The other night, Matt and I were laying on the couch watching Euphoria and I journeyed down an internet – Google, Facebook, Instagram – rabbit hole. Reading cancer blogs, cancer meme accounts, following other people’s hair growth journeys, articles about the statistics of recurrences, deep, deep rabbit hole. All of a sudden I was overcome with emotion and started to cry. I was crying for the shitty situation that I am in, and for the people who have it worse than me.

I hate the idea of comparing my cancer situation to anyone else’s, because everyone’s journey is so unique, but it feels impossible not to. I tried to explain to Matt that I was crying because even though it sucks that I have cancer, we are so lucky that everything has gone so smoothly up to this point. My side effects haven’t been so awful, my hair is starting to grow back, my doctors are happy with my progress, it’s all good things! Yes, it sucks to even be in this situation in the first place, but everyone has their sh!t, that’s life! I would never want to say that my situation is better or worse than anyone else’s, my sentiments do not have to be at the expense of someone else’s misfortune. I can’t help but feel lucky for where I am today.

Day 1, Treatment Day (Tuesday): Every treatment day involves a lot of waiting. I arrive at NYU and wait to be brought in for my bloodwork. I have to wait for the bloodwork to come back from the lab which usually takes about an hour. I wait for my oncologist to review the bloodwork and spend about 30 minutes with her. I wait to be brought in by my nurse to start my treatment. I wait for the chemo to be brought up to the infusion floor and finally I get my treatment.

Thankfully, this week my oncologist decided that we could skip a week of our meeting together so that I could go straight from bloodwork to the infusion floor. We discussed last week that things have been going really smoothly so far, and if I wanted, she would be okay with skipping our appointment. If something should come up where I was having any new symptoms or if my bloodwork came back as abnormal, we would meet, but if everything was normal I could skip straight to getting my treatment.

So, this morning my bloodwork was scheduled to start at 7:15am and my infusion at 8am. Usually I do not start my infusion until at least 10am so this would allow me to finish much earlier.

I arrived at NYU at 7am and was the only person in the lobby. It was eerie and weird. I asked the security guard and he said that the nurses usually arrive right at 7:15am. When the nurse called me in, she asked me which vein I wanted my IV in. I told her that I have a port and don’t get an IV in my arm. She informed me that she is a phlebotomist and the nurses who do the ports do not start until at least 8am and since I wasn’t scheduled with them, I would have to be squeezed in. With some light begging, I convinced a nurse to squeeze me in. So much for starting early.

Instead of meeting with my oncologist to go through my bloodwork, I waited for my nurse Stacy to tell me if I would be able to get treatment. At first, she said that everything coming back looked good but that they were waiting for a few more numbers before we could get started. Then, she gave me my neutrophil count – 1.2 – borderline, again. She said that they usually treat people with 1.2 but she would have to call my oncologist to get approval. Already I got a bad feeling. She also said that my potassium counts were a little low and I would have to get an EKG. More waiting.

Thankfully, my EKG looked normal and I was cleared to start treatment – yay! Again, actual treatment was smooth. I only got Taxol today so it was pretty quick. I went home and took a nap.

Our nanny was out sick today so Cooper was at my parent’s house for a sleepover. I picked up Aidan from camp and brought him home for an afternoon of watching TV and relaxing on the couch. Aidan was not too upset about that. Matt and I cooked dinner, watched Stranger Things and went to sleep early.

Day 2 (Wednesday): I woke up feeling great. I brought Aidan to camp, did laundry, went to a Pilates class, had lunch with a friend, and tutored. I may have overdone it because at the end of the day I was exhausted but it felt really good to have a normal day.

Day 3 (Thursday): I definitely overdid it the day before and decided to spend today doing absolutely nothing. I brought Aidan to camp, came home and got right back into bed. I caught up on garbage TV shows, took a nap, and eventually dragged myself out of the house for a mani-pedi. Nothing like a day of self-care.

Day 4 (Friday): Another really normal day of feeling pretty great. I took Aidan to camp, went to a Pilates class, took a nap, saw Aidan’s camp performance and went to ABC Kitchen with Matt sans-wig.

Chemo Status:

5 Taxol down, 7 to go!

It’s amazing how much quicker I bounce back when it is just Taxol without the Carboplatin. Thankfully I only have 2 more Carbo treatments left but I’ll have to make sure not to plan too much in the days after.

7 more treatments really doesn’t feel like that many. Inching closer and closer to the finish line

I did a thing. On Monday, I decided to say “F!@k it” and stopped wearing my wig. I went out into the world without my wig and let my fuzzy head feel the sun.

I didn’t get rid of my wig all at once, I started small. On Monday, I went to a Pilates class (3 blocks from my apartment) and then straight back home without my wig. On Tuesday, while walking home from chemo with Matt, I took my wig off and sat at a restaurant for lunch without my wig but, I still wore my wig to pick up Aidan from camp. On Wednesday, I didn’t wear my wig at all – even to camp – and I haven’t worn it since. On Thursday, I overcame a hurdle and went wigless to get my nails done and sit at my local coffee shop and endured lots of stares. On Friday night, Matt and I went to ABC Kitchen for dinner and I did not wear my wig.

The reactions from people around me have been mostly positive. One of the doormen in my building, also bald, gave me a head nod and smile in solidarity as I walked out of the building without my wig. My nanny was in shock that I would go out in public without my wig and thought that I was playing a joke on her when I told her that I wasn’t wearing my wig to pick up Aidan from camp. I got a lot of stares at the nail salon and it took almost an hour before my manicurist asked about my shaved head. I find myself having to “own” my cancer more now, explaining to the strangers with familiar faces in my neighborhood why the hair that they are used to seeing is gone. Seeing me without any hair is shocking and I can imagine that it makes some people uncomfortable because they aren’t sure the right thing to say. Truthfully, there is no right or wrong thing to say.

Wearing my wig up until now has served a purpose. It allowed me to continue looking like “myself” and prevented the outside world from knowing that I have cancer. My wig matched my style and allowed me to continue to feel “normal”, in spite of everything else that is going on. Now that I have taken the wig off, everyone around me can see that I look different and would rightfully assume that my new look is not something that I willingly tried out.

I am still not used to how I look without my wig but it is wayyyy more comfortable. I never really loved having to wear a wig and found it both annoying and phony. To be honest, I’m not sure that I was ever used to how I looked when I was wearing my wig.

Prior to all of this cancer stuff, I always felt very confident in how I looked. I may not have had the perfect body, face or hair but I was always comfortable in my own skin. I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror and felt really good about myself. Now, I feel a bit detached from my appearance. I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror and don’t feel like my physical appearance reflects how I feel on the inside. I still want to look “cute” but I don’t think that my head matches my outfits.

My hair has already started growing, though I have a long way to go until it looks anything like it did before. I have to remind myself constantly that this is all temporary and one day I will look in the mirror and feel connected to the face looking back at me.