Treatment's turning me into someone else

I'm turning into someone else.

I look in the mirror and don't know who that person is who looks back at me.

Who the hell is it? Some escapee from a freak show.

See the bald woman!

See your reflection on her shiny head!

Watch her eyelashes fall to the ground!

See her struggle to fit into her jeans!

Watch her change colors as she has repeated chemo-induced hot flashes!

Observe the "I'm not looking at her" glances from strangers as they try not to look like they're looking at her!

Over the past week, it's been harder and harder to find eyelashes to smear mascara on. Seriously, yesterday I had one eyelash left on my left eyelid. I've given up.

My eyebrows are getting pretty thin, too. Yesterday I tried applying color to my eyebrows, and as usual, my makeup skills haven't changed since I was 13.

A coworker has talked me into going to Nordstrom's next week to try high quality false eyelashes. Apparently there are kits that include individual eyelashes, so a bald person can spackle in the bare patches. Who knew? Maybe I'll put some on the very top of my head and see if anyone notices.

*******

I was at a crowded public meeting Wednesday night, for work. I found myself staring at the bald men, looking for some sense of solidarity.

There was none.

While looking at these men and feeling absolutely nothing in common with them, I decided that when my hair starts to grow back, I'm going to see how long I can go without combing, brushing or cutting it. I'm going to let it do its own thing. It deserves it, after what it's been through.

So do I.

I keep looking for the fun in all this, and it's getting harder and harder.

*******

Last week, again for work, I spent time in a recording studio (I'm the voice talent on some ticket machines). The recording engineer was clearly surprised when I walked in bald, and when we were sitting chatting, he asked what was going on with me.

I told him, and he proceeded to tell me about a friend of his whose cancer has metastisized. "Poor thing..." he said about his friend.

The moment those words about his friend started coming out of his mouth, I had a revelation.

It is this: My despair about my situation is very close to the surface, but I haven't known it. I've been so busy being freaked out and blown away and hunkered down and holding on for dear life that I had no idea what was just below the surface of my coping mechanisms.

I also realized that this is a good thing, and that jerks like this engineer have no place in my life right now.

If there's one thing I've learned during this crappity cancer crap, it's that if someone tells me some bad thing that's going on in their life, I will not tell them about anything similar that's happened to me or anyone I know or anyone I've heard about.

*******

I've been slightly untethered by my medical team. Since I appear to be tolerating the Taxol, I now only see the Oncologist every three weeks and get a blood draw to check my levels every other week.

Plus, the Nursigator program is over. No more weekly phone check-ins with her.

I guess I've shown enough stability that I don't need as much monitoring.

Dammit.

*******

Chemo this afternoon. 

Ring around the rosy
A pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down