The Oncologist


So I had a wonderful conversation with someone today as I started my Christmas shopping ridiculously early (I’ve finally accepted that this year things have to be different, so I have to be more organised than buying on the 23rd December!). Anyway, back to the conversation. I was advised to cut my hair short before treatment, so it wouldn’t be as much of a shock when it started falling out. I mean its still going to be a bloody shock – I’ll still be bald. And have no hair. Whether it goes from mid length or short. It will still be bald.

And then the kicker of the conversation. ‘Well it will be easier for others to cope with’. FML. I do not give a flying duck about how others will cope with my hair loss. I don’t even much care how the man cub is going to cope. They will all cope. The only person I care about who copes with this is my cub.   I care about how she is going to feel when I have no hair. I care about how I am going to discuss that with her. I care about how I keep it from upsetting her and keeping it positive as we have done throughout this crazy journey. So everyone who might be struggling to cope with my hair loss, please don’t; look out for my cub for me.


After spending a day dwelling on hair loss, and waiting for the Oncologist appointment, I was finally on my way back to another hospital this time, on the start of the next part of the journey. My Oncologist was a straight talking fierce woman. She scared me a little bit! But then super intelligent women usually do. She was remarkably efficient and talked through the next steps methodically and clearly. One of the first conversations was that I had to stop taking the contraceptive pill immediately (last time I did that for a month, I got a cub nine months later). Seems that it won’t be such a problem this time as I’m going to start going through the menopause. The actual menopause. Oh bloody joy, another gift from cancer. As if I wasn’t coping with enough already.

Then the treatment – as I had aggressive cancer, I was going to get a real humdinger of a cocktail of drugs – FEC-T – which I can only describe as a treat of side effects as far as six pages of printed literature could tell me. Then the hair loss. Definitely guaranteed with this combination of drugs. I could try cold capping but that doesn’t offer any guarantees either. I still don’t know whether I want to do that. In amongst the catalogue of information being provided I had bloods taken by a nurse who couldn’t have been more bored. Then returned to sign a consent form saying that I consent to sickness, diarrhoea, ulcers, shakes, red hands, acne, ruined nails, hair loss, bruising, nose bleeds, conjunctivitis, joint pain, headaches. This is a form I really want to sign!!

But I got a date, chemo will start on the 28/11/18 – two weeks!! Why would it not be two weeks! I like to keep things standard! I will have to come in for blood tests on the 26/11/18 and meet the nurses from the Chemo ward. I might have an idea then of what the next four months of my life will entail.

We walked out in a blur again, but found ourselves in the Macmillan hub in the waiting area. The lovely Maggie chatted to us and that’s when I find it hard. Talking to strangers is actually a lot harder than talking to friends. I find myself closer to tears at that point. Maybe because I feel like I need to be brave when its talking to those closest. We picked up a few leaflets and flipping through the hair loss one  and it did advise to cut hair short. The unnamed person above will feel vindicated!

I got back to work two hours later and spent the afternoon putting on my work face. But the back of my mind was spinning in circles about whether I wanted to go bald. I mean, by choice I wouldn’t. But if I just do it, do I own it and do it on my terms. So I made the decision on my way to get the cub to pop into the hairdressers and change my appointment to a restyle. And I’m terrified. Now I don’t know what to do but start searching for new hairstyles!

Its funny still to me that now when Cancer is out of my body I feel worse. I think it might be because I can’t actually hide this bit. I am going to be bloody bald! But I won’t be ‘technically’ ill. Just medically induced illness. The gift that keeps on giving, this cancer.

But I’ve got this. I’m going to do this.

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