The external toll of cancer

The label on the little green tube makes false promises. It proclaims it's a daily anti-fatigue eye cream. So why do the craters under my eyes look more pronounced every day? In fact, one of them has a slight purplish hue like it's saying, "look at me." Sheesh.

The chemo induced zits don't quite go away. Despite using my son's anti-acne cream, they flatten but remain as little red dots on my face. They don't create any miracle cream for that affliction. Short of using concealer and foundation, which I don't bother with, I'm stuck with them for now.

A fuzzy brown and white halo still surrounds my head, with approximately 1/30th of the hair follicles I previously sported. I look forward to the time when all my hair grows in - and stays. The cooler weather prompts me to pull up the hood on my sweatshirt to protect the back of my neck from the chilly wind. I'm lucky my cancer fight happened over the summer so I didn't have to wear a tuque everywhere.

My eyebrows are mostly gone (yes, it looks funny) and I sport about five eyelashes on each lid. It's funny, but I think it's the loss of eyelashes that bothers me the most. It feels strange and I look a bit like Yoda. On eyelids, no eyelashes you say?

As for the loss of body hair, it's a bonus in some ways. It's a shame this hasn't been a bathing suit summer (both from a weather and health standpoint), because I'm physically prepped hair wise. My arms and legs are smoother than they've ever been. My underarms and bikini line sport no stubble and require no upkeep. But it's weird not having hair in other regions.

On the other hand, I'm thankful to not sport a bathing suit in public right now. Between the steroids, the lack of exercise and the cancer excuse to eat what I covet to keep my strength up, I'm not in prime physical condition right now. That's going to be a long and difficult road when I'm healthy.

I tried running half a block the other day (how pathetic, eh) and realized I'm not starting at zero with physical fitness, I'm in the negative numbers. My physical condition and stamina suck. Since I've been active almost my entire life, being this out of shape is a foreign concept. But I'm going to have to be patient with myself. Yes, I'll need reminders because I'm hardest on myself.

The cancer chemicals must be incredibly drying too. My skin soaks up moisturizer like a desert with water. When I go for a massage, the therapist is surprised when the lotion disappears on my back. But it could be worse. Apparently, some forms of chemotherapy affect the finger and toenails, turning them brown and brittle.

The right hand still has the numb section on its back. From all the reading I've been doing, that phenomenon seems to be a freak of nature. I laugh and think, only to me. At least it's in a fairly unimportant area.

So besides all the physical, post-chemo side effects, I've been working with these other afflictions. While they aren't physically painful, most are annoying. But I just suck it up and carry on. It doesn't really matter what I look like to fight cancer. It's an internal physical and mental battle.

As Yoda would say, "To beat cancer's butt, outside beautiful you need be not." And since that's what I'm doing, the zits, hair loss, dry skin, extra weight and undereye circles don't matter in the end.

Tina