The Hardest Part
Sorry if this turns into a long post of rambly pointlessness. I just need to get it out of my system and that's what a journal is supposed to be for isn't it?
I also apologise if this end up sounding like a newspaper column/ an editorial in the I. I am hoping to study journalism at uni so I'm using that as my excuse.
So as some of you may know, I went into hospital to have a testicular tumour removed just before Christmas (December 8th to be precise). Subsequent tests on the tumour itself led to my being diagnosed with testicular cancer, contained within the testes. The cancer hasn't metasied and luckily this type of cancer in young men btween 16 and 25 has a 90 to 95% cure rate (luck and cancer being two words I never thought I'd see in the same sentence let alone type). I spent the weeks of Christmas and New Year dashing up to Guys and St Thomas' Hospital in London (as well as to Barts but that's a different story entirely) to set up my Chemothreapy. I stared having BEP Chemo three weeks agao on the Tenth of January and should be finished with it by March the Seventh.
I can safely say that the last three weeks have been pretty terrible. I've found myself with my head down the loo, more times in the last 21 days than I have in the last three years. I've felt tired, exhausted and pretty much completly zonked. It's messed up my life and my school work just when I can't afford for those things to be messed around with, and I've gone through at least three emotinal breakdowns.
Luckily I have a great support network in my friend Grace, the lovely folks at The Lions Call and doctoreleven and phantomreviewer who have all been there with hugs and virtual cookies and have been more than willing to give me a kick up the backside when I'm being a bit too defeatist.
But today was definatly the worst day of Chemo I've experienced so far.
Not the chemo itself oddly enough though. I've got myself with a portable DVD player and copies of the I and managed to rejig the schedual to the extent that if I have to spend five days bussing up and down to Guys for the next five days there will be at least some of the day left when all is said and done, unlike the first week when I wasn't getting home till gone seven.
No the worst part of today was dealing with the side effects. Not the sickness, the nausia and the tiredness, which I more or less have under control. But the hair loss.
Today I went down to Sam's (my barber)* and had him shave me bald.
And it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
Now that may sound vain or narccistic to you, but it was the hardest thing I've had to cope with, for two reasons.
1: I loved my hair. My hair is probably the only part of my physical appearence that I can actually stand. My nose and ears are too big, my eyes are hidden behind glasses and my lips have a horrible tendency to dry out at the slightest provocation. Add to that I'm nearing on six foot and skinny as a rake, you can probably guess that I'm not the best looking guy in the world (in my opinion anyway). But my hair was lovely. It was thick and soft and I couldn't pass five minutes without running my hands through it. I loved it that much. And now it's gone.
2: Psychologicall it's been an absolute killer. For the past three weeks I've been able to pretend that despite the nausia and the tiredness, the dirsupted scheduals and the constant travelling that everything was normal., I was able to come home from chem, settle down with a cup of coffee, write, chat with my pals at TLC and stake out Twitter and LJ for amusing posts. I was able to draw a veil over the cancer thing and pretend it wasn't happening. But now. with a head that would make Professor Xavier jealous staring out of the mirror at me every morning. I can't do that.
And it hurts. It really does.
I had to do it. Even though I'd had Sam cut it short last Thursday ( I looked like the Ninth Doctor) I was still shedding all over the place and by this morning I looked like a cackhanded trainee had gone mad with the razor, bald spots all over the place. This is I guess, me taking control. Saying that I will choose when I loose my hair and not the cancer. But it was still hard.
I know it will grow back when the chemo is over and that's a mere five weeks and four days of treatment away.
But still....I miss it.
* I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank Sam in a public forum. He did a really good job on Thursday once I explained what was going on, and he shaved it off this afternoon without charging anything. Thanks Sam. You're a stand up bloke. Thank alot. :-)