Phenomenal friends

It takes a special kind of person to sport the bald look in support of a friend with cancer. I'm lucky enough to have three such amazing people in my life. As you know, Michael gained hair freedom on Wednesday.

Well, last night, Diane and Pete joined us at our abode for some dinner and fortifying beers (mine was ginger ale, to keep my tummy settled) before the big event. Pete, sat in the sacrificial chair first and Diane had fun, creating tuffs, leaving sideburns, making a reverse mohawk, etc. before the shaving cream and razor hit his head.

Prior to last night, Diane was growing her hair and sported a long bob. She could finally braid and style her hair in fun and different ways. I reminded her (and Pete) yet again they didn't have to go bald - that I was okay with it. Without hesitation, they both reaffirmed this gesture of support.

They call us Bratschers their clan. Definition: a family one chooses, not the one into which one is born. How awesome is that!

I think Pete had even more fun when he got the clippers into Diane's hair. He created unique designs, including a T in support of Tina, a cross, a pathway with thin strips and long sections, and maintained a small braid at the front. At one point, she looked like Golum from Lord of the Rings and called me "my precious." Too funny. Finally, she told Pete to finish the job.

We had a ball last night, with lots of laughs. And I have to say, they look good bald. In fact, we all look good bald - as you can tell from the photo I've posted. This is our surprised look - the way everyone will look when they see us walking down the beach in Port Franks. Ha!

This hair-sacrificing gesture of support really touches my heart. Diane and Pete are amazing friends and I love them to the ends of the earth for joining my small, but mighty bald crew.

Enjoy this Sunday with the sunshine on your face, or for a few special few, on your proud bald head.

Tina

Saturday morning random thoughts

Happy long weekend everyone. My blog today is going to be an update and some random thoughts from over the past week.

Most importantly, I was able to get my second round of chemo yesterday. Yeah! My blood counts were excellent and I sailed through the long transfusion period with my sister at my side. One new and strange side effect, that I probably didn't notice last time, my eyes blurred during the Benadryl drip. It made reading my Chatelaine magazine difficult because the words jumped all over the page. Interesting.

I feel pretty good this morning. I'm religiously taking my anti-nauseau meds and knock on wood, they're working so far. Some slight chest pressure/heart burn started about 10 minutes ago. I can deal with that.

Another side effect, which I also experienced last time too, is the early morning waking (some would even call 3 a.m. the middle of the night). I suspect it's from the steroids the nurses give me to prevent an allergic reaction.

I got many compliments from the cancer clinic staff on my t-shirt from Margie with the slogan "I'm kickin' ovarian cancer's butt." That's how I felt yesterday too. I was bouncy and optimistic. I think some of the staff and other patients may have found that strange. Angie and I snacked on the smorgasboard of munchies she brought, my spirits were up and I received the medicine I needed to fight.

Oh, much to our suprise, I learned from my oncologist yesterday that I may have another round of chemotherapy before my surgery because his secretary still has to book it (why that hasn't already been started is beyond me). I was dissapointed by the news.

So I may have my next chemo on June 5, with surgery in early to mid July. Or I may have the operation in mid June, as originally planned. As scared as I am of the invasive surgery, at least it will allow the doctors to cut out the offending tumours (I envision Arnold Swartzeneggar saying that word - TOO muur) and remove the main organs that are the sources of the disease. But at least the chemo is working on shrinking the offending interlopers.

On a funny note, as I was losing my hair this week and my palms were completely covered in lost strands, I kept singing in my head "clap for the wolfman." Strange how the mind works during semi-tragic events.

Yet as anxious and scared as I was about the hair loss, it really is no big deal. I really don't care. I'm willing to show people, and I mostly put on head scarves and hats so as not to startle others. Go figure. Besides, I have my bald husband by my side and so we're just a couple of coneheads together. There will be four of us by the end of the day (ha!).

Kudos to Jodi for providing a post chemo meal for my family last night. What a huge relief. I came home to a crock pot of yummy smelling food - and I was even well enough to eat a bit. Thank you!

Friends, and all the big and small things they do to help, are a blessing. I don't know what I would do without you. I know I've requested this before, but it never hurts to be reminded to think of something in your life that is a blessing (even if it's the experience of a long weekend).

Until next time,
Tina

Second round chemo

As good as I've felt over the past week, I'm glad today is here. I want to receive my second round of chemotherapy. I want to fight again. Over the past week, my body needed to recover and reproduce blood cells to make me strong for today.

It may be psychological, but I feel like the cancer cells felt a reprieve too and started gleefully plotting to take over my body again. I've felt twinges in my abdomen over the past two days where I feel the tumors are located. Is my mind playing tricks on me now that I've seen the lab reports stating the size and potential location of their growth? Am I afraid to feel good because that's how I felt when I didn't even know I had the silent stalker?

So bring on the chemo, with its nausea, leg pains, tiredness, and the multitude of semi-debilitating symptoms. It's better than believing I'm not getting better. That's my only goal right now.

On that note, I'm going to wear a special t-shirt I received from my cousin, Margie, to my appointments. It states, "I'm kickin' ovarian cancer's butt." She said it reminded her of feisty little me and told me to fight, fight, fight. Yes, ma'am.

In closing, I'd like to wish my dad a happy 70th birthday. He's an awesome man who plans to swim a mile today in celebration. Dad, I love you and I wish I could be there and swim it with you, but I've got this important appointment I'd better keep. Happy birthday, dad.

Keep me in your thoughts today. I feel you all pulling for me and it makes a difference.

Love,
Tina

Foreign tongue

The experience was similar to visiting a new country where you know some of the language. Enough to get by, order from the menu, ask where the bathroom is located, but not enough to understand the crux of an entire conversation.

That's how I feel about my experience with the geneticist yesterday. He's a brilliant man, but he's a researcher who is excited about his area of expertise and shares this extensive knowledge in great detail. I think he expected we'd understand it all. Angie, with her medical background, gleaned more from the conversation than mom or I, who at times sat glassy eyed with blank looks on our faces.

I understood DNA, RNA and mututions in one of the strands, etc. I got the general gist and it helped when he drew pictures. But I don't even remember all of the terminology.

I did walk out of there with the understanding that if I have the BRCA1 gene (which is highly likely given that it's in my family and I have ovarian cancer at age 42), it seems to respond well to platin type of chemotherapy, which I'm receiving. Yeah!

But, if I have the gene, my mom definitely has it (and will need to make some medical decisions to protect herself) and my sister has a 50/50 chance of inheriting it - my fingers are still crossed she doesn't. I'm willing to take the hit (since I don't have a choice in the matter now).

The statistics are sobering for those who do have the BCRA1 gene. The chances of developing breast cancer is something like 60 to 90 per cent. But it drops to half if a woman has a hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy (fancy term for the removal of both fallopian tubes and ovaries). So on top of my cancer treatment, I will now be referred to a breast cancer specialist to discuss my options.

The doctor asked if I wanted to wait until after my cancer treatment to talk to the breast cancer physicians. No! Let's deal with everything now to make me as healthy as possible.

I came home last night to a bald husband. He looks good bald but, damn him, he had a five o'clock shadow by the time he went to bed. He exclaimed his velcro head got caught on the towel after his shower this morning. I'm shiny bald and he sported regrowth hours after the shave. He says he's going to maintain his baldness, but that seems like an awful lot of work just to support me. But I appreciate the sentiment.

Diane and Pete are visiting on Saturday for the big shave off in support of my alopecia (hair loss). I'll be sure to post a picture of the four of us sporting our bald heads soon. (Of course, Michael may need to do a reshave on Saturday so he doesn't look out of place.)

I'm praying today that my white and red blood cells, and my platlets have recovered enough for chemo tomorrow. Despite the yucky side effects, I really want to kill more cancer cells. So bring it on!

Your fighting friend,
Tina

Very cool

I find being bald surprisingly freeing. The first night, I experienced shock whenever I saw myself in the mirror. My first thought after the shave off was conehead. (Remember them on SNL - and yes, I'm dating myself again.)

But the shock is gone. I seem to have no problem saying to people, "do you want to see it?" Colleen Maass and Melissa Dodge both visited yesterday (much to my delight) and I unhesitantly whipped off the pink bandana. They both complimented me on the nice shape of my head - lucky me - and said bald suited me. Huh.

I don't feel compelled to cover up all the time, and wander around the house, cook, watch TV, etc. sans head cover. I'm happy I feel so comfortable with it. I know others may be uncomfortable but as Jodi's dad used to say "they can look elsewhere."

Today, I go to the geneticist with my mom and sister today to get tested for the BRCA1 gene. This gene, which can cause breast and ovarian cancer, runs in my family. I'm pretty sure I have it given the circumstances. But if I have it, unfortunately so does my mom. She can do something to prevent cancer from catching up to her. And I pray it skipped my sister entirely.

Of course, once we learn who carries the gene, we'll undergo counselling to learn the options and understand the implications. When I have confirmation that I have it, I'll need to figure out when Noah and Tara should be tested. It doesn't necessarily pass to the next generation and my fingers are crossed they don't have it. But we have to make sure so appropriate precautions can be taken. One step at a time.

In closing, I've posted a picture of me bald so you can all get over the initial shock and experience a chuckle on this sunny Wednesday morning.

Have a great day!

Tina

Cue ball

I'm now as bald as a cue ball. Think Andre Agassi, Britney Spears and Sinead O'Connor (for those of you old enough to remember her). I'm THAT bald.

It feels very strange. At first my scalp felt tingly when I touched it. I think it's because that skin hasn't been exposed since around my first birthday. After 41 years of being protected by hair, my scalp is a little sensitive.

But I have to admit, bald is far better than maintaing the thin hair with which I was left (yes, I could do a comb over). I took a shower yesterday afternoon to dislodge more, to no avail. After I towel dried what remained of my hair, I stood in front of the bathroom window. With the light streaming in behind me, Michael said I looked like a baby oranguntan. Not a look I want to maintain. The comment horrified me.

Margaret and Michael say I have a beautiful scalp with no unusual bumps and ridges. They assured me I look great. But last night, every time I looked in the mirror, it screamed BALD at me. I'm getting used to it this morning and a little bit of self tanner will help my white pate blend in with the skin on my face.

I can't believe how cold my head gets - and I haven't even gone outside yet. When I reach inside the fridge to retrieve an item, I'm startled at its cold air hitting my head. Sitting here writing, I can feel a breeze. It's ridiculous.

Okay, I know you men who have receeding/thinning hairlines are saying "welcome to the club," but I went from all there to bald in less than 12 hours. No gradual adjustment period for me. And I'm a woman. People WILL stare.

Michael's shave off is Wednesday afternoon because Margaret didn't have time yesterday. He currently has longish, very thick hair. He's in for an adjustment. Then he'll know what I'm talking 'bout.

I'm going to save a fortune on shampoo and conditioner. And I still have my eyebrows and eyelashes. Yes, the glass is half full this morning.

So as you run your fingers through your hair, think of me and chuckle.

Your bald friend,
Tina

H-day

Yup, the day I was dreading arrived. My hair starting coming out in clumps in my hands in the shower this morning. I knew it was coming. Every day for the past week, I've tugged on my locks to see if the strands were loose. Yesterday, when I performed the procedure, six to 10 hairs came out without resistance. It freaked Michael out a bit and he told me to stop.

Despite knowing alopecia (fancy word for hair loss) is a guaranteed side effect of the Carboplatin chemo drug, it's still pretty darn tramatic when it actually happens. Some small part of me is relieved it's arrived (yet not over as I'll explain later.)

But as I stood in the shower for 45 minutes, I experienced horror as I placed big clumps of hair in a Shoppers' Drug Mart bag, extreme sadness that I have to go through this and frustration because I couldn't get it all to come out. At the beginning, I was gentle, rubbing my hands gently through my hair. After about half an hour, I was angry and began roughly pulling it out in clumps.

But it wouldn't all come out. I gave up trying when the water ran cold. I towelled off and ran past the mirror without looking at my reflection. I didn't want to know how horrendous I looked.

I called my sister-in-law, Margaret, begging for a head shave ASAP. She encouraged me to go look in the mirror while on the phone with her. I was horrified. I look like Brad Pitt in the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I have this big bald spot right in the front of my head. I could still have bangs (wouldn't that be an attractive look?) and it looks as though I have a really short haircut everywhere else.

I think I'll make another attempt later when the hot water replenishes and my scalp recovers - it's a bit red right now. What doesn't go this during this afternoon's shower will be subject to Margaret's ministrations around 4 p.m. today.

So here I sit, with a baseball cap on. If I went out, no one could tell I'm going bald (I have enough hair sticking out). I have the hebie jeebies because I have hair everywhere; like after a hair cut when the little bits are hanging around inside your clothes and scalp. And my poor bathtub needs a good rinsing down.

I think it'll be better when I'm bald. But who knows exactly how I'll feel. With my hair loss, there's no denying I'm undergoing treatment for cancer because no other treatment plan produces this side effect. It's a reality check.

And as open as I am about my diagnosis and treatment via my blog, complete strangers will know I have cancer when I go out in public. Unless I wear a wig, which isn't in my current plans, it'll be public knowledge. I've been warned some people will stare. Others will exude sympathy.

I'm a little nervous about leaving my house now, but I can't be a shut in. I know you will all be sympathetic, but I feel anxious about seeing friends too. I expect some of my friends will share a laugh with me at my bald pate (when I'm ready to laugh).

I'm sure I'll adapt - I have to get used to it. I have a life to live.

Your hair-challenged friend,
Tina