This week saw the passing of three hundred and sixty five days since I completed my Fec-D chemotherapy regimen.
Yes. It’s my “Chemoversary”!
And tonight I’m gonna party like it’s 1999.
No, no, no, I won’t be doing that! Instead, I will, on this splendid Sunday evening, present to you a bathroom selfie titled “Shitty Tittie Chemo Cut Thirteen – The Chemoversary Edition.”
With around 3-6% percent of women who have the drug Taxotere (Docetaxol) going on to have poor hair regrowth post chemo, and with doctors stumped about what the mechanism is that leads to thinning and baldness in some patients, I’m guessing this makes me pretty spesh and unique.
But there is more to life than having long, thick hair.
For example, wiping hairs out of your face on windy days is such a pain. So is getting a long hair in your mouth while you are eating. That stuff one can do without. Who needs to waste time purchasing hair accessories? Who really wants the risk of getting their hair caught in power tools? That is dangerous! Or braiding or platting hair. Pffft! Or tying it back with scrunchies. So 1980’s anyway. Those things are all so, so overrated! And quite frankly, pony tails belong on ponies. There I said it!
There is also much, much more to life than supporting the hair dressers of the good land in which you live. (Sorry Punk Chick – It was my dream to visit you every couple of months for a new do to make up for my abmissal hair dressing tally from the 1970’s to 2013). But in 369 days, and after a bit of fuzz trimming, this is where we are at. I ain’t going to be helping you pay your bills any time soon!
Thank you to all the people who felt sorry for me. It truly helps to know you hold some sort of nostalgia for my hair loss too. Thank you also to the people who finally conceded defeat and stopped telling me it was early days and would grow back normally with more time.
To get a little nostalgic for my lost hair you can see what it started out like prior to chemo and finished up as in the video here…
Huge thanks to my girlfriends Candy, Marina and Angie who sent me or offered to send me their wigs from across Australia. An incredibly real version of Lady Diana and Ab Fab Patsy arrived at my front door via Australia Post. I’ll share some pics of these at some stage. I have embraced these wigs a few times in my own house with the blinds pulled down. I even ventured out in public in the company of trusting girlfriends, when late one night we went out for dinner in town on one of the coldest and quietest nights of the week. At this stage, they still feel a little like wearing a dead marsupial on my head. But I might persist. Might being the operative word.
For anyone who ever finds themselves in this situation of hair not returning properly post chemotherapy, there are women world-wide who will share their stories and offer support and advice. Click here to be taken to the resource “Ahead of Our Time” from a group called the Taxotears. Permanant hair loss can be one of the hardest psychological issues to deal with post cancer treatment.
Thankfully, I’m getting to the stage where I’m starting not to care so much. But it has taken many months to get here and I’m not shedding Taxotears anymore.
All together now…. FUCK YOU, CANCER!
Shave it. Shave it. Shave it. You are beautiful. Fuck Geoge C right off. I am going to call you Sinead forthwith until you SHAVE IT. xxxxxxx
Also: I can’t spell George any more. Fuck you, cancer. 😛
You’re awesome. And I agree with candy below If shave it x.
No such thing as a bad hair day ever again. Congrats on your chemoversary! May you have many many more!
Why dies cancer have these nasty little surprises to get past… Enough is enough after treatment…
Hey, I haven’t posted in awhile. I, too, never got my hair back post chemo. Because I have to be on an anti-estrogen pill for five years I was experiencing severe aching joints. My oncologist recommended an anti-inflammatory diet, which essentially meant dumping gluten from my diet. Three months later, the joint pain was minimal and my hair growth improved. Not gangbusters, but enough that I could start to let it grow beyond the inch I had been keeping it. It isn’t what it used to be pre-C but nothing is if truth be told. The new me looks and feels and thinks different. So why should my hair be the same? I’ll be honest. If it hadn’t changed I had decided to shave my head and have one less thing to fuck with. I still might. When chemo made the choice for me, I realized I enjoyed having one less thing to obsess over. A small victory among the many skirmishes to redefining self.