Remember how I said I ordered a wig? Well, I called and cancelled it the next morning. I just didn’t love it, and right now I don’t really feel like I need it. Besides, I’m really enjoying all of the compliments I’ve been getting on my bald head…far more compliments than I ever got with hair. Either you guys are giving me sympathy compliments or I truly do look better bald. What’s that say about my poor hair? If my head was so nappy, why didn’t anyone ever tell me?  Now I’m starting to feel bad about donating my hair to Locks of Love. I’m thinking some poor permanently bald 12 year old is going to see the nappy wig my hair made and say, “No, thanks. I think the playground taunting will be less WITHOUT the wig.”


For some reason this go-round of the chemo made me retain water…to the point that it actually hurt to be touched, even lightly. Not fun. I felt like a big water sausage. But, that’s pretty much subsided now and I’m feeling pretty good, if not a tad tired. Apparently it’s a lot of work being a water sausage, though it seemed like mostly a lot of sleeping and whining about being sore.


I’ve found that on the days that I feel a little queasy (usually Wednesday through Saturday morning) it helps to eat small amounts frequently. You’re probably thinking, “Well no wonder chemo is easy for you…we know how you like to eat all the time.” Yeah, well, I am a foodie, but I’m tellin’ you it is NOT fun to have to eat every hour when you aren’t hungry, and can’t taste anything well. Half banana here, granola bar there, piece of bread, half a yogurt, blah, blah, food, food, food, blah, blah. By Saturday morning I was like, “I am SO tired of eating!” It was like 10 o’clock on Thanksgiving night to the 10th power.

Contrast this with Saturday evening when I regain my appetite, and food tastes decent (although not completely as it should) again, and I eat like some starved elephant at the Planter’s peanut factory. Oh, you can try to talk to me, but don’t expect an answer until I’ve stuffed my face. I’m hungry—like 4 days worth of living on granola and bananas hungry. Between all that and the steroids, it’s only by the grace of God that I still fit in my pants, let alone through the door.

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