Day 10 of Treatment: My Roommate is Watching Dora

April 8, 2016

I currently sit in the hospital listening to my roommate listen to Dora. I think it is Dora. The volume is so high I cannot make out any words, just excited exclamations. I believe my roommate is Albanian, so she has this cute little accent, but unfortunately I cannot call watching Dora at full blast at 9 AM cute.

Casey?? Why are you in the hospital??? You finished your chemo for the first cycle on Day 8!!

Well, I’m really glad you inquired! Let me tell you! So Wednesday night, after posting my last blog, I dilly dallied for a little while then went to sleep. My body did not think that was a fun idea, so I woke up various times throughout the night with a pounding headache and the occasional feeling of nausea. Eventually, around 8:30/9:00 Thursday morning, I woke up with one of the worst headaches I have ever endured. I went to the bathroom, climbed back into bed, (hoping maybe I just needed some more sleep) and soon realized I needed to tell my mom. I called her name, which was painful in itself, and became lightheaded. And not one of those “Oops, gee! I got up a bit too fast. My head feels funny!” kind of lightheaded, but the overpowering kind where you’re not sure if you’re about to collapse or not. My mom rushed for the thermometer, which showed my temperature to be 101 point something. (I cannot recall.) She called me dad immediately to come back from work (which is two blocks away) and called the hospital to let them know we are coming. I began crying, nervous as hell and feeling like crap. If someone were looking in at us, I think we looked like quite the disaster. Eventually, we got out the door and were on our way to the hospital.

Car rides are not pleasant when you are nauseous. Car rides are more tolerable when you roll down the window to pacify your nausea. I did not throw up in that Uber ride, I did not. Feel free to applaud. A standing ovation will also suffice. Please don’t throw flowers, I am fragile.

I felt like a zombie making my way up the escalators (I happen to have a slight fear of escalators—an issue I feel no need to delve into.)

Day 13 of Treatment: Hair

April 11th, 2016

I never finished that last post because I had no time/wasn’t feeling up to it/didn’t want to. So, to give you the spark notes (or shmoop, if you’re into that) version of what went down, here it goes.

Being in the hospital Thursday was the worst. They told me I had to stay there until my white blood cell count went up, which could take as long as a week. That coming Saturday, however, I was supposed to meet David’s family and the following day was David’s birthday, so I instantly felt terrible. But putting how guilty I felt about not being able to have dinner with David and his family aside, I was so frustrated that I was in the hospital at all.

It’s not uncommon to have a fever on Day 9. That is what the doctors, nurses and my parents have told me. But I felt like everything that could go wrong, was going wrong. When my nurses accessed my port, they were able to inject fluids but weren’t able to draw back any blood. My port is “positional” so this involved having me move in a variety of ways for them to get any blood. They got some, but not enough, so they said they may need to try an IV. I hate needles.

I know it doesn’t sound like a huge deal, that I would have to maybe get an IV. But to me, I was already in the hospital, the port hadn’t been letting blood through, my weekend plans were ruined, so I was fed up. And I just cried. I lost it. When the nurse said IV, I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. My parents told me to take a deep breath, that the IV may not be necessary, but I couldn’t.

This is the first moment that I’ve felt completely hopeless. I know that the chemo will cure me and that I’ll survive. The words “I want to die” slipped out of my mouth before I realized what I said. I didn’t mean it, but I said it. I was so uncomfortable in my own body and frustrated with the lack of answers to my many existential questions that comes with an arbitrary cancer.

I eventually calmed down when they were able to get blood using my port, meaning there would be no IV. The rest of my stay in the hospital was pretty tame. My counts went up Friday night and I got discharged Saturday afternoon, so my weekend plans were still intact!

I met David’s family Saturday night, celebrated his birthday Sunday, and now it is Monday and I am here.

I am here and I am freaking out.

My hair is shedding.

I see it all over my pillow. I see it on my clothes. If I run my fingers through my hair, strands fall out on my hand. It makes me lightheaded. I don’t want to lose my hair. And the worst part is, there is nothing anyone can do or say to make it stop. It’s happening. It is happening as I write. I am afraid to touch my head.

Today I am going shopping with my mom for scarves and hats. I don’t want to, but I have to.

I just brushed my hair and began hysterically crying. I ran the brush through my hair and looked at how many strands came off. This is so unfair. It’s unfair that I have to have cancer and it’s unfair that while I take drugs that make me feel like shit I also will hate the way I look. A month ago I was insecure with how I looked and that was without the additional baldness. I feel so out of control. I can’t handle this. This is too much. I don’t want to lose my hair and there is nothing anyone can do about it.

While scarf shopping, I cried. It seems that’s all I can do. I cried and I’m still crying. I don’t know what to do with myself. It is such a gorgeous day, and I am in bed writing and feeling bad for myself. I hate this.

I can see my parents struggling with how to deal with this. They can’t make it better. No one can. It is just inevitable that I lose my hair.

I’m supposed to see David tonight, but I’m worried I am going to shed all over him. I feel so ugly. I asked him if he would still like me when I’m bald. He promised he would.

Today my mom told me that this is the hardest part. When I was meeting with doctors solely to discuss chemo before I began, they said that was the hardest part. When it was my first week of chemo, I was told that was the hardest part. Clearly, everything is the hardest part. I want this to be over.

I’m watching New Girl to distract myself. I feel gross for complaining and yet I can’t seem to stop myself.

Side effects are making my life really frustrating. My back is constantly pulsing with pain. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but I feel it captures the aching sensation I feel. My scalp is so sensitive.

I’m thinking that maybe if I begin to dress better I’ll feel better. Sometimes in high school when I had a really difficult test I would put more effort into what I wore just because it made me more confident. My mom said we can go shopping. I’m afraid to shop because I don’t want to look in the mirror, hate how I look and cry. Perhaps online shopping is the answer.

I also wonder if I should just cut my hair shorter so I don’t see the gradual removal of it. I’m so scared and anxious all the time.

I didn’t see Cowboy Bob while in the hospital, by the way. I’m not sure if this is a disappointment or a relief. He rattles my brain. However, Fridays at the hospital are super special because there is a three-shelf candy cart that visits each room, and you can take as much as you want. I didn’t partake, but I can see why it is so exciting.

It still doesn’t feel real to me. For some reason, I thought I would be an exception to the losing hair part of chemo. I make jokes about it all the time. A part of me was in denial, I guess.

I wish someone could tell me why I have cancer. There are no answers to any questions I ask. I’m trying to be strong. I am.

I am going to try to do Zumba three times a week. Zumba makes me feel strong and sexy, something my hair loss is taking away from me. I am nervous that when I have no hair people are going to stare at me and pity me and I’ll feel self conscious. I know that will happen. Maybe not at the gym, but on the streets. It’s unavoidable. I want to feel beautiful.

When I put my hand on my heart I feel my port.

On this day one month ago, I went to class, I went on a date, and I got a

boyfriend. Classic.

I have begun answering people on Facebook who have reached out about my blog and it is making me feel much better. The feeling of purpose is finding its way back into my system. I’m going to shower soon and then make milkshakes with David. That sounds like a euphemism but it is not. Or maybe it didn’t and I am just perverted. That’s not a ridiculous possibility.

Showering is giving me anxiety because I know my hair will fall out in the shower. I just gotta do it. Just do it. Nike. Nice.

I need to pee but I don’t want to get up.

I can’t sleep with socks on. I wonder if this is just me or if many people feel this way. Socks are great but not under blankets.

I am getting really excited to make milkshakes. Last night, I surprised David at his birthday party because I initially wasn’t going to go. (Party = people = germs = parents being nervous) My parents let me go for an hour and it was totally worth it. I love making people smile, especially on their birthdays. I think I’ve said this before. Well, I’m saying it again dammit.

Earlier today, my mom and I were playing Scrabble (I’m huge on board games. Games in general, really. This is an important fact. HUGE.) and she was eating grapes. I can only have fruits that have a peel, but I forgot that rule. So I asked for a grape, and my mom told me, sadly, that I couldn’t. I felt so stupid for forgetting. She immediately said she didn’t have to eat them in front of me. And I said she could, it wasn’t that. But she didn’t listen and put the grapes back in the fridge. I felt terrible. I don’t want to be a burden. I know she doesn’t think I am. That situation made it feel as though I was.

I just showered. I asked my mom to sit on the toilet so I could talk to someone through the curtain. I didn’t want to be alone. A lot of hair came out so my mom suggested that she brush my hair instead of doing it myself. I get really worked up at the sight of a full hairbrush.

Just made milkshakes with David. We went out to get the ingredients and it was so nice to be walking in New York City at night in pleasant weather. It just felt freeing. Then David made us both milkshakes, which was a hilarious spectacle. They ended up delicious, but the process was too funny. I’m already in a better mood. A little weirded out because my dad and David keep singing The Lion Sleeps Tonight together, but it could be worse.

Now I’m going to research some stuff about sanitation in New York City because I’m allowed to go to class tomorrow, and one of my classes calls for knowledge on the subject. Casey, that makes no sense! You’re studying acting! Why would you need to study sanitation!? Well, I could explain it to you but quite honestly I have no idea how to put into words why I must research this.

In the jungle the mighty jungle the lion sleeps toniiiiiiiiight. Ahoooooooooooo.