Chemotherapy

I started chemotherapy almost three weeks ago. The first two weeks weren't so terrible - I rested and babied myself, functioned pretty well. Then last week my hair fell out. I had beautiful hair, always have, and believed that my hair was my power. Anticipating its loss made me weep. But now that it is gone, I can see that I am still myself. My children still love me. My husband doesn't flinch or turn away from me, despite my grizzled scalp.

The leaves turn yellow, red and orange, fall to sidewalks and lawns, and we rake and haul them away for compost. So with my hair. In the spring, when chemo is done, my hair will return just as the leaves begin to bud.

The sign of hope: you can face anything if you keep breathing. "Let it come, and let it go" says the Zen Buddhist priest down the street who gives me acupuncture.

Meanwhile, my prognosis after treatment is a fabulous 97% chance of surviving 10 years. That's good enough odds for me. I'm really glad to be here.

Comments

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Hang in there, Leila, we're all pulling for you. And you're still beautiful - I can tell that without even looking.

[Leila]

Aw shucks, Jonathan, thank you. I wasn't really fishing for compliments, but I'll take 'em anyway. I appreciate it!

[Jonathan Edelstein]

I didn't think you were fishing. The compliment was freely given.

[Nate]

Hi Leila, I hope your recovery goes well.

All the best,

-Nate