It's just after 6 a.m. and I am due at Lemmen-Holton downtown at 7 a.m. to get ready for my 8 a.m. port placement. And then tomorrow, at 8:15 a.m., I'll be there again to officially begin chemotherapy.
I'd say - commence freak-out - except that has been sputtering off and on now for well over a week or more. My surreal cancer life is over and reality has set in; I'm not a fan.
BUT ... as my Dad would say ... you gotta be tough. One day at a time. One step at a time.
Last night that step included getting rid of most of my hair so I don't have to think about that on top of everything else right now.
So ... I made an appointment with my hairdresser, the beautiful and immensely kind Chrissy Powers, grabbed a bottle of wine, and the cutting commenced with my stepmom Pam watching and my kick-ass friend, Tisha Wilson, documenting.
The day began with this hair:
WHY is it that just before that big cut, your hair always does exactly what you want and feels uber soft? It is as if it is conscious that its days are numbered and the pleading for one more chance has begun. NO MERCY!
Chrissy dove right in:
I seem very zen, eh? Yeah. That's the wine, folks.
THE WINE. And Hello 80's. Girls really do just wanna have fun.
GOONIES NEVER SAY DIE!
Okay, okay, it's out of my system for now.
My little sister suggested I take a picture with a mohawk before the end. Here you go, lil sis.
Wait ... you know. I'm only going to have any hair for about two weeks so ... hmm .... you have color? Magenta?
Well ... it IS breast cancer, after all, right? And it's mostly gray other than that if I'm honest, right?
LET'S DO IT!
I give you ... the Justa Mohawk:
So now I sit at 6:30 a.m., waiting to leave to begin the weekend I've been dreading. Surgery didn't scare me all that much in comparison. Frankenboob didn't scare me. The infection was a pain in the ass (or breast) but it didn't scare me.
In all honesty, folks, I've woke up with my teeth chattering in the last couple nights and it wasn't because I had a fever. It took me some time but I realized I'm simply afraid.
Chemo scares me.
The port placement scares me. The idea of something being IN me for months scares me.
Hmmm ... Sméagol Kim or Cyborg Kim. Now I'm torn.
But I'll get through it. This morning Hipster Kim (the 'hawk, donning purple glasses and an old flannel shirt, I'm about as hipster as I'll ever be), is heading downtown to begin the dreaded weekend.
Send up some good thoughts for me please. And thank you.
I'll see you on the other side....