Chemo #2 is in the bag, and I have been weird. Like, crying all the time weird. Sometimes with reason. Sometimes without. At first, I thought I was just really emotional because I’m bald now. (Yeah, that happened.) But then, I was just weepy, and I am not a weepy girl. My three-year-old kept trying to cheer me up when she would catch me crying, which always worked but made me feel like I wasn’t doing my job. You guys, it has been a barrel of fun around here. Just ask my husband. I’ve been a peach. Anyway, then I realized something–and please avert your eyes if you don’t like “girl talk”–I think I’m going through chemotherapy induced menopause. Gasp! The change! At the ripe old age of 32. Fantastic. So if you see me maniacally fanning myself at the park or barely able to hold myself together at church, be kind, friends. In a decade or two, this will be you.
Enough of that nonsense! Round two went much smoother than round one due to the fact that I knew what to expect. There was the little hiccup during my pre-chemo left armpit ultrasound where the doctor asked me if I was “all finished breastfeeding.”
“I see that you were nursing when you found the lump.”
“How old is your baby?”
“She’s eleven months.”
“Oh, okay. So are you all finished breastfeeding then?”
Umm…what?! You are a doctor, right? Yeah, I’d say I’m “all finished.” I mean unless there’s a way to do it without breasts. Or did they send them home with my daughter after they were removed? Does she have them in her closet in some kind of cooler system that I’m not aware of? Or maybe you think I’m still trying? Yeah, I mean, I have been. We’ve been having a hard time with the latch lately though. It’s just not going well.
I did not actually have those thoughts until later. As I said, I’ve been weepy. At the time, I just muttered a meek, “Yeah,” and avoided eye contact.
She did the ultrasound, and I kept thinking about how many ultrasounds I had with Penny and Alice. Even though they were because I was high risk, I loved watching my babies on the screen. Now, I didn’t dare look at the screen. I was worried those images would move me from a stage 1 to a stage 3 just by existing. They didn’t.
The doctor finished up, caught her mistake, apologized, gave me the all clear, and left the room. And I cried for the good news. I’m telling you, I’m a mess. I’m currently avoiding all Sarah McLachlan commercials, handwritten notes, pictures of my babies when they were newborns, pictures of your babies when they were newborns, the little puppy on the toilet paper package, and songs that remind me of a middle school dance. I think, instead, I will fill my life with WWE, Chris Farley movies, going to the shooting range, PBRs with grandpa, and video games. I will NOT watch My Girl on Netflix again. Big mistake. BIG mistake.
It has been just over a week since my treatment so I’m on the upswing, and I can say that I am one third of the way done! This time was much like the last (no fun) except that I’m now bald. I’ll get to that next time. I’ve been trying out different head covering situations for when I go out. I have a hat, some scarves, and two wigs–one of which is pink, at Penny’s request. So I’ll leave you with a picture of her modeling it because it actually is my favorite…and she’s, like, the cutest cutie ever. Great, now I’m crying again. Just kidding.