Hairmageddon

Today turned out to be THE day. Hairmageddon as my husband Tim named it.

The day when I stepped into the shower and my hair fell out a handful at a time. I had to keep unblocking the plug, there was so much of it.

When looking back at the last time this happened, the first time I had cancer, I always said it was the most traumatic part of the journey.  This time though, I knew it was coming and thought it would be easier.  Last time, I was very lucky to not lose it all and hoped that would be the case this time too.  It isn't though, it is already much worse than it got at the end of my treatment last time.

At my lowest, most self-absorbed points I keep remembering that photograph of Jade Goody, when she had lost all of her hair.  That is the last memory her children have of her.  I'm not giving up or anything but the thought of that terrifies me. 

On the plus side, I have a fab wig and today Tim took me to Meadowhall to buy a couple of hats.  I also have my scarves from last time and quite enjoyed creating designs to wear, decorating them with lovely pins and weaving bits of material here and there to make them look pretty, so I can look forward to doing that again!

Despite the tears and upset, I have to think positively.  Losing my hair is a sign that the chemo is getting around my system and that's a good thing.  At the end of the day, I will put up with anything, if it means I can stick around!

I still have songs to sing, dances to dance, hugs to give, children to love, (and embarrass) and hold.  There is so much to do!  I have a picture in my head of Tim and me, still holding hands when we are old - and in that picture, I'm NOT the bald one... 

That is what I want to make sure of, so bring on whatever this treatment has got.  I'll take it all, it's a trade-off and one that is absolutely worth it.

Normality

I usually begin writing without a title in mind.  Then I puzzle for hours about what I should call the piece I have just written.  Trying to be clever, witty, snappy and fun.  When sometimes the simplest titles work best.

Today, that is definitely the case.  I had chemo on Thursday.  Thanks to the miracles of anti-emetics (the strongest I could get), I had no sickness or nausea.  Definite #WIN  I feel a bit spaced out and weird but that is only to be expected.  I spent much of the weekend and today laid on the sofa, enjoying the things that usually go on in my house at that time... kids squabbling, complaining about their chores and arguing over what will go on the TV. 

Some people might find the thought of me enjoying that strange.  But it isn't.  That is NORMALITY and for me right now, the most important thing I could hope for.

I don't want my children worrying about me, about whether I am going to beat this cancer, or trying to tiptoe around me and be quiet.  I don't want them to feel like they cannot be kids.  Because in all of this, that is such an important thing.  I do not want cancer to rob them of their childhood.

Children should not have these worries.  Tim and I have been honest with them, whilst protecting them from the worst of it.  While ever they are just being themselves, that helps me stay strong and that helps us all.

These Hands

Yesterday was my first chemo. It started ok, with a lovely piece of chocolate cake! Then there were needles, yuk! As I sat there, with the canula in the back of my hand and the drugs that I pray are going to help me to kick this once and for all dripping into my vein, Tim sat next to me.  He has been beside me every step of the way and I am so thankful for that. (Last time and this time!)

Many of the staff that were there last time, are still in the chemo suite and the familiarity helped.  Most of all though, having Tim to hold my hand, made it all so much more bearable.

He took this picture and posted it on Twitter, with the caption "It's all I can do." But it is everything to me. It is so frightening to go through this, I cannot imagine what it would be like to try to do it without Tim. 

A friend of his on Facebook, pointed him in the direction of this verse, often used during wedding ceremonies.  She said the picture made her think of it.  I couldn't agree more and wanted to share it with you.

These are the Hands

These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness.

These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes: tears of sorrow and tears of joy.

These are the hands that will comfort you in illness, and hold you when fear or grief fill you.

These are the hands that will give you support and celebrate with you in your accomplishments.

These are the hands that will hold you tight as you struggle through difficult times.

They are the hands that will comfort you when you are sick or console you when you are grieving.

These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness. 

And they do.

In the Beginning...

I blog already but I felt it was important to have a blog that provides a space for me to say all of the things I cannot say on my other blog. Somewhere I can share my fears, hopes, failures and victories. No matter how big or small.

You see, I have cancer. At the moment I am not sure whether I am curable or not. I hope, but as this is the second time I have had this horrible disease, I know my oncologist is not optimistic. I lurch from being incredibly positive, to being terrified and not daring to plan beyond the next few weeks.

I have three absolutely wonderful, bright, amazing children and the thought that I may leave them prematurely fills me with the worst dread and fear.

I worry that I will not protect them from the worst of this, that I will fail in the main duty I have as a parent; to be here for my children.