So a Chemo Patient and her Daughter Walk Into a Bar...

While we were spring breakin' last week, Amanda and I went to this very cool little pub and a bohemian college prof lady type told me that she loved my haircut. It about knocked me over, in a rotflol sort of way. I didn't roll on the floor laughing out loud, though; I just said thanks. And then I just had to scratch my fuzzy head in delightful wonderment.

I'd Blog But I'm Busy Washing My Hair

You'd get excited too, if your shampoo bottle had been just sitting there since October, making you feel like you don't care or something. I kept trying to cheer it up during its lonely months on the shelf. I told it, over and over again, that it shouldn't take these things personally. I told it I totally thought of it as "half-full"; but the truth is, it's been a melancholy bottle of shampoo, and I'm just going to say it: Pessimistic. It's not like I didn't already have my hands full, dealing with my hairbrush, my razor, my tennis racket, my new tennis shoes...all clamoring for my attention.

Anyway, so Amanda and I are on a little getaway as I type this. It is her much deserved spring break, after completing her second quarter of college. We took a mini-road trip just south of the border, not to Mexico, but where the grass is blue. Still, it's a wee bit nearer the equator, and every little bit helps, if you ask me.

We have had our very own Audrey Hepburn movie marathon: Sabrina, Roman Holiday, Charade, Paris When It Sizzles, Funny Face, Breakfast at Tiffany's, My Fair Lady. Not to mention, The Audrey Hepburn Story. We don't think you can watch too many Audrey Hepburn movies; but, we have been doing other things too. We had lemon-sugar body scrubs and pedicures at the hotel spa.

Amanda had what I consider a what-are-you-thinking-?-the-P-in-spa-is-supposed-to-stand-for-pleasure-not-PAIN! spa experience, of having her armpits waxed. I have already gone into my theories on waxing on this blog before, when I had my eyebrows ripped off my face and then realized the chemo was going to make that pain profoundly unnecessary. More than that, it was going to be a rather redundant Act II. All I can say, is that if it weren't for the chemo, I'd swear that the rest of my eyebrows just furrowed and flew the brow after witnessing the waxing and "waning" of their kin. Anyway, so of course we videotaped the armpit waxing. It was her idea. But I'm glad we have the fun faces she made on video. Priceless. Worth the $25 I paid so Amanda doesn't have to shave for three weeks? Heck, I haven't shaved since September, so maybe I just felt a little bad for her, since that is one of the few "perks" of chemo. At least that's what everybody tells me. I've tried not to feel to boastful about it. And I think I pretty much just put to rest any smooth armpit superiority problem anybody had with me, shelling out $25 to share the smooth.

But I feel at this point I must be honest, and a bit vulnerable. My armpits are not exactly smooth anymore. I think we've all been distracted by the prodigious growth of peach fuzz on my head, to even know that my armpits were sprouting too. When Amanda started talking about getting her armpits waxed, I happened to go look in the mirror at my own armpits and was, quite frankly, shocked at the sight. I shaved right then and there. Of course, I hadn't packed my own razor, because -who would've thunk?- so I had to use Amanda's. I only mention that because I feel bad for my own razor. It has been waiting way more patiently than my shampoo.

And that brings me to why I haven't updated the blog. I'm sure you won't think it a lame excuse that I was busy washing my hair. That's why I posted the photo, so you wouldn't think I was making something up but not wanting to blog. Plus, I thought it couldn't hurt... maybe I'll get a shampoo commercial deal out of this. Anyway, I thought I had forgotten how to wash my hair, but it really was just like riding a bike. Although, I'm not positive I remember how to do that. But that's really beside the point, and maybe a bit too vulnerable, verging on TMI.

Let's just sum up at this point, and say that spring break is swell.

On the treatment front, no news is good news and pretty much boring news to blah blah blog about, but it's going. On Monday I downed Herceptin cocktail number 6, out of 17. Chipping away at it! Physical therapy is thankfully not exactly torture, although they do both start with T; but compared to waxing, not so much. We are trying to bring my right arm back into the game of life and hopefully someday, tennis. Lack of range of motion in my right shoulder from Port Rapha. And a pinched nerve shooting pain down my right arm. Thank you for keeping on praying because I seem to keep on needing it.

Cheers and love,
Joules

Call Me Goldilocks

If you get a magnifying glass, you might be able to make out the new du sprouting. Mikey measured it with a wooden ruler the other day, so the 1/8th an inch is pretty much official. Except there is one strand that is super long, say 1/4 of an inch. I'm thinking of dying it orange to match my tennis racket and new shoes. Figure it will give me an edge when I get back out on the courts.

So yeah...from here on out, everyday is looking like a good hair day! The bonus, is that there are no sprouts on my legs or armpits yet, so my razor may get a bit jealous of my hairbrush.

I start physical therapy today. On my right rotator cuff (tennis injuries that were exasperated by the chemo, and range of motion issues from the surguries and especially Port Rapha) and some muscular atrophy in my lower back. Not exactly looking forward to it. Think they might hurt me. At least physical therapists sound scary to me. Like they might hurt people who are already hurting. No offense to any physical therapists out there. Or occupational ones, Cindy (my sister-in-law). Just my nerves talking.

Fitness used to be so much fun. I could play tennis until I dropped, or until it was dark and all our car batteries died from beaming light onto the midnight courts. Now it's going to be work to get back on the tennis court. That doesn't sound nearly as fun. Well, as long as they don't hurt me. Bring it on. And get me back out on the tennis court! ;)

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

It seems that spring has sprung on my head, and it looks a bit like Annie Lennox. Yep, I've got about an 1/8th of an inch of toe-heady blond hair sticking straight up. Not quite twins, but everytime I walk past a mirror or window, for some reason I keep busting out singing "Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and seven seas. Everyone is looking for something." Who knew I could dance like that?

Titled Windmills in My Rear View Mirror

I just realized yesterday, that I am 6 months out from my double mastectomy. Thank God, and again, thank you all who have been praying for me and supporting me through this. I love the milestone marker, which I find to be terribly encouraging; I don't feel like stopping, so I would like to take a drive-by photo of said mile marker, if only it existed outside my mind. And I love the distance it represents that I have gained from that day; I'm just keeping on driving and glimpsing into my rear-view mirror. Watching it get smaller and smaller and smaller. And waving bye-bye to all the tilted windmills. Woot! My Rocinante (MINI) and me, we go zoom zoom and away!