The Side Effect Sideshow

I swear that each morning I wake up with Mick Jagger's lips. Could that be possible? I always have to look in the mirror - only to find that they are still my lips. A little swollen maybe, but no need to break into "Satisfaction". This is probably good as I'm certain I don't have the energy to do the Mick strut. It's nothing as glamorous as rock star looks - it is blistering and mouth sores from chemo. What a girl won't do for that pouty mouth look.

As fun as the mouth blistering is, the side effect that makes me the most crazy is the constantly running nose and watering eyes. That wouldn't seem so bad, but the constantness of it drives me to distraction. I have asked my husband to go to a hardware store and pick up a couple of spigots to install into each nostril so that I could allow them to run at my convenience. Looks be damned! I'm afraid though that it will totally screw with my new pouty lips look. As an alternative to the spigots, I am threatening to shove a couple of tampons up there just so I can function. Also a good look. Perhaps that could be for just around the house - God forbid I make any Ralphs customers uncomfortable with tampons up my nose.

There are the obvious side effects. Nothing screams cancer like all your hair falling out over a two or three day period. I thought I was so smart - I went and got my hair cut off very short just after my first chemo. It was my own little F-You to the cancer. I thought "Ha-Ha" I took it before you did! Well, "Ha-Ha" right back at me - I LOVED the new cut! I was feeling very Laurie Anderson and a little punk. I got to wear it happily for about a week - and then, out it all came! (ha ha hee hee) funny, funny cancer.

Right after my initial diagnosis - back when my husband was on a rampage to have all the answers NOW - he was telling me that we needed to find out just exactly what type of cancer cells I had. That way we could have a name for it and then it wouldn't hold such power over us. Smart ass that I am, I replied, we could name it Bob. He didn't miss a beat and said we could name it Fucking Bob. I love him for that! Fucking Bob the Cancer. I was happy. We had a name! Fucking Bob has no power over us - he's just an irritant we have to get rid of. But like most fuckers, they don't go away easily. It's a whole process, and a big paper trail. Fucking Bob.

Bald isn't so bad - I thought it would be more traumatic - but on a pragmatic basis - there are a lot of steps to skip during the morning routine. Showers are a breeze. No shampoo, no conditioner, no shaving - soap up, rinse off, out! No hair product, no blow drying (and talk about bikini -ready! I stepped over the line there - TMI - bad habit of mine.) Just pick your scarf to match your outfit and you are good to go! I find dangly earrings a big plus.

The fatigue is weird. You can't make sense of it because you rest and rest and it doesn't go away. It feels like three of those led dental aprons for X-Rays have been wrapped around you, and your head goes into a fog. I affectionately call it Chemo-Brain.

So many side effects - so little time. I'll share more later.