Number 3

     Another Thursday, another treatment.  This one would mark number three.  I got up, got dressed, ate some oatmeal and headed out.  Once at good old clinic 2B, mom and I checked in and waited to meet with yet another one of my doctor's P.A.'s, her name was Andie.  We chatted with her about treatment and such before chemo began.  The familiar routine then started as she directed mom and me to go get my port accessed and head down to infusion.
      I was directed to my luxurious recliner where I would spend my third treatment.  My nurse this time wasn't that great.  One thing about having many nurses is you start to compare them to one another and pick out your favorites.  She was nice, just real quiet.  I was more emotional this time.  I started thinking about the weekend and how it would just be a repeat of the last.  And how I'll be repeating it again in two weeks...and then again, and again, eight more times.  When the nurse started the Adriamycin, it just felt like poison entering my veins.  Red disgusting poison, but there was nothing I could do about it of course.  So I just cried, wanting it to be the end of treatment, but this thing that felt like poison, was also my cure.
     I chatted with mom and Carlee during treatment, then a couple hours later we were heading back home.  The days after weren't horrible at all, more like the second treatment where one throw up and a couple days later I was feeling loads better.  What a blessing that was, another treatment like the first would be horrible. 
     The Monday after treatment we had to chop my hair.  I had put it in a ponytail for the weekend and it didn't want to come out!  With hair falling out at such a fast rate, apparently putting it up is just a way for it to get in a big knot...good to know.  Dad did the cutting.  It felt weird but needed to be done.  I promptly put my beanie right back on and have been that way ever since basically.  It's really not that bad with a hat on, because at least with a beanie I can still imagine I have my old hair underneath it.
     It's odd that hair even matters, but I guess it's mainly because I can now visibly see what chemotherapy is doing.  Everyday more and more.  It's hard because your hair is an outside thing, your appearance, whereas the rest is just how you feel.  As I've learned to be confident with myself, hair has been a part of it, a part of me.  Now I have to learn to be confident with myself and my appearance all over again.  It seems so vain, but that's the challenge I guess isn't it?  I'm going to be different, but I'll be okay...I can still be me, even if my body isn't my body for awhile.  Yeahhh...