Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I've always thought I was a little empty headed on occasion, but really, this is ridiculous!

Befor

I've had my wig for about a week now. It's not “Kathleen,” my catalogue pick, but rather a nameless creation in the Raquel Welch line. Somehow it doesn't look the same on me as it does on Raquel, but it'll do. I haven't shaved my head yet in anticipation of the transplant, but I think I should do it soon because I think the wig will fit a little better and I won't have to worry about stray strands of my own hair peeking out here and there.

After

My daughters came with me to the fitting. They promised they would tell me if the wig wasn't right for me and assured me they thought it looked “real.” While I was finishing up the transaction, the girls tried on wigs fast and furiously. Why is it that wigs and hats can turn a serious day into one of hilarity if you just let it. The giggles and guffaws emanating from the fitting room were priceless; the wig, not so much.

BIG NEWS

The transplant has been scheduled.

I have known for quite some time, but kept quiet about it while I made sure all my medical ducks were in a row. They are and so here's what the quacking's all about:

April 8            Check into the Hope Lodge Transplant House, Minneapolis

April 9-13       Complete physical work-up for me during the week

April 13          My brother Rob's work-up

April 16-20      Mega doses of chemo and radiation for me; growth factor injections for Rob

April 23          Not sure exactly when, but this is the week for the actual transplant. Basically, Rob will give his blood (as in a Red Cross donation) which will be spun to collect the stem cells. The stem cells will then be transfused into me. This process takes place over a two day period.

When the transplant is completed, I start a new life. That day is labeled Day Zero. The goal is to get to Day 100 with as few complications as possible.

I can't deny it – it's a scary proposition. I have read and heard about all of the possible scenarios, some worse than others, but I try to stay focused on being positive and looking for silver linings. I keep saying there's no reason why I can't be one of the lucky ones.

These last couple of weeks, I put myself in quarantine, not wanting to pick up an infection at this stage of the game. Of course, I've had to go out for medical appointments and have seen some adult members of my family plus a few friends. Sadly, no grandkids, though. I suppose one might call it self-deportation, to borrow a phrase from Governor Romney.

The next two weeks will be busy. John and I have lists of things to do before we pack our bags. For me, that includes buying new underwear. I am desperate for new underwear! For John, that includes everything else. He really does carry most of the weight around here. I've said it before – he's my rock (and roll).

I look forward to seeing my brother Rob. I am so grateful that he is my donor. We haven't spoken much on the telephone since this all transpired – John and Judy (Rob's wonderful wife) have done most of the communicating, so I imagine our face-to-face meeting will be quite emotional, at least for me.

I will try to write a few more times before April 16, but after the transplant we'll be switching to Caringbridge where John or my children will keep interested folks updated on my progress.

Bless you for keeping me in your thoughts and prayers.

Serenity

It's a wonderful day.  My friend Maryetta paid me a visit.  Although we had talked regularly on the phone, we realized we hadn't seen each other in at least two months, perhaps longer.  It's snowing lightly, giving the drab landscape a bit of a make-over.  I have the whole rest of the day to work on my sewing projects.  Chili and cornbread is already made for tonight's supper (actually they're leftovers from last night's supper--I expect the chili to be even better tonight!).  I'm at peace.

I recently received a heart-warming email from a dear fiend who also happens to be a former student.  In one of my earlier blog entries, I mentioned that I wanted to tell you about a remarkable person in my life.  I never got around to doing it, but now seems like the right time.

I first met Susie when she was transferred to my 7th grade reading class from a regular English class.  She captured my attention from the beginning.  First, she didn't seem at all unhappy about the transfer, unlike most of the others who viewed the placement as punishment.  Second, she wasn't afraid to engage and express thoughts and ideas with little concern about what the others might think.  It was clear she had already learned enough from the school of hard knocks to know that being true to yourself was more valuable than worrying about how you might fit in.  I came to admire her spunk.

School wasn't easy for Susie.  She was smart enough, but there were distractions.  By the time the school year ended, she was invited to attend summer school so she could pass to the next grade.  The invitation was accepted.

By this time, I had decided I would like to be her mentor, help her get through summer school, and just be an adult friend to her.  We agreed (parental permission was granted) that I would pick her up from school a couple of times a week for tutoring.  That's what we called it, tutoring, but it was more like hanging out.  Yes, we spent some time doing schoolwork, but more time just being friends.  We had lunch (often), we talked about Important Stuff, we shared story ideas (her mind was full of wonderful stories just waiting to be written down), we acted silly (one day the lesson took place at a county park with a swimming beach and before it was time to leave we dared each other to jump in the lake clothes and all--we did and we thought we were hilarious).  She became like a daughter to me and was quickly assimilated into the family.  We all loved Susie.  For years I referred to her as my little friend.  She just had a birthday and is now in her mid-twenties so I guess I can now refer to her as my friend, my dear friend.

There are so many things that have endeared Susie to me over the years other than being the one student who didn't think my class sucked.  Among them are her easy laugh, her vivid imagination, and her proclivity to all things artistic.  One memory I have of her that makes me smile every time I think of it is the day I picked her up in the school office for one of our tutoring sessions.  She was waiting for me as usual, except for one unusual difference: Susie was wearing a glove on one hand.  Curious, I looked more closely at the lacy item and saw that it wasn't a glove at all, but a representation of a glove.  Susie had spent the previous morning and this particular morning drawing an exquisite rendering of a glove on her hand.  I was blown away by its intricacy.  After asking her to explain how in the world she was able to get away with this in class (she wasn't sure), I was compelled to show her masterpiece to the school secretary who was duly impressed.  We then stopped at my house so I could show it to my family members.  In retrospect, I can see that this was just another instance of my nurturing the arts above other pursuits.  But, you should have seen it!

Eventually, the ink wore off and I never saw her sporting another glove.  Summer school ended; she switched to an alternative school and eventually moved to Texas to be with her mother while she finished high school.  We corresponded irregularly, but continued to make the effort to remain friends.  When she moved back to Mankato we resumed the friendship although by this time she had work and a boyfriend to keep her busy.

Now our get-togethers involve not just Susie, but also Nate.  She always expressed a desire to go to college and major in theater (she did actually write a play which was performed at her high school in Texas--she gave me a copy of it and it's wonderful), but times are tough.  I'm hoping that someday she'll be able to fulfill that dream if she still wants to.  In the meantime, she's involved with community theater and doing some writing.  She will always hold a special place in my heart.

In her email to me, she sent along this poem she wrote in response to my butterfly poem...

Untitled

By Susie

A butterfly can't fly
if you do the work for him.
It has to go through some struggles
if it wants to feel the wind.
 

In this world there is trouble,
there is joy and there is pain.

You can't appreciate the sunshine
if you don't walk through the rain.
 

I know you want to help him
but my dear you must refrain
'cause a butterfly can't fly
unless it struggles for its wings.