About the Hair

I woke up at 4:04 this morning and the first thing that popped into my head was that I should probably say something about my hair on the blog. I couldn't go back to sleep, so here I am.

It is still very hard for me to talk about my hair, but I am committed to being an open book. Here goes: It's no secret that chemotherapy took my hair. I have been bald since April. Around the house I usually wear a hat or a scarf, but the deal I made with my little cowboys was that I would always wear my "pretend hair" when we go out. Always. And I have stuck to that promise (except for that one unfortunate day when we were on the way to the swimming pool and I had to make a desperate run into Walgreens, so I sacrificed my dignity and went in wearing my swimsuit under a coverup and my straw pool hat).

Chemo took the hair on my head a long time ago. What you may not know is that more recently, it took my eyebrows and my eyelashes. To be exact, it stole my eyebrow. One. The only thing dorkier than walking around with no eyebrows is walking around with only one. I grieved the loss of that rarely-thought-about hair on my face almost as much as I mourned the hair on my head. At least I can cover up my head; losing my eyebrow and eyelashes made me look sick.

In the six weeks since Chemo #6, I have noticed that my hair is trying its best to make a comeback. Hubby says my head looks like a baby's--the hair is very fine and sticks straight up. I also shaved my legs this week for the first time in I don't know when! There is still no sign of the eyebrow growing back, but if you look at my eyes really closely (mostly from a side view) you might see the teeny tiny little eyelashes that are growing. They are still way too small to put mascara on, though. I tried yesterday, and all that got me was a makeup MESS all over my face.

So what next? Taxol is the drug responsible for my hair loss, and it is the drug that I will continue to take during maintenance chemo. Yes, it will be a much smaller dose than what I had before, but still! I asked Nurse Michelle about it, and she said that I can expect continued hair growth, but the Taxol will slow it down considerably. Also, any new hair that grows will probably be thin and brittle. Great.

Mom and I visited Survivor Gals this week to see about getting a replacement wig. Even if I wasn't going back on Taxol, it will still be a long time before my hair grows enough for me to be comfortable to go without my pretend hair. Mom and our wig expert Kathy encouraged me to try a new style. Change just is not my friend. In the end, I ordered new hair that is exactly like my old hair...but I changed the color slightly. If you see me in a few weeks parading around with my blonder color and chunkier highlights, please tell me you love my hair. Even if you don't. It will make me feel good if you make it believable. (Wink.)

Also, if you see me, don't look too closely at my one eyebrow. I learned some makeup tricks, but Lord knows I'm no Bobbi Brown.

Mom bought me this button at SG. Right now it is pinned to the outside of my makeup bag. I think I will use a Sharpie marker and cross out the "S" on the end of "eyebrows." Then I will wear it, maybe not proudly, but at least with a blossoming sense of humor.

New Normal

The Non-Cancer Blogging Event has come to an abrupt end. I am typing this from the chemo room at Dr. M's office. I am hooked up to an IV, and Taxol is being pumped into my veins. I am surrounded by five other women, all older than me, most bald like me. Maintenance chemotherapy has begun.

Yesterday, Mom, Hubby, and I met with one of the oncology nurses for a chemo teaching session. None of the information was necessarily new or startling. The new protocol utilizes Taxol (a chemo drug that I was on previously) and Avastin (an antibody) to prevent recurring cancer. We know that the reality is that in my case, the cancer will almost certainly return--the maintenance protocol is hopefully just slowing it down some. I will come in every Thursday for chemo--3 weeks on, one week off, for the next six months. Those four weeks together are considered to be one "round." After the third round, I will have a CT scan done; after the sixth round I will meet with my doctor and re-evaluate.

I am told that the side effects should be much less than the hell I endured with the "big" chemotherapy. Most patients experience a day or two of fatigue after a treatment; nausea and muscle and bone aches should be significantly less, if I even experience them at all. I will have to go to the lab every week on the day before chemo and have a Neulasta injection after the third week in every round. Neither of these routines is new.

All in all, I guess I should be thankful. Compared to where I've been and what I've done, this should be a piece of cake, right? But here's my hangup: I don't want to compare the next six months to the last six months. I don't want to drive to Dallas every single week to sit in this room with these other sick people and know in my heart that I am one of them. More than anything, I don't want to explain to my sons what I have to do and wonder how to answer their questions. I want cancer to GO AWAY. I want to go back to the life I had before The Sickness. I want to be freed from the cloud of doubt and fear that seems to follow me wherever I go.

After the meeting yesterday, Hubby and I hugged my mom and she headed home to Houston. We got in our car, and my emotional dam unleashed a waterfall of tears. I am exhausted from this. I have fought hard, and I worry that I just don't have what it takes to keep fighting. The last few weeks have been as close to normal as I have felt in a long, long time, and I have loved being able to do the things I used to do before I got sick. I am so MAD that I have to give that up again and replace it with this new normal!

I am reading a little book by Anne Graham Lotz called Why?. In it, she says this: "There is more to life than being healthy, than being happy, than being problem free, than being comfortable, than feeling good, than getting what we want, than being healed. There is more to life even than living! And the 'more to life' is the development of our faith to the extent that our very lives display His glory!" Just a few weeks ago, my friend Becky (who is also the boys' music teacher at school) sang in the worship service at church. The chorus of her song had these lyrics:

I'm satisfied

I'm satisfied

I've been cared for so faithfully.

But Lord, hear my plea

And may it be

That you're satisfied with me.

I will not stop asking for healing. I will not stop believing that God is in the miracle business and that I can live a long, happy life. But even over that, I want to make those song lyrics my own prayer: May it be, sweet Jesus, that I draw power from you that I don't have on my own, so that every breath I take points right back to you. I want to dig deeper and look harder to find satisfaction and contentment in what you've given me, so that you shine.

"In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith--of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire--may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." 1 Peter 1:6-7

I have a long way to go before I can honestly rejoice in my circumstances, but I will work on it! In the meantime, I will drive to Dallas every week and I will sit in this room with these other sick women. I will trust my God, love my family, and believe that there is a plan in place for me...and that it is very, very good.

NCBE: Around Here...

**Credit and kudos to PandaMom for putting this meme out on the interweb for me to steal!**

Outside my window...the sun is setting on a beautiful day! It was cloudy all day long, and we enjoyed a few random showers. The best part, though, was the temperature: a full 25 degrees cooler than it was earlier this week. 80 degrees was a welcome respite from the oven that is August in Texas!

I am thinking...that I will be really sad at this time next year when I send Baby to kindergarten. I have welcomed the start of school with open arms this week, but I still miss the big boys and it is comforting to have my little guy with me. What will I do without him?!?

I am thankful for...my mom, who is willing to sacrifice so much just because she loves being my mom.

From the kitchen...I created lemon chicken with asparagus for dinner with blueberry pie for dessert.

I am wearing...brown cargo pants and a blue t-shirt with matching flip flops, and my Team Allyson bracelet.

I am creating...a blog post for tomorrow in my head.

I am going...to start working on lesson plans for my preschool class soon.

I am reading...the September issue of Real Simple, Why? by Anne Graham Lotz, and a new cooking magazine that Hubby picked up for me.

I am hoping...that I can find a really great book for myself when I go to the library tomorrow; that the boys' new teachers don't assign too much homework; that Goliath will quit telling me that he won't get to go to 4th grade if he doesn't do well on the TAKS test.

I am hearing...the new tunes I put on my iPod earlier today. Some classics (no one does "When a Man Loves a Woman" better than Michael Bolton), some new worship songs from Jeremy Camp, and a couple of ditties from old school musicals. What can I say? You're never too old for the magic of Annie.

Around the house...the dishwasher is loaded and there is no room left for the four cups and one water bottle that are still on the table. There are two overflowing baskets of laundry waiting to be folded and put away (surprising, right?). The sofa in the playroom has a slipcover, and it needs to be adjusted. Little Middle and Baby have been building a "city" out of an assortment of toys from their closet, and it is not to be touched, thank you very much.

One of my favorite things...sweet cream ice cream with colored sprinkles mixed in at Marble Slab. I wish I had some right now.

A few plans for the rest of the week...Tomorrow Baby and I have a playdate at Chick-Fil-A with some friends while the big kids are at school. Actually, Baby is going to play with his buddy; I am just going to sit and talk with said buddy's mom. On Friday I am flying to Houston so I can attend two wedding showers for my brother and his bride-to-be. Looking forward to a fun weekend!

A picture to share...This gem was taken at the Rough Riders game a few weeks ago. You recognize the cute little boy, but you might be wondering about the ugly foot that someone is rudely sticking in front of his cute little face. The foot belongs to my new brother-in-law, Howie. HHRiii, you were foolish to think this wouldn't turn up on the blog someday. I love you anyway.

NCBE: First Day of School

First Day of School!

Little Middle is going to first grade.

Goliath is going to third grade.

Little Middle is proud of his new backpack!

Brothers and best buddies.

Ready to go into his classroom--too big for Mom to go with him.

This little guy also told us that he didn't need us to go with him to his classroom.

"I can do it all by myself, Mom."

I couldn't bear to let him go alone...maybe when he goes to high school.

The cowboys had a great first day! They both like their teachers and have lots of friends in their classes. Baby loved his first day, too, because he got the Wii all to himself!

Welcome back, School Year. I have missed you.

NCBE: Heavenly Secret

Goliath: "Mom, I talked to God while I was in bed last night."

Me: "That's good. What did you say to him?"

Goliath: "Sorry. That information is classified."

NCBE: This Has Never Happened Before

Summer is drawing to a close, and boredom set in a while back. In a good faith effort to combat the boys' summertime blues and keep my sanity (or what's left of it), Goliath and Little Middle both had friends over to play. They are at the age now where it is sometimes well worth it to have extra children in the house for them to play with rather than have to hear, "There's nothing to DO around here!" over and over again.

So, today there were five boys at my house. They seemed to be playing happily, so I escaped into my bedroom to check my e-mail. After a few quiet moments, there was a soft knock on the door. "Umm, Ms. Allyson? Goliath is putting toilet paper in the living room."

Could you repeat that, cute little boy? Because it sure sounded like you said that my son was toilet papering our living room.

The scene in my living room was so astounding, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Just try to imagine 3 full rolls of toilet paper decorating my small-ish living room...draped over furniture, thrown over ceiling fan blades, arranged in lovely designs on the carpet, and just plain 'ol piled up. I don't know what he was thinking.

And crazy as I might seem, I do not think that toilet tissue is an appropriate form of decor. So Goliath cleaned it up. And while I watched him clean, I had a great idea. Remember in Ramona and Her Mother (Beverly Cleary) when Ramona made a toothpaste "cake" in the sink? Mrs. Quimby made her clean it up and put all that wasted toothpaste into a jar. Ramona had to use the toothpaste from the jar while everyone else in the family used fresh toothpaste from a new tube. Mrs. Quimby was a good mom.

This classy plastic bag holds Goliath's personal toilet paper. All 3 (plus a little extra) rolls. The bag is hanging in the boys' bathroom, labeled with his name, just waiting for him to need it. According to Goliath, this makes me the meanest mom in the world. But I'm guessing that Mrs. Quimby felt pretty proud of herself, too.

Oh--if you come over and need to use the facilities, you're more than welcome. Just please don't use the toilet paper in the Wal*Mart bag.

NCBE: When the Hubby's Away...

Update: The exterminator called. He can't come out until Friday. Today is Tuesday. Ugh.

My sweet Hubby doesn't travel nearly as much as he used to, but he still takes the occasional business trip. He left this morning for San Antonio, and my day with the boys started out normal enough. At least, normal for us. Goliath went to his friend Chandler's house to play, and I loaded up Little Middle and Baby to run a few errands. Here's a look at how the day progressed:

Little Middle, Baby, and I went to the toy store to pick out birthday presents for some friends. While I was waiting for the clerk to wrap the gifts, Little Middle and Baby noticed the plasma cars for sale and took a few spins around the store. My toes got run over more than once, and the little darlings suffered a sudden episode of hearing loss when I announced it was time to go. Goodbye, video game/TV time.

We had to stop by the grocery store to pick up a few items, one being cereal. I said "no" to Lucky Charms, but somehow we ended up purchasing Froot Loops with marshmallows. Huh?

After that, we went to the pet store. Although we have quite the menagerie, we only needed one item: Crickets. Live ones. I have never bought live crickets, and I don't think I will again. I don't care whose oversized lizard is starving to death.

The lizard got his lunch, and the little boys got theirs. They ate the Lunchables I had let them pick out at the grocery store, because I'm awesome like that. While I was eating my lunch, they went in Goliath's room and listened to music (no video games, remember?). Just when I was feeling so proud of them for playing together so nicely, they invited me to come in and see their new dance they had made up. The dance involved wearing pirate hats and standing in their brother's dresser drawers, which are now broken. Oh, and I could not locate one single hammer when I tried to fix them (although I'm certain we have at least 3).

At about the same time the two little boys were allowed access to electronics again, Goliath and his buddy showed up. Unless you've lived in a house where 4 boys are playing 2 separate video games on 2 different consoles in 2 different rooms, well--you haven't lived. I decided the best way to block out the noise and the yelling was to rearrange Goliath's room. My child, God bless him, is a slob. There's no other way to say it. I try not to nitpick about every little thing, but his bedroom looks like a war zone and every now and then I go on a rampage in there to make myself feel better. I don't know what made me decide to move furniture when I probably shouldn't have, but the big trash bag of junk I filled up was quite satisfying.

Goliath left again before he could admire my handiwork. After his room was cleaned (but not his closet--that's a whole other beast), I went out to water the yard. Seemed like a sensible thing to do, what with it being 658 degrees today and all. While I was watering, I noticed a message written in chalk on my front sidewalk: "Chandler is dum." I'm assuming Chandler's sister wrote it, although I'm not sure why she chose our sidewalk instead of her own.

It occurred to me that I should feed the boys some sort of dinner before I took them to their friends' birthday party. I don't cook much when Hubby is gone, so I gave them the choice of pb&j or chicken nuggets. They voted for nuggets, so I went to the freezer, and...you guessed it. No chicken nuggets. Rather, there was only the bag that the nuggets came in. EMPTY. Aarrgghh.

I slapped together some pb&j sandwiches, pretended not to hear their protests, then ran to make myself presentable and find new pants to replace the ones I was wearing when I dropped my lipstick on them. Hope that comes out. While I was searching through my closet (will I ever learn to keep up with laundry?!?) I heard voices. Goliath, Chandler, Chandler's sister, and one of her friends had come over and Goliath's opinions about his new room arrangement were coming through loud and clear. I chose to ignore him UNTIL I heard this: "Let's hurry so my mom won't see us."

They weren't fast enough. I appeared at my bedroom door as they were sneaking past it with Goliath's (very real, very expensive) guitar in hand. "Hello," I said pleasantly. "Whatcha doin'?"

"We're going to start a band," he explained, "and we need my guitar for our band practice."

"Oh, really?" I said. "That sounds like fun. Unfortunately, the only way you can have band practice with that guitar is if you have it in this house. Which, also unfortunately, can not happen right now because I have to take your brothers to a birthday party. So I guess you'll have to practice later."

I'm not sure Goliath's friends are impressed with my mothering skills.

The older kids left, somewhat in a huff. Little Middle, Baby, and I headed to the birthday party. The kids had a great time; I endured a stifling encounter with a person I am glad I don't see very often. I ate a granola bar and a piece of Hello Kitty birthday cake for dinner.

During the party, Goliath called to see if I would be home in time for his newly-formed band to practice tonight. No. No, I wouldn't. On the way home I collected him from his pal's house and thought how grateful I was that the day was almost over.

We made it home! I only had to get them bathed and to bed before I could collapse. This thought was comforting me when I heard, "MOOOOOMMM!!! There are bugs in our bathroom!!!"

I went to have a look-see, and sure enough, the bathroom had mysteriously been infested with strange bugs while we were out. I was able to identify tiny ants crawling around the edge of the bathtub, but there were many more, much larger bugs WITH WINGS. I don't do bugs if I can help it. But there was no choice--I went in armed with a fly swatter in one hand and a bottle of Spic and Span multipurpose cleaner in the other. The more I killed, I swear the more they multiplied. I finally called Hubby and told him we were being invaded by giant ants with wings. He might have snickered if he hadn't heard the desperation in my voice. He instructed me to see if I could tell where they were coming from, then spray every which way with the pest control spray I would find by his workbench in the garage.

Did you know that the bottles of bug spray and coolant for your car look similar?

I did as I was told, closed the bathroom door, and will not open it again until the exterminator arrives tomorrow morning. Then I washed my hands. More than once.

Hubby texted me a while ago to see if I was OK. I replied that besides being grossed out and feeling a little itchy, I am fine. I also mentioned that "all the best stuff happens while you are gone." He replied, "So it seems."

I have left out the parts about me trying to wrangle the hyperactive bird dog, running from a persistent wasp, and knocking over our trash can with my car.

Babe, I love you. Please hurry home.