I’ve been a little blue over the past month. The atypical glumness came with the deaths, in rapid succession, of several people I cared for. Despite their passion, humor and tenacity, they didn’t manage to hang on to the life they loved so fiercely. Perhaps I believed deep down that, somehow, fighters will prevail; against disease, against the ups and downs of life. How true my former belief is not saddened me for weeks. It all seemed overwhelmingly unfair.
Then this week arrived, and my scalp started sprouting baby-fine peach fuzz. I was initially elated, then depressed thinking that it’ll soon fall out once chemo begins again. Baldness isn’t the end of the world, but I really do miss my hair. Today brought some good news: Wednesday’s CT scan showed normal sized lymph nodes, and a minuscule reduction to the primary tumor. My oncologist will have tissue from January’s biopsy sent for ALK mutation testing to see whether I’d be a candidate for that new wonder drug, Crizotinib. I’ll begin a new regimen of prednisone to reduce lung inflammation, undergo another PET scan in two months. Oh yes, AND for now we’re holding off on more chemo. I may have hair by Thanksgiving!
So, I get to spend the next few months buzzing around like the Engergizer Bunny (side effect of prednisone). This means that all my clothes will soon be mended and ironed, we’ll have an extremely clean house for the holidays, and maybe we won’t have to cancel our Christmas party, after all.
Nothing has really changed: Those who recently died are still dead, I still have cancer and we haven’t hit the super lotto just yet. What I do have more of this week: hope and a little peach fuzz.