I'm not even going to worry my pretty little head about it.  It'll happen when it happens.

In other news, I have 9 remaining lower eyelashes.  Total.

I'm on a fair amount of opiates (read: vicodin AND morphine)  as I write this, so please excuse any typos, grammar errors or nonsensical ramblings.

So, as some of you may have heard, I've been spending my days in the hospital. The short story is that I woke up feeling fluish on Sunday, and after a short nap, my temperature reached an upsetting 104.5.  Any time my fever goes above 100.5, I'm supposed to rush straight to the ER, so that's what I did.  Turns out I have a staph infection in my blood.  (Astute readers will remember that, along with with shingles and cancer, staph infections are one of my biggest medical fears.  Go me for conquering them all in one fell swoop).  I'm currently on round the clock IV antibiotics and they are doing all sorts of heart tests to make sure that the infection doesn't settle in my heart valves (which are currently fine).  I also had to have my port removed today, since that can harbor bacteria.

I'm feeling better every day, and my fever has been gone for most of the day.  So that's good.  I've been having this weird, severe chest pain that doesn't seem heart related and isn't abating either.  So that's, I don't know, neutral to bad. I'll be in the hospital at least one more day, though, and possibly more, depending on the results of my labs.  My chemo, which should have been today, is tentatively scheduled for Friday, but I'm not sure if I'll make that.  Regardless, I'll probably end up going pretty much straight from the hospital to chemo.  Fun!

Oh, also, my next door neighbor in the hospital is a nighttime moaner. It's awkward. 

But how will I ever meet Snoop if I don't have boobs?

So, chemo related news: First off, I'd like to give a shout out to AC.  By shout out, I mean, I HATE YOU, AC.  Do you remember the salad days of docetaxel, back when chemo was fun?  Man, those some good times.  Now, I'm all nauseous and exhausted and generally under the weather.   AC, you can go f- yourself.  (Just kidding, AC, please keep curing my cancer.)

Also - quick rant - I am so sick of trying to fit three weeks of life into one week of feeling good.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to do 3 weeks of stuff in one week?  It's really hard! No like, seriously hard. Pity me.

But really, I know that you aren't really hear to listen to me bitch about chemo (I mean, come on, that's been done to death).  You want to hear all about the boobs!

I want to start by explaining a something about mastectomies that many people don't realize.  When you get a mastectomy, they take your nipples.  Repeat: you no longer have nipples.  If you get breast reconstruction, you either need to get prosthetic nipples, or you get a little pucker sown into your new boobs and then get an areola tattoo.  Isn't that weird?  No, I understand. It's okay to take a moment and get weirded out by that. So, when I talk about how I'm going to miss my real boobs, what I really mean is that I'm going to miss having nipples.  I feel that it is mourning the upcoming loss of nipples is a valid, normal thing to go through, and so I'm doing it.  However, as saying "nipple" is funny, and nipples, in general, are pretty much a comedy gold mine, please feel free to mock my nipple-less existence.  I understand that sometimes, we just do things for the lulz, and I'm honored to be a part of that.

So, on to reconstruction. First, the bad news:  Even though I have put on 9 pounds since starting chemo, I do not have enough tummy fat to make new breasts.  I don't even have enough butt fat to make new breasts.  This means, I get neither an incidental tummy tuck nor an incidental butt lift.  It's at times like these that I feel like cancer and I have an unbalanced relationship.  I mean, I've given up a lot for cancer.  My hair, 9 pounds, flossing, etc.  And does cancer have the decency to give me a great butt or a washboard stomach? No!  Cancer is such a dick. (Also, I asked how much weight I'd need to gain in order to make breasts.  Answer: 50 pounds!)

Since I can't make breasts with my own fat, do I get to have awesome implants?  Um, kind of.  I don't just get implants because I need radiation.  According to my doctor, who, incidentally, looks a lot like the DJ from Northern Exposure, radiation makes your chest muscle "woody" and it doesn't hold implants well.  Instead, I get what is known as a "lat dorsi."  There, they take the latissimus dorsi muscles from my back and form them into little hammocks which will support implants.  It's like all the pain of the autologous tissue surgeries with all of the annoyance of having implants!  Whatever, though.  I am having elaborate fantasies about all of the cute tops I'll be able to wear once I don't have to worry about industrial strength support undergarments, and that soothes the pain right away.

Another note, (so you aren't surprised if you see me):  Because I need radiation, I won't get immediate reconstruction.  I'll have a good 10 months or so between mastectomy and reconstruction at which point I'll have the chest of a young, nippleless boy.  I don't think I need to remind you that this is fraught with potential comedy, and I hope to exploit it whenever possible.

I've gotten several recurring questions from people about different mastectomy stuff.  Let me just say, the answer to all of the questions is pretty much, "No, I need radiation."  So, if you have a question that can possibly be answered by "No, I need radiation," I can practically guarantee that's the answer.  However, keep them coming, and at some point, I'll create an FAQ.

And before I sign off, a humorous anecdote: My friend Mickey was talking to a book publisher (is that right, Mickey?) about how I write quirky little bits about having cancer, and the book publisher told him that the funny cancer market is flooded right now.  Isn't that lulzy?  A) There is a funny cancer market and B) it's already saturated.  If I'd been serious about a publishing career, I really should have gotten my cancer sooner.  I'm not concerned, though, because it's really my soon to be completed young adult novel that will take the publishing world by storm.

Also, Denzel Washington's personal driver paid for my dinner tonight.  True story.  (No, this really is a true story.)

Over and out,
Titsy McGee

They say I could have been brain dead in a wheelchair, but I'm standing in the booth and the skills are still here

Now that my hair is growing back and doesn't seem to be going anywhere, I thought I'd chronical my hair through chemo.

First up, some examples of my pre-chemo hair:

I'm the one sitting on the couch on the right.  Doesn't my hair look curly and shiny here? 

And here my hair is looking particularly cute during a night of roller skating:

Again, I'm on the right here.  God, hair, you are so cute and perky here.  It's like you knew that disco skate night was the night to rock out.

And then I started chemo, and, after 15 days, the hair started to fall out, as exemplified here:

Ew.  Having your hair fall out in chunks like that is pretty unnerving.  Like a horror movie or something. So, we cut my hair quite short.

We listened to Girl Talk and I sang and danced a lot.

The cat judged.  (BTW, we are in the process of renovating the bathroom, so it looks pretty depressing in these pictures.)

Here I am, still dancing around with the finished product.

So, the short hair lasted roughly twelve hours before I started going bald right in the front.  After about 3 days, my hair had finished falling out, and I looked like this:

This picture looks like a Glamour Shot, right?  It's only because Don is like 12 feet tall.  Also, don't I look like a little baby bird here?  We referred to my hair during this period as my "pricklesoft," as it was both prickly and soft.  Bet you couldn't have guessed that on your own.

At the end of every cycle, I'd lose a bit more hair and it seemed like any remaining hair was white.  Here I am, at last docetaxel infusion looking especially bald.

I'm trying to look punkrock in this pic, and if you look really closely, you can see my chemohawk.  You can also see some of the changes in my weight and skin texture in this picture. 

 

By the time I started my first round of AC, my hair had started to grow back.  Initially, it was just those little white strands.  (It's really common for hair to grow back white at first.) However, I'm starting to get a nice layer of regular colored hair.  When I shaved my head this morning, the clippings were pretty prototypically salt and pepper.  So, here is my current hair, on day 10 after my 2nd AC cycle (6th total cycle).

And a little more hair-centric:

It's comparatively lush, right?  And I can't call it a pricklesoft anymore, because it's just soft.  I'm pretty curious to see if it keeps growing back, or if my awesome Halloween costume will be realized.  I'm sure that I'll post more pics either way.

And to end, here is a cute picture of Cancer Puppy (also known as Beulah):