It may be winter outside….

But in my heart (and on my head) it’s spring!

While I spent the summer complaining how uncomfortable and resentful I was, going through Chemo in the hotter months. I’m glad I am not just starting to lose my hair now, it sure is chilly on the ol’ noggin these days… Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure, whichever season I started chemo, I’d find reason to grumble about it. Chemo is just a very grumbly time.

So the leaves are falling, the fog is rolling and the temperature is plummeting and a mini renaissance has taken hold of my body. While it may not be as beautiful as the first crocuses of spring, the velvety fuzz covering my head is as welcome a sight. I wake up each day to new growth. It’s a very funny experience growing your hair from scratch, I will it longer as I brush my teeth each morning. Don’t tell anyone but I’ve started to shampoo and condition it, a bit of a conceit as it’s barely an a mm long. I want it to know it’s welcome and greet it with love. I shall never take it for granted again. I sport it as proudly as Rapunzel must have.

I’m finding it oddly ironic however, that in amongst this re-birth of Polly, I’m spending more time than ever at the hospital. Every weekday morning at a stupidly earlier hour, A. and I drag our weary bones to the Radiography / Oncology department where I am stripped, prodded and zapped with lasers. I imagine it is somewhat like an alien abduction feels like, just prior to the anal probe….. Bright lights, cold hands and strange crackling machines. It certainly feels alien at 8am on a weekday morning. Not that it would be ‘par for the course’ on a weekend, you understand.

What with all the stripping and all the strange hands on my breasts. It feels a bit like being newly diagnosed again and as I’m barely polite before 9am, it’s a job in itself not to slap these hands away. Being physically restrained helps, my arms are held in a position above my head by a device, I’m inaccurately going to describe as hand stirrups.

3 pinpoint tattoos are meant to guide the radiographers to the exact areas they need to zap, though I do seem to end up with a lot of red pen on me anyway. 15 minutes later I’m back on the streets, slightly bleary and destined to spend the rest of the day rubbing fridge cold Aloe Vera gel onto my skin in an effort to dissuade laser burn. A. rather evilly finds my cold gel dance unproportionately amusing.

We’re certainly living the dream at the moment.

People have been asking me since I began treatments last week if I’ve noticed the fatigue but I worked a 61 hour week last week. Between that and the early morning appointments, I can’t really tell. Roll on the 23rd of December I say, when I’ll be treatment free. Just in time for Christmas. Which is probably why I’m so ridiculously excited by the holiday season this year. Buying an advent calendar for the first to in years. There just seems so much to celebrate!

So should you see a fuzzy headed women, skipping about town, decking the halls, mulling some wine and indulging in a mince pie or two. Please don’t begrudge her the christmas album she’s playing on repeat. It could be me counting down the days until this disease and it’s treatment are behind me. Spare a thought for A. too who is charged with trying to reign me in!