Must come down…
It was my pre-op yesterday. Well, it was supposed to be. Except my results went through another MDT this week after my surgeon looked at my PET CT scan results for a second time and realised that the thing he could feel invading my bladder isn’t the original tumour – it’s an enlarged lymph node, where the cancer has spread. And so I’m not having the operation. Not yet anyway. I have to have more chemo. Six cycles, three weeks apart. And this time it’s. It’s not the ‘easy’ kind. It’s the real deal hardcore kind. The kind that is going to make me feel really poorly. The kind that will make my hair fall out. The kind that will finally have me singled out in the real world outside of The Christie because I’ll ‘look’ like I have cancer as well as feel shitty inside.
I feel utterly sad. Scared too, I guess. But mostly sad and disappointed because I thought I was near the end of this. I thought all of this would be over after the operation in three weeks’ time. And just as soon as I resign myself to the operation not being as bad as I think, as it being a means to an end – I’m put right back where I started again.
I’ve grieved for all of this before. In October I was told, first that I would be having an operation; then that I was having to have chemo. I grieved the loss of my hair before I’d even had my first appointment. I stopped straightening it to detach myself from it. I joked about how I wouldn’t be having any more ‘bad hair days’ and that I could technically do my hair before I went to bed each day. About how I’d be the fastest in the shower. About how I could get loads of different wigs and decide on a daily basis who I was going to be. And then I was told I’d be getting Cisplatin, that my hair wasn’t going to fall out, and it seemed like a reprieve; too good to be true. And I guess it was, because Cisplatin didn’t finish the job and now I’m back here again, having the operation pulled out from in front of me again and this time being told I’m having Carbo-Taxol (the Taxol part is the part that will make my hair fall out).
I know it’s a means to an end, that this will stop the cancer spreading. Well, actually, I don’t ‘know’ that, again it’s blind faith in The Christie. But I would be lying if I said it didn’t matter about my stupid hair. I’m already thinking of my plan of action. My hair is pretty damn long so after the first infusion, when the Taxol has definitely gone in, I’m going to get it cut shorter. And then when it properly sets in, I’m going to get the clippers out and sort it myself. I just think letting it fall out all over the house would a) be too traumatic and b) make far too much of a mess.
Another hard part of getting this news is the fact that I now have to tell everyone that I’m not having the operation and that I’m not going to be cancer free for a while longer.
I might just not tell them.
I might just get a wig to match my hair, and pretend I’m okay.