Wigging Out

Here I am, 11 months from my last chemotherapy session and I still wear a scarf when I’m out in public. It’s not that my hair is too short for my liking. It could be 1/8th inch long, but as long as it covered my scalp I would gladly go out into the world with my head uncovered. It’s that I still have more scalp showing than not. Not even a Donald Trump comb-over would allow me to pass for someone with a head full of hair.

  

Although I don’t mind wearing scarves, now that I’ve finished chemo and my yearlong herceptin infusions, I would like to feel as though I look normal and don’t still look like a cancer patient. It doesn’t help that my eyebrows and eyelashes have pretty much lost all the pigment they once had! 

One way I could look normal would be to purchase a wig. However, I made a decision early on in my treatment that a wig was not for me, and I opted for scarves instead. Once I got over being self-conscious about being easily recognizable as a cancer patient, I found the ease, comfort and colorfulness of the scarves suited me fine. They weren’t itchy or terribly hot, as I’ve heard wigs are. But now there’s a new wrinkle. I’m in the process of looking for a part-time job and although it’s not legal for employers to discriminate against me because of my cancer, you can’t really help how people feel deep down about hiring someone who has clearly been ill. In the interview or two I’ve had, I try to be up front about my cancer and to explain that I’m done with treatment and am fine, except for the return of my hair. I do this because the interviewer can’t legally ask about my health, and I want to allay anxiety about whether I’m well enough to work, or will miss a lot of work because of illness. Nonetheless, who’s to say that my preemptive strike has the desired effect?

I’ve had several friends and professionals tell me that although it shouldn’t matter, I have a better chance of landing a job if there is no sign that I have been ill in the first place. I’m torn. I would like - need, actually - to be working again and want to do everything I can to get a job, but I’m not eager to go against my well-considered decision to pass on a wig. I’d like to think that a potential employer would see past my recent health history and would recognize the value I could add to their operation. Perhaps that’s too idealistic on my part, but I think I’d prefer to work for someone who would hire me despite the scarf.  Time will tell, whether I give in or hold firm, but what would be most helpful would be for my reticent hair to pick up speed and fill in the gaps a good bit faster!

Maya

Sadly, I have to report that Maya died on Monday night, nearly six months after being diagnosed with nasal cancer. She had a good last day, and surprised me by chasing the frisbee more energetically than she had the previous few days.  Admittedly it was much cooler on Monday than over the weekend, so I shouldn't read too much into her enthusiasm for her last round of exercise.  As always, she wolfed down her dinner, and was her usual bossy self.  She never hesitated to let us know what she wanted and she had a built in clock that caused her to pester us at 10 p.m. each night so she could have one last outing for the evening and get her biscuits before going to bed.  If we lingered too long watching the news, she would speak out with her insistent one note bark.  Ignore her for a few minutes and she would let out another, and another, until the sharpness of her tone could not be ignored.

She had had a couple of minor nosebleeds the last few days, which were easily stopped with a dose of medicine squirted up her nostril. Not something any of us, particularly Maya, enjoyed, but it worked.  Nosebleeds are a common problem with nasal cancer and we had been lucky, with only one major bleed in the spring.  Just after 10 on Monday night, we noticed a little blood, and quickly gave her the medicine, but it didn't do the trick this time. We bundled her into the car and took her the vet's office.  The vet on duty was kind and comforting and so very sweet with Maya.  She was also wonderfully honest about the situation.  It helped that we knew going in there what we needed to do.  It didn't take long and was very peaceful, but I have to admit that it broke my heart to let her go.  She was a great companion and I loved that she had such a strong, determined personality. That was the cattle dog in her. I will miss her more than I can ever say.  May she rest in peace.

I Am Not Alone

I am not the only cancer patient in this household.  Maya, my canine companion of over 14 years, was diagnosed with nose cancer this spring.  Her cancer is incurable, but she won’t be defeated by it quite yet. That’s good for me, because I want her by my side as I recuperate from surgery, even though I can’t expect her to hold on through whatever the rest of my treatment is.

Although she’s a mix – part lab and part cattle dog – she’s a rare breed.  Not only is nasal cancer uncommon in dogs – it makes up only 1% of the cancers found in dogs – it is predominantly found in large breeds and males.  Maya is 35 pounds and, as her name would suggest, a female.  So how did she manage to develop a cancer found mostly in large, male dogs?

Well, we used to joke that taking her for a walk was really a matter of going on a sniff.  It was a slow, and sometimes painful process as she tried to stop and smell everything along the route. All along the way she marked everything as well, lifting her leg to leave a trace of herself for other dogs to sniff.  She never was very ladylike! Dogs can inhale things that may then get lodged in their nasal passages and ultimately irritate them enough that some of the nose cells start to go haywire and become malignant.  As a very sniffy dog, she would seem likely to have inhaled more than her fair share of irritating foreign matter.  Whether that's the actual cause of her cancer is unknown.

She’s had her ups and downs through this disease.  When she was diagnosed we didn’t expect to have her this long, but she has had some relatively asymptomatic times, including a whole month just prior to my own cancer diagnosis in August.  Now things are not so easy for her, and therefore for us. She gets very restless at night and has trouble breathing through her nose.  She can make some alarming wheezing, gurgling, snoring, drowning sounds.  On the other hand, she still is vastly more interested in food than anything else.  She still chases the Frisbee a bit, greets guests with gusto and can be the bossiest little cattle dog mix on Earth when she wants something from us.  She certainly makes her wishes known. 

I will miss her more than I can say, and although I hope she’ll stick around a little bit longer, I fear her time is drawing near.  She has been the best of companions with the greatest personality of any dog I’ve ever known.  Despite the sadness I feel seeing her fade, I am so grateful to have found her and to have had her in my life.  I’m especially glad that she has been with me this past week, providing me with comfort and company as I recover.  My eternal gratitude, Miss Maya.