PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or Post Tumor Selfie Dysfunctionality?

Yesterday I chatted with a nurse who told me about her son in the military, who had been to Afghanistan, and was now looking forward to coming home for Christmas. He was being de--?
"Debriefed?"
"No, de--. . ."
"De-stressed?"
"No, de-. . .de-. . ."
"Decompressed? "
"Well that's not it, but it's something like that."
Essentially, her son was training to be 'at home' again. Where you don't have to draw your gun if you hear a noise. Where your friends don't suddenly die in conflict. Where death is not an imminent possibility, or probability, of each day.
The USA military is now taking steps to ease Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yay!

I heard on the radio a while ago that cancer patients also face post traumatic stress disorder. Sure, the stress is certainly not that which soldiers face.  But we can see how it could be the same emotion.  
For cancer, you go in, sign in, have body parts removed, undergo chemical attacks on your whole body system. Tough stuff, and emotionally-jarring, too. Pretty girls have their breasts removed. Cool guys have their prostate under the knife. Sorry, that leg has to go. And would you like to sign up for an additional chemical trial?

Some cancer patients and caregivers take a pragmatic approach to cancer.  
"Right-ho! Cancer! Gotta have surgery, and chemo, so be it. But we might as well use this experience to benefit all!"
And so they face cancer with not too much panic, but with good intentions, helpfulness, humor, prayer, good diet, exercise, whatever.  Looking good.  It's tough.  It's a year of being sick, probably hairless. The family calls daily. Old friends resurface with cards and presents. People on the street see the bald head and offer hugs and prayers. Many cancer patients thrive on all of the goodness that their family and community gives. The impact is 10 times more than the effort, and we TOTALLY appreciate it and thrive because of the many levels of support!

But THEN the cancer goes away. 
This is where the PTSD comes into play. . .
The Tumor is gone. The hair is back. The patient has readjusted her wardrobe/gait/sex life to accommodate the life-altering body changes that came with surgery. 
No-one on the street sees this new (yet quietly weakened) self as a cancer patient. They think she's just a little slow-moving.
Friends are pleased that you're better, family has ceased to book plane tickets to visit now that you're not about to die.  The cards stop coming. Cancer's over.  
Bye! Have a nice life! 

Surviving cancer has a secret downside that nobody talks about. It's like going to the hospital to have a baby and you come back home without the baby, and you feel empty and crushed because you had totally restructured your life for no result. And even your family will not send congratulatory cards if there is no actual baby. You're done.
And so now you're expected to turn your life around in a complete revamp AGAIN to make it full of life when all you can think about is. . .

The good part is good. Soldiers come home. 
But the bad part is that cancer patients can't just wake up one day and say "Oh, OK Everything is fine now so let's forget all about what happened." 
We're still in the throes of this. . . we still need the support that we had when our needs were more obvious. Our entrails that were hacked out still leave scary shadows.
But when we go into remission, most of us can kiss our support group goodbye. 

My friend just got through hubby-with-cancer. Her hubby survived quickly, but has decided to not ever mention cancer again, while my friend, as we figured out, is in PTSD.  
"That's why I called," I said. "Once it's all done, that's when you REALLY need support!"   
We talked about it. Does nobody realize that there are repercussions to the trauma of cancer?

"So how are you getting through this?" she asked.
"It's easy for me," I said, "because I'm back into chemo."  

Love sending selfies to my supportive friends. . . is that dysfunctional?
 

And for a little more fun, follow this link to an ABBA song on You Tube. . .you know you want to.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S68Sc_SoelY&spfreload=10

Hair We Go Again, Bold and Bald

From what I've seen, cancer patients who are told that they might lose their hair during chemo usually don't. But my carboplatin-paclitaxel chemo combo includes a guarantee for total hair loss.

And as this is the second time I'm doing a round of chemo treatments, that means I'm totally bald again!

Losing your hair from chemo only takes a couple of weeks, if that. 
At first I noticed a few hairs in the sink. Then the next day or two had me doing a little more vacuuming and drain-clearing, and my hair lost its luster and bounce. And then IT happens. 
You wake up in the morning and you have hair on your head, but it feels like it's  
Someone Else's Hair.  Eeeew!  Night-Hair on Elm Street!

The first time I lost my hair, I prepared well. I bought my wig on my first day of chemo, and had caps ready, too.  I had my hairdresser's cell phone number at hand, and he kept his buzz-cutter ready for me.  
So when I woke up that dreadful morning knowing that if I even touched my head, half of my (long) hair would fall off onto the floor, I just called up my hairdresser, zipped on over to his shop before it opened, got a buzzcut, and put on the new Raquel Welch wig all before 9 am. Ta-Da!  Lovely!

The second time I lost my hair was a little different. Again, I woke up with creepy mass of nightmare fur on my head. I called my hairdresser, who said he couldn't squeeze me in until 2pm. "But I can't wait!  I need it off NOW!" I pleaded. No go. 
I do have a good hairdresser, he just didn't really "get it." Not everyone does.

So I went to my local town's Grooming Room (not to be confused with the town's Grooming Salon which caters to Jack Russell Terriers and such). I had never been there before (to the Grooming Room, that is, our Bichon visited the Salon once). 
At 8:45 a.m. I pushed open the door and breathlessly streamed out, "I-have-ovarian-cancer-and-only-2-years-to-live-and-I-need-my-hair-buzzed-off-RIGHT-NOW-can-you-do-it?"
And much to my surprise, Dwight (the hairdresser) acted like this happened to him every morning. He kindly invited me in.

Before I sat down (the shop was empty, so early), he offered me the option of a more secluded chair.  "No thanks, I like to see out the window."  The buzzing noise started. The hair fell in clumps to the floor, and I moaned softly "Oh this feels SO GOOD!" I felt so much cleaner without that creepy dead stuff clinging to my scalp.  Aaaah.

Dwight explained that he had done this before, but for some women it is a really saddening experience, and had offered the secluded chair in case I might have needed to cry. 
I felt pretty self-centered to not have realized this. I always had seen chemo-baldness as a possibly unflattering state, especially now that I'm over 50 and hair helps give femininity where my face has butched-up a little. But I never really internalized that women were crying about it. My heart goes out to them.

Did I bring my wig this time?  NO WAY!  

Last year I wore my wig and it looked great. But summer came, and it was hot and itchy. And yet my children insisted I wear it. So I couldn't go to the pool or anywhere with the kids for fear of serious heat-stress. I felt more and more like I was wearing the wig for anyone but me.  

When I attended a "Look Good, Feel Better" class (makeovers for women with cancer, fabulous class) there was one attendee who said that she was going to skip the wig, as it was only for 6 months and she wasn't interested in wearing one. I saw her point--she was just naturally glamorous with a bald head. The rest of the women attendees pushed her a little. "Try on THIS one. Or THIS one!"  
She couldn't get it through to them. She didn't WANT a wig.
A couple of months after my first chemo, I didn't want or need a wig either, it was everyone else who seemed to need me to wear it. But my selfish side took over (or maybe my shellfish side?) and I turned to wearing solely caps. (Which quickly became worn soul-y caps).


Pink caps are great. If you have a bald head and a pink cap in my area, every woman you pass makes encouraging remarks and offers smiles and hugs and prayers and help. It's the best feeling in the world. Instant support network even if you just swing by the post office. 

Coffee with a friend.

During this second string of chemo treatments I see things a little differently. I left my wig in the closet, and my kids have had to graduate to mom wearing caps. No fake hair, even if she attends a school event.   
"It's OK, Honey, I'll wear a pink cap and everyone will just assume I have breast cancer."

Without the kids, I don't bother with caps unless I'm cold. Fewer people respond to a bald head under a cap that is NOT pink. It is tempting to wear a pink cap to get lots of positive attention all day long, but I'm beginning to think that this would be a little dishonest.


Last week I had one of those beautiful unforgettable moments in life that take your breath away. I was driving home with the windows down when a bald eagle flew 15 ft from my passenger window, keeping perfect pace with the car for a half mile as we watched each other. 
Flying through life, bold and bald.


"Cover my defenseless head
With the shadow of Thy wing"
         --Charles Wesley, 1740  

Link to You Tube "Jesus Lover of My Soul" Moore by Four//Smallwood/Wesley/J.S. Bach
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSWTxVXxzTU