My port incision is looking a little red around the edges. “Keep an eye on it,” says Dr. Freedman.
I do. It seems to be getting better.
It’s a big gash, though, like the glue didn’t hold. I’m going to have an epic scar. I’m okay with that, though, while at the same time being a little annoyed that the glue the doctor was so excited about didn’t work. Still, scars are better than tattoos.
After Monday’s second immunotherapy and fourth chemo, I wait for the symptoms to kick my ass. They don’t. I have hot flashes, which makes me wonder what’s happening with my hormones. My period is due soon, and I wonder what’s going to happen with it.
Diarrhea gets pretty bad one day. I up my Imodium dosage.
And then there are the hemorrhoids. It’s not fair, really. If you’re constipated, you get hemorrhoids. If you have diarrhea, you get hemorrhoids. I move up from using the A&D ointment to the prescription Proctol.
I start getting nosebleeds. It’s annoying and messy. The doctor suggested getting Vitamin D capsules, busting them open, and putting them on my nose. “It’s because your nose hairs are falling out, and your skin is dry,” said the doctor.
So Dad goes to the pharmacy and finds some Vitamin E ointment in a tub. That should be great, right? Except, without thinking, I try it–slather the stuff up my nose.
It’s like snorting perfume.
He goes back. Finds a spray called Rhinaris for dry nose. It works perfectly. Only one nosebleed in several days, instead of several in one.
I have sores at the corners of my mouth. They’re ugly, and I have to stop myself from picking at them. My mom has been mixing up my mouthwash–the water, baking soda, and salt mixture to keep sores out of my mouth. I pour it over the corners of my lips, but it doesn’t seem to be working, so I slather them using a q-tip.
I guess it’s the worst thing right now, so I can’t complain.
Things feel under control, except my head hurts. It sort of feels like my hair hurts, but it’s my scalp. It’s right on the line between itching and hurting, like when you’ve scratched a mosquito bite too long, but muffled. Not too bad. It only really feels bad when I’m scratching it.
I’m sitting on the couch, feeding Phoenix. I have her in my left arm, holding the bottle with my left hand. I rub my right hand over my head, absent-mindedly.
When I look down, there are several short little hairs scattered across her face.
It hits my: It’s my hair.
My hair is falling out.
I knew it was going to happen. Dr. Warr said it would happen the fourth week. I even said it myself. Fourth week. Hair’s going to start falling out.
But seeing it…
I cry a little.