Countdown to Chemo, 12:09 am
I think I overwhelmed myself with that first entry. I had no idea I had that much to say. And there’s so much more. But I’m exhausted from having a real day in the real world. Sorta. Actually went in to work for the second day in a row. Just for a few hours, but it was nice to plug into something that was already humming, as opposed to being in my apartment where I am the hum and the hummer and nothing hums without me except the heat and the kids in the park across the street. Wrote up the table of contents, chit-chatted some, kept my hat on. It was cold. Okay, it was cold and I guess I’m not as Grace Jones as I want to be. Scared of being just this big pale head that takes up the whole office. Like it would be distracting or something.
But I did take it off at dinner. A great place (thank you J) called Quartino at 11 Bleecker Street. All organic, Italian, very cozy. Saw my friend A and was feeling weird about being all bald, but just took off my hat and there it is. The waitresses were still nice and A said I need a guitar to go with it. And no one pointed or whispered or threw things, I just felt this weird blend of really vulnerable and kind of brave. Or really wanting to be that person who’s brave enough to be boldly bald so badly that I’ll do it even though it’s not that comfortable. And after work, before dinner, I got my first massage since this whole thing began. She’s amazing if you want her number. She rubbed my head and it felt so cool, every skull bump, every contour, every muscle right there, bare, at attention. And I could tell it felt neat to her hands too. Everyone who touches it marvels at how soft parts are.
Anyway. Tomorrow I go to the yoga for cancer people support group, acupuncture and a meeting with a woman from Gilda’s Club. Then the morning after that is treatment number three. I try to imagine the chemo bag is filled with love, or chlorophyll, or beautiful magical flowers and vines that are going inside me to heal me. My naturopath in Maui started me on this. She said one of her clients imagined that chemo was big pink teddy bears going inside and hugging her.
And the last good news of the day is that my veins are better after running around in the rain all day. For chemo, you want good veins. Puffy and blue. That way you avoid the perma-port thingy. They told me at the beginning veins tend to collapse, but so far the nurses keep complimenting me on my good veins. So that’s been my goal–puffy to the end. I watch my hands and make sure I see texture and a little bit of blue.
