Thermostat

I'm not sure how bald men do it. Regulating my body temperature is nearly impossible. I arrive at work sweaty-faced thanks to the combination of Wanda the Wig trapping in the heat and climbing stairs in the subway - I have not yet been brave enough to just take her off for a few minutes while I cool down, but I have certainly considered it. The light blue terrycloth hat I wear to bed is on and off at least four times in the night. Hanging around the house, I rely on a constantly rotating selection of scarves, lightweight caps and ski hats to keep me warm enough, but not too warm. Call me Baldilocks.

One of the side effects of chemo is that it can make you very intolerant to the cold - last night I got a little too chilly walking back home from the subway after dinner with Laura, Sarah and Gretchen at Gahm Me Oak in Koreatown. I shivered uncontrollably for what felt like hours before finally falling asleep. Not eager to experience that again, I have turned on the radiator in our sitting room, but thanks to the uncontrollability of New York apartment heat, I am now sitting here barefoot, baldheaded and in a t-shirt, trying to strike the right thermal balance.

Winter has skipped New York so far, but we are expecting our coldest weather yet this weekend. Which is why our timing could not be better - to celebrate being halfway through chemo, Michael and I are off for a four day trip to the Caribbean tomorrow. We'll see if it's easier to stay warm, but not too warm, when it's 82 instead of 28 degrees. Wanda is coming along, but so is the SPF50 sunblock for my head.

Halfway

This is the morning after my fourth of eight treatments, and the last of the drug combination that most women feel is the worst (Adriamycin and Cytoxin, or “AC”). No “morning after hangover” fortunately – when Michael asked me how I would like to celebrate, I suggested a big glass of sparkling water (alcohol still holds very limited appeal).

I have been slow to write again after my last entry, not because I have been feeling ill or because I have been too busy styling my wig (although that is HARD! I thought that years of doing hair for Barbie as a child might help, but no luck, I still can’t master the round barrel curling iron – I had to give up and take her into the wiggery yesterday for a $40 touchup). No, I’ve just been occupied with life, which feels great.

They say that every woman with breast cancer handles treatment differently, and I am grateful to be one of the lucky ones so far. Apart from my every-other-Thursday chemo sessions and my follow-up appointments the next day, I have been at work full time (which includes late night emails, breakfast and dinner meetings, and spending most Sunday evenings on the computer getting ready for the week ahead). We have cooked dinner for friends, gone to the theater, gone to the gym. Thanks to Michael’s parents, who have been in town this week, we are also making great progress on finishing all the little jobs on the apartment left over after last year’s renovation, wallpapering, grouting and making all the small adjustments the contractors overlooked or couldn’t be bothered with – at last, nearly 2 years after we bought it, the apartment feels finished!

Apart from going to bed an hour or two earlier (which Michael, who normally needs more sleep than I do and gets up an hour earlier, says is the best Christmas present I could have given him), we are living our lives as we always have. That, combined with the ongoing support we’ve been given by our friends near and far, new and old, close and haven’t seen in years, has made an enormous difference to my mental health – and it seems to be working on my physical health too. Thanks to all of you for being such an important part of my recovery, and stay tuned for the ALL the way there celebration 10 weeks from now.

All the Trimmings

"At least yours will grow back," has been the sympathetic comment from all the follicularly-challenged men in my life, foremost amongst whom is my brother Matt.

They tell women undergoing my particular brand of chemo cocktail that the hair loss is like clockwork - you can expect to start "releasing" on Day 14. Sure, I had the wig, the hats, and the variety of headpieces that can help me disguise my nonexistent strands all to hand just days after starting chemo in mid-December. But as I sat in the chair at the wig shop for my initial trimming and fitting the afternoon of Day 14, every one of my own hairs in place, I thought maybe I was going to be the exception to the rule. My hair has always grown fast, I reasoned. I am handling chemo really well so far - no nausea since the first night, normal appetite - and although I certainly don't want to jinx myself, I did allow myself the glimmer of hope that perhaps I could get out of this particularly nasty side effect as well.

Later that night, when a casual "running my hands over my hair" maneuver resulted in about 40 strands on my hands and sweater, I had to accept that this was one I would not escape.

Matt was coming to town the next day, December 23, razor in tow. I was completely prepared for him to shave my head, but also knew that this was the last chance I would have until December 27 to have the wig correctly fitted to my head (it sits differently when you have no hair). Although I could hang on with thinning hair for a few days, I didn't want to wait too long, or to find hair all over the house. When Michael discovered a few strands in the butter on Saturday morning, we all knew it was time.

After brunch at Tavern on the Green with Dad and Michael, Mom and Matt accompanied me to slightly less traditional and one-time-only (I hope!) Christmas event - we went to get my head shaved. Matt kept me company and distracted me from the mirror, assured me I looked beautiful, and briefly tried to talk me into keeping the "bangs only" look with the rest of my head bald. He was also the photographer - as you can see from the photos, there were no tears, only smiles.



I don't recommend trying this at home, but it is nice to know that my head is a normal shape - my wig stylist told me to thank my mother for turning me over in the crib as a baby. This means it's a lot easier for me to feel comfortable going bald around the house (despite the fact that standing at my shoulder tonight while I was sitting down, Mom said, "Hmm, from this angle, you DO look a bit like an alien...")



Luckily, I have Wanda. Real human hair, bangs to hide the hairline, in "harvest blonde" to help prevent my skin from looking sallow as my treatments progress. In the silver lining category, I have gone from shampooing every day to once every 2 weeks. My morning routine has been cut in half. And if I tire of shoulder-length harvest blonde, I can always pick up a new pixie platinum, brunette bob, or raven waves. Suggestions accepted below...