Radiation #10
10 down, 23 to go. While I'm lying on the table, unable to move and waiting for my next breath-hold instruction, I am forced to listen to the Texas Oncology background music. Several times now, they've played "Walking on Sunshine," which seems egregiously happy for a cancer treatment facility, if you ask me. I'm being blasted with high doses of radiation that may burn and blister my skin, but sure, I'm walking on sunshine (wow!) and don't it feel good!
Today the radiation center is closed due to software updates on the machine. My end date keeps getting pushed further into October. I think it's the 16th now.
I don't bother wearing a wig to radiation because I'm pretty sure they already know I have cancer. Same thing with Pink Pilates. As a result, I've been running more and more errands without my wig. I don't care what strangers think of my super short haircut, but I dread the awkward run-in with an acquaintance. "Oh, um, I love your haircut. It's so ... short." Or if they already know I have cancer, the short hair forces them to ask about it. "Oh hi! Your hair just reminded me that you have cancer. How's that going for you?"
I can't wait until I have a haircut that looks like it was intentional. I started experimenting with styling products. I doused my head with a shimmer salt spray, spiked up my little baby hairs, and asked Jeff what he thought of my "golden beachy waves." The spray came from Credo, the Sephora of green beauty. I've been purging my beauty stash to cut out parabens and phthalates because I hear that stuff gives you cancer. I adopted a green beauty routine when I was pregnant with Julia, but over time my favorite toxic items started sneaking back in. "What?! How did that Nars blush get in here?!" (And yes, I keep my makeup in a gold Caboodle. It was a gift from my lovely friend. Besides, the '90s are back. Now where's my pink neon fanny pack from the 6th grade?)
While I was looking for tips on growing out your hair after chemo, I started googling "best breast cancer blogs." I found a couple that were funny and well-written that drew me in, but it turned out that both authors had died from cancer. Talk about depressing. You find someone in your same situation who really resonates with you, and then all of a sudden you're reading their post about hospice care and shopping for their final resting place. Wait a minute, you mean that 30% statistic is comprised of real people?! Shit, I had no idea. I had to stop reading blogs and watch The Great British Baking Show instead. Ooh, it's biscuit week! Happy day.
Today the radiation center is closed due to software updates on the machine. My end date keeps getting pushed further into October. I think it's the 16th now.
I don't bother wearing a wig to radiation because I'm pretty sure they already know I have cancer. Same thing with Pink Pilates. As a result, I've been running more and more errands without my wig. I don't care what strangers think of my super short haircut, but I dread the awkward run-in with an acquaintance. "Oh, um, I love your haircut. It's so ... short." Or if they already know I have cancer, the short hair forces them to ask about it. "Oh hi! Your hair just reminded me that you have cancer. How's that going for you?"
I can't wait until I have a haircut that looks like it was intentional. I started experimenting with styling products. I doused my head with a shimmer salt spray, spiked up my little baby hairs, and asked Jeff what he thought of my "golden beachy waves." The spray came from Credo, the Sephora of green beauty. I've been purging my beauty stash to cut out parabens and phthalates because I hear that stuff gives you cancer. I adopted a green beauty routine when I was pregnant with Julia, but over time my favorite toxic items started sneaking back in. "What?! How did that Nars blush get in here?!" (And yes, I keep my makeup in a gold Caboodle. It was a gift from my lovely friend. Besides, the '90s are back. Now where's my pink neon fanny pack from the 6th grade?)
While I was looking for tips on growing out your hair after chemo, I started googling "best breast cancer blogs." I found a couple that were funny and well-written that drew me in, but it turned out that both authors had died from cancer. Talk about depressing. You find someone in your same situation who really resonates with you, and then all of a sudden you're reading their post about hospice care and shopping for their final resting place. Wait a minute, you mean that 30% statistic is comprised of real people?! Shit, I had no idea. I had to stop reading blogs and watch The Great British Baking Show instead. Ooh, it's biscuit week! Happy day.
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