All That

There’s not much more frustrating to me than writing a nearly complete blog entry, only to have the computer lock up and lose the entire thing. My frustration has been compounded by the fact that my post-chemo brain doesn’t have near the retention that it used to. Granted, I’ve never been known for my steel trap superhuman memory powers. However, what I have always been blessed with is the ability to remember anything funny and to remember, nearly verbatim, anything I’ve written. Perhaps the latter is due to writing mostly funny stuff. I don’t really know. What I do know is that this ability has apparently been greatly diminished by four months of being strung out on Adriamyacin/Cytoxan & Taxol.

So, when I lost the blog entry, I was quite discouraged because other than the general storyline and one funny phrase, I couldn’t remember what I’d written. This also explains part of the reason why it’s taken me so long to update, though mostly the reason is that I haven’t been home much, and when I was I haven’t had anything terribly entertaining to say.


I have an appointment with Dr Haerr on November 6. Not sure what that will involve exactly. I’m hoping I can start radiation ASAP so I can finish before Christmas—there I go, having it all planned out ahead of time again. Everyone I’ve talked to who has done chemo followed by radiation says radiation is no biggie. I think the people who whine about it are the ones who’ve never done chemo.


I’ve discovered that my hair has apparently grown past the point of looking like a chemo cut, and into the land of I Did This to Myself on Purpose. Furthermore, I have also observed that girls with this sort of purposeful ‘do attract a certain kind of guy. These morsels of enlightenment were gained at none other than the State Road 46 Walmart—second only to downtown Bloomington in per capita freakiness.

As I plopped my purchases on the counter, the cashier, a 20-something guy about 6’5” with shoulder length dyed black hair, goatee, and multiple tattoos gave me the standard, “How are you today?” Says I with a big smile, because I know cashiers spend most of their days either being ignored or griped at, “I’m doing good. How are you?” He replied that he was doing okay, then he looked at me and said, “I really like your hair. You know, not many people can pull that off, but you look really good.” At this point I’m thinking that he’s just being nice to the poor cancer girl, but since I’ll take any compliment I can get I said, “Thanks! I just finished chemo a few weeks ago.” The look that flashed across his face said, “Uh-oh, did I just screw up?” But when he saw I was still smiling, he could tell I wasn’t the least bit offended.

Standing there waiting for my total, I started doing a little people watching. It was then that I noticed another guy. This one was 20-something, with short spiky bleached hair and big thick silver hoops in his ears. He was sitting on a bench looking at me. As I proceeded to pay for my purchases and leave I could see out of the corner of my eye that he continued to watch me as I walked past. He was checkin’ me out! It was then that I realized that the haircut that I thought was screaming, “Hey, look at the cancer girl!” is apparently screaming something more along the lines of, “Hey you hunk of dyed, pierced and tattooed manliness, what’s a freaky guy like you doing in a rollback the prices, made in China kind of place like this?”