My wake up call

Here it is.  Another 4:00 a.m. morning, wide awake.  This time, however, my mood is pretty good.  My physical condition is good.  I’m just awake a little under two hours earlier than my alarm is instructed to make me so.

I’m in more of a wondering frame of mind.  What’s happening inside my body?  Is that carbo/taxol cocktail doing its job?  Is the growth of my hair slowing down?  What are those little cancer cells doing at this very moment?  Are they starting to sense the assault that is upon them?

Even though I probably won’t start losing my hair for another three to seven days, I stare down at my hands every time I wash it, checking to see if those follicles have given up the ghost, reacting the way they’re supposed to act when undergoing chemo.  As distasteful as it may be, hair loss is a signal that the drugs are doing their work.  Yes, I’ve heard stories of people who didn’t lose their hair during chemo, but last time, under the exact same treatment, I did lose mine, except for a little peach fuzz.  Goodness knows, I’ve got plenty of hats and caps and scarves at the ready, enough planned for every important upcoming social event and then some.

I just reread the early days of this blog, when I began chemo the first time in 2012.  I started losing my hair on Day 15 of my first cycle of treatment.  Today is Day 9 of my current cycle.  I could have another week or so of hair!  My current oncologist predicted Day 10 to Day 12.  There’s no telling...and, yet, still I wonder.

One thing I remember from that first cycle was the loving offer my niece gave to shave my head for me when the time came.  This time, Paul has made the offer.  His trimmer is at the ready.  And I remember the unexpected freedom of having my hair removed.  I was taking control over a situation that was largely out of my control.  Dare I say, I’m kinda looking forward to the first sign of hair loss?

Weird as that may seem, watchful waiting is an ever present part of the cancer journey.  Your life is parsed out into sentinel events:  the next blood test, the next PET scan, the next doctor appointment, the next treatment.  For me at this point, my next red letter date is tomorrow, Day 10, when my blood is drawn and my white cells are counted.  They will definitely be low.  That’s what chemo does to you.  Day 10 is the lowest day of the cycle, then — if all goes as it should — your bone marrow recovers from the chemo assault and begins firing off higher levels of white blood cells.  But, hopefully they won’t be too low and require some medical intervention to get them raised again.

It is so easy to let all this wondering (worrying?) take over, but there are other things to focus on, most importantly, just living every day of your life with all its normal ups and downs.  Parties to plan, friends to visit with, children to guide, husbands to partner.  Every day the sun rises and the sun sets, and life just...goes on.

So maybe I’m a little preoccupied with my hair and my white blood cells, but I am determined not to let them define me.  I’m still a mother, a wife, and a friend, and each day has its share of joy to be experienced.  Perhaps my 4:00 a.m. awakening was just so I could process this and move on to the day at hand.  My wake up call.