I had my first dose of chemo this week. It was pretty much
as expected. The staff couldn't do enough for me, the cups of tea were
plentiful and we were even brought sandwiches and cake thanks to my session
being fortuitously allocated to lunch time. After a saline drip was set up, the
chemo was administered, in my case, through a cannula in the hand.
And that's it really. The rest of the time you sit and chat
and wonder if you have enough eggs at home for Pancake Day – which we did
although I wish I hadn't burnt the 'non-stick' pan a few weeks earlier.
I can't pretend it was a walk in the park. It generally
feels as if I've had a murky pair of swimming goggles prised over my head resulting
in smeared, wobbly vision, a crashing headache and morning sickness without the
baby. Oh, and water tastes like flat Alka Seltzer stirred with a dash of mud. But it's one down and that means five to go which is better than where I
was last week and another week closer to my ultimate goal: cancer in the past
tense.
So, instead of pondering on the well-documented side-effects
of chemo, I thought I'd let you know my decision.
Did I go cold?
When I write blog posts I hope that they might entertain and
even provide a nugget of information but I don't really expect them to help me
make life affecting decisions. However, the flurry of responses which came via
Facebook, here, and in person - thank you so much to everyone - really helped
my thought process. I quickly realised that what I really wanted to find was
an excuse not to wear the Cold Cap; something we'd call in our house, 'an
excuse to be a woos', for fear it was spineless not to at least attempt to try it.
Then a friend mentioned two of her friends who did use the Cold Cap. Unfortunately it had no effect for the first but in the case of
the second it worked - ish - with her hair thinning but not falling out
altogether. However, due to the thinning, the special shampoos needed to
minimise the hair loss, the lack of serum, gel or mousse, hair-drying and curling
or straightening, the friend hated her hair. No products? I broached. What, no
frizz-calming, curl taming products? I'd look like Tina Turner, I exclaimed, perfect
in Mad Max, granted, but not, perhaps, in my village. And thinned, curly long
hair? Roll over Rab C Nesbitt. 
Crucially, the friend was glad she endured the ordeal
because she was happy to have her own hair at the end of the treatment.But, personally, I didn't go for the Cold Cap.
Instead I had my hair cut to ease the pain of it falling
out. I picked up my wig from the wig shop. And I sat and thought about ice cream
in pancakes rather than Ice Cream Head.
And I'd made the right decision for me.
Unashamedly spineless.
On another matter, I've been writing. I've hacked and added and
slashed the word count again and screamed into the deadline for the Bath Novel
Award by thirty minutes. The longlist is announced on 24th
March. I never go into these things thinking I'll win, but I always keep my
finger ends on the touch of a glimmer of hope until that Fat Lady Has Sung. All
whiffs and sprinkles of fairy dust gratefully accepted :)
Have a great week!
