There is a whole laundry list of side effects that come with kicking cancer’s ass via chemotherapy. The first time I met with my oncologist and her head nurse, they gave me some literature on each of the chemicals I would be administered. Some of the side effects were listed in that literature, but I’ve come to experience a whole plethora of ailments that weren’t. I think in part, they avoided telling me all the details because they didn’t want to scare me, but every one reacts to chemotherapy differently, and therefore, they don’t know exactly what to prepare you for.
The common side effects of most chemo treatments are hairloss, fatigue, nausea, vomitting, mouth sores, and a metallic or chemical after taste that lingers in one’s mouth persistently. Like I said, those are the most common. I’ve had some of those and a bunch of others not on that list. For example, no one prepared me for constipation. Perhaps it’s TMI (TMI stands for “too much information” for those of you who don’t know web lingo), but constipation was one of the worst side effects after my first treatment. Why? Because I wasn’t aware it was coming. Fortunately, now that I’ve gotten familiar with how my body responds to treatment, I know how to prevent it.
Another unpleasant side effect for me is bloating. On chemo day, nurse Heather gives me a needle full of a steroid called Decadron. It helps to prevent certain side effects like nausea. Also, for three days after each treatment, I take another low dose of a different steroid in pill form – again, to lessen the potential of stomach ouchies. Now, if I was a roid-raging exercise-aholic trying to build massive pecks or abs, this might be a fun adventure, but alas. For a gal like me, steroids mean bloating which is a killer on my self esteem.
Although the bloating is uncomfortable and makes me feel like a balloon, the steroids are helpful in keeping the nausea at bay. As a matter of fact, to date I have yet to vomit from chemo. 10 years ago, when my mom was going through chemo for breast cancer, they didn’t have the same medications they do now to help offset the side effects. She vomited all the way from diagnosis to remission, so I am truly blessed that these medical advancements have been made. I only wish it had been easier for her.
If the constipation and bloating aren’t enough to keep me from feeling normal, then I can thank the body aches, acid reflux, and swollen tongue for filling in the gap. The day after chemo, I have to go into the clinic one more time for a booster shot called Neulasta. It promotes white blood cell reproduction in my bone marrow to encourage my immune system. Neulasta has its own side effects, the worst being muscle and skin soreness. 2 days after my Neulasta booster, I am so sore to the touch that it hurts to get out of bed. This is when a good book comes in handy! Thankfully, the worst of the pain lasts for only a day. Oh, and I can’t forget! The 4 mg shot they give me costs $4500.00 every time I receive it. Thank God I have insurance.
I can’t write all of this without getting to the part every one seems to be most interested in. Hair! I’ll be completely honest. I had some awesome hair before all of this. As a matter of fact, I loved my long golden locks so much, I had a paranoid fear that I would somehow end up with cancer and lose it all. I guess my subconsciously fearful self was psychic!
The first question I asked my oncologist post diagnosis was, “Will I lose my hair?” followed by, “I’m a model, so it’s really important that I don’t!” She looked at me tenderly (my oncologist is a compassionate doctor, thankfully), and said it was likely that I would lose most if not all of my hair. Then she said some people don’t lose their hair. The hopeful side of me really wanted to focus on the small percentage of people that don’t lose their hair. But the rational, self protecting side of me thought, Buzz it, chop it, get rid of it now, find a great wig, and take control over what you can!
I’ll never forget the day I walked into my salon to tell my beloved hair stylist the news. I didn’t have an appointment for a cut or color that day, but the salon is just down the street from my apartment, so I stopped by. My stylist had done the hair for all the ladies in my wedding just a couple months prior. She’s been my trusted hair handler for over three years now, and I love her to pieces.
Another client was sitting in her chair, so I told the receptionist that I just wanted to talk to my stylist for a minute. The receptionist went to get her, and the second she walked over to me, I lost it. If I had gotten through being told I had cancer after my biopsy without crying, why was this so hard? When the words came out of my mouth, “The chemo will probably make my hair fall out,” she started crying too. That made me stop. Then I had to console her. It was sad and strange and kinda sweet all at once. Two days later, she cut off 8 inches of my main, which I donated to Locks of Love.
Two weeks after that, my hair started falling out. I didn’t even have time to enjoy my new shoulder length hair cut before realizing how temporary it truly was. I was on an acting job in LA, performing motion capture (if you don’t know what that is, read this) for a new video game I’m in, when it hit me the most. All day, I ran my hands through my hair only to pull out more and more. It wasn’t coming out in “clumps”, a term I’d heard other cancer fighters use, but it was coming out just enough that it bothered the crap out of me.
That night when I got home, I turned to Matt, my soul-mate, and told him to get out the buzzer. Both our eyes welled up with tears. By the end of the night, I had a buzz cut. Piles of my hair cluttered the kitchen floor, as did puddles of our tears. It was quite an experience.
The next day, I was torn and depressed. I’d had a wig made for me, but I didn’t like it, and I was petrified of showing up to work with a buzz cut. Some people at my company knew about my situation, but a lot of them didn’t. I was afraid that the buzz would draw attention to me, people would ask questions, and inevitably, I’d end up telling them I have cancer.
I called my good friend, who was about to take his lunch break. I trust him on all things fashion because A.) he’ll always be honest with me, B.) he has great taste, and C.) he’s fabulously gay. He came over, saw the buzz, and loved it! This, by the way, is what friends are for. So that day, I embraced the buzz as my new look. I’ve now grown to appreciate even the tiniest bit of hair on my head.
Amazingly, I am not bald yet! I still have enough hair on my head that I can get by without the need to wear a cap or scarf. I use dark mineral makeup to cover some of the thinnest spots where my scalp shows through, and people really can’t tell. Every day that I still have hair, I consider a miracle at this point. Most cancer fighters go bald after their second treatment. I’m about to go in for my fifth!
The worst part about being chemo-sick is feeling so damned tired. I’m a young chick. I’m used to running around, zipping from here to there, never stopping to think or breathe. Now I find myself forced to sleep or lay still on the sofa. After about 5 days, I come back to life again, but I’m left weaker and weaker with every treatment. Dr. Tetef told me last week that chemotherapy has a cumulative exhausting effect on the body. The more treatments I have, the harder it will be to bounce back to full energy before the next round. Thank God I’m almost halfway done.
I know it all sounds scary. The world of cancer is full of scary things, but it’s only as bad as a person can make it. For me, staying positive means never losing sight of that light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a long road to recovery, but it’s not a dead end for me. Hodgkin’s is cureable. When I remind myself of that, chemo seems like an uncomfortable bump in the road on my way to freedom. I can handle that.
