Jennifer: I am trying to find a place to donate my wigs.
It is a really hard thing for me to part with them.
I want them to go to a cancer patient.
Matt: That’s good.
Why don’t we take a trip to a hospital and do it in person or something?
Would that mean more?
Or be more meaningful?
Jennifer: Um, well, there was a "wig bin" at my oncology office.
I may contact them and see if they know of any patients that are having financial issues or who are having a difficult time finding a wig.
Matt: Yea
That works too.
Jennifer: I don't know.
I am just weird about it.
I feel like if I get rid of them the cancer will come back.
Matt: No baby.
That’s not true.
Jennifer: I know in my head that it's not true, but I can’t help but feel this horrible anxiety about giving them away.
They were like a safety blanket for so long.
It was like they hid the sickness and I could be normal.
And if I get rid of them my hair will fall out again and I won’t have my disguise.
Matt: Yea.
Everything is going to be ok baby :)
… and to this day I make the effort to research homes for my beautiful wigs, but I still find a reason not to part with them. They continue to keep me safe.
Showing posts with label wigs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wigs. Show all posts
Monday, February 14, 2011
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
5/6/2008: Psychological Burden
I felt an overwhelming surge of panic in the center of my chest and was enveloped with a wave of fear. I could feel the heat in my face and the beads of sweat swelling on my cheeks and nose. It was in that moment that I realized how much of a psychological burden I now face. My battle is not just a physical one, but one that truly challenges all aspects of my being. This is a journey that may leave some life long scars that lie much deeper than the surface.
This weekend I decided to shampoo my wigs. I have had them since early February and let's just say that they were getting a little funky. My brother, Joey purchased shampoo for my wigs as a gift. I know in my heart that he is trying so desperately to make this all better. He feels helpless, as do many others who love me, and does whatever he can to continually shower me with gifts. I appreciate his gestures of love and kindness more than he probably realizes. Once my wigs were washed ("funk free") and had dried I placed them on my head to style them again and brush out the tangles. Several strands broke free from the woven scalp and I immediately started having a panic attack. I know it sounds stupid, but there is no way to truly express what it feels like to lose your hair. It is a surreal experience that there is no way to prepare yourself for it. It is one of the most horrible things I have ever experienced and to see those strands falling out effected me in a way that I cannot describe. Psychologically, when I see hair fall out, I panic now. I wonder if this behavior will continue when my hair grows back and it sheds. How will I overcome this fear? These are implications I had not prepared myself for.
This weekend I was showering and as I do almost every shower now I was doing my daily breast exam (yes, it's totally psychological) and feeling my incision under my arm. I felt a lump. I became faint and nauseous, so I sat on the floor in my shower and let the water continue to fall over me. I was crying hysterically and breathing hard. I continued to tell myself over and over that I JUST had an MRI and it said everything shrunk. I know that I have some fluid still under my incision, so I am sure that is what I am feeling, but it doesn't stop me from being paranoid. This is MY body and I want so badly for it all to be okay. After I had talked myself through the situation, I stood and resumed my shower, but that feeling only subsided temporarily. When I was visiting my family this weekend I made sure to have my mom feel the lump, too. I will ask my oncologist about it on Friday, but I almost certainly know that he will tell me not to worry. How can I not? Am I going to be like this forever? Am I going to live in fear of cancer returning for the remainder of my life? These are not things a 26-year-old should have to battle with daily.
Right now I see these psychological challenges as such a burden. I am trying desperately to find a positive and optimistic angle, but am coming up empty. This Friday is round five of chemotherapy where Andrew, Bronwyn, my Dad, Jenn and Rick will all be joining me. I am so blessed to have such wonderful friends who don't mind seeing me in my darkest and ugliest of hours (useless, slurring, grumpy and unable to remember what I am talking about mid-sentence). I know I only have two more treatments left, but then that tiny, negative voice creeps up and says "I can't believe I have to go through this two more times." Treatments are getting harder and harder as the poison builds in my body. I am so tired and weak. I am counting the days until May 30. Please God just help me get through this month.
This weekend I decided to shampoo my wigs. I have had them since early February and let's just say that they were getting a little funky. My brother, Joey purchased shampoo for my wigs as a gift. I know in my heart that he is trying so desperately to make this all better. He feels helpless, as do many others who love me, and does whatever he can to continually shower me with gifts. I appreciate his gestures of love and kindness more than he probably realizes. Once my wigs were washed ("funk free") and had dried I placed them on my head to style them again and brush out the tangles. Several strands broke free from the woven scalp and I immediately started having a panic attack. I know it sounds stupid, but there is no way to truly express what it feels like to lose your hair. It is a surreal experience that there is no way to prepare yourself for it. It is one of the most horrible things I have ever experienced and to see those strands falling out effected me in a way that I cannot describe. Psychologically, when I see hair fall out, I panic now. I wonder if this behavior will continue when my hair grows back and it sheds. How will I overcome this fear? These are implications I had not prepared myself for.
This weekend I was showering and as I do almost every shower now I was doing my daily breast exam (yes, it's totally psychological) and feeling my incision under my arm. I felt a lump. I became faint and nauseous, so I sat on the floor in my shower and let the water continue to fall over me. I was crying hysterically and breathing hard. I continued to tell myself over and over that I JUST had an MRI and it said everything shrunk. I know that I have some fluid still under my incision, so I am sure that is what I am feeling, but it doesn't stop me from being paranoid. This is MY body and I want so badly for it all to be okay. After I had talked myself through the situation, I stood and resumed my shower, but that feeling only subsided temporarily. When I was visiting my family this weekend I made sure to have my mom feel the lump, too. I will ask my oncologist about it on Friday, but I almost certainly know that he will tell me not to worry. How can I not? Am I going to be like this forever? Am I going to live in fear of cancer returning for the remainder of my life? These are not things a 26-year-old should have to battle with daily.
Right now I see these psychological challenges as such a burden. I am trying desperately to find a positive and optimistic angle, but am coming up empty. This Friday is round five of chemotherapy where Andrew, Bronwyn, my Dad, Jenn and Rick will all be joining me. I am so blessed to have such wonderful friends who don't mind seeing me in my darkest and ugliest of hours (useless, slurring, grumpy and unable to remember what I am talking about mid-sentence). I know I only have two more treatments left, but then that tiny, negative voice creeps up and says "I can't believe I have to go through this two more times." Treatments are getting harder and harder as the poison builds in my body. I am so tired and weak. I am counting the days until May 30. Please God just help me get through this month.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
4/16/2008: The Stairwell
Laying at the bottom of the staircase this morning, sprawled out on my back, I thought about the conversation I had with my Mom earlier this week. I wonder how this journey will change me.
I sat in traffic for two hours this morning trying to get to work for a 9:00 meeting. There were three accidents on the toll road, so I did not arrive at my office until 9:15 and was rushing to get to the conference room to meet with my boss and VP. I took my pre-chemotherapy medication (uppers) this morning, so I was sweating and shaking, in addition to my heightened anxiety. As I was rushing down the stairs with my laptop, BlackBerry, frappuccino and notebook, my right heel slipped into the cuff of my left pant leg and I found myself tumbling in slow motion. I fell down the flight of stairs and my frappuccino bottle smashed into the concrete floor. My left shoulder and head hit on impact. (Yes, my left side is where I had the hockey puck-sized tumor removed and my port placed under my skin into my artery.) There was a man in the stairwell above me who was cleaning. He ran down to see what had happened. He was staring at me, not out of concern, but in another way that I didn't like. I realized that my wig had fallen off and was laying against the wall. There I was completely vulnerable and this man who didn't know my story was looking at me in disgust ... like I was a total freak. He finally managed to ask if I was okay. I said yes and to leave me alone, please.
I laid back down looking up at the stacked rows of stairs above me. I was choking back tears and contemplating telling this stranger (who stayed there staring at me for what seemed like an eternity) my story, not because he cared, but because I felt that I needed to defend myself. I said "screw him" in my mind and realized that I had nothing to defend. I already see the changes that my Mom told me would happen. I have been so conflicted and confused for the last couple years about life in general. What do I want and deserve? What is the right path for me? The clarity is just around the corner ... I can feel it now more than ever. My mother told me that this experience would make me stronger and perhaps make me into that woman that I longed to be. A woman who knew what she deserved out of life and refused to settle. A woman who had crawled through the trenches of life, lived to tell about it, thus loved unconditionally and whole-heartedly and lived every day to the fullest. I believe I already had those qualities, although they needed some dusting off. This experience is an opportunity to be shoved in the right direction, the path of becoming the woman I have always wanted to be and had the ability to become.
I picked myself up off the ground, dusted off my black slacks, said "have a good one" with a smile to the ignorant man in the stairwell, scooped up my wig and shook it off and carried it down the hall to the bathroom as my heels clicked loudly along the marble floor. I stood up as tall as I possibly could and smiled. Yes, I, Jennifer Kwiatek walked down the hallway bald in my office building and didn't care. I have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of what is happening to me. I never asked for this. And with that, I can say that my Mom was right in her theory. I am becoming a better, more vibrant woman and I have to admit that I wish I could have met her sooner. I really like her!
I sat in traffic for two hours this morning trying to get to work for a 9:00 meeting. There were three accidents on the toll road, so I did not arrive at my office until 9:15 and was rushing to get to the conference room to meet with my boss and VP. I took my pre-chemotherapy medication (uppers) this morning, so I was sweating and shaking, in addition to my heightened anxiety. As I was rushing down the stairs with my laptop, BlackBerry, frappuccino and notebook, my right heel slipped into the cuff of my left pant leg and I found myself tumbling in slow motion. I fell down the flight of stairs and my frappuccino bottle smashed into the concrete floor. My left shoulder and head hit on impact. (Yes, my left side is where I had the hockey puck-sized tumor removed and my port placed under my skin into my artery.) There was a man in the stairwell above me who was cleaning. He ran down to see what had happened. He was staring at me, not out of concern, but in another way that I didn't like. I realized that my wig had fallen off and was laying against the wall. There I was completely vulnerable and this man who didn't know my story was looking at me in disgust ... like I was a total freak. He finally managed to ask if I was okay. I said yes and to leave me alone, please.
I laid back down looking up at the stacked rows of stairs above me. I was choking back tears and contemplating telling this stranger (who stayed there staring at me for what seemed like an eternity) my story, not because he cared, but because I felt that I needed to defend myself. I said "screw him" in my mind and realized that I had nothing to defend. I already see the changes that my Mom told me would happen. I have been so conflicted and confused for the last couple years about life in general. What do I want and deserve? What is the right path for me? The clarity is just around the corner ... I can feel it now more than ever. My mother told me that this experience would make me stronger and perhaps make me into that woman that I longed to be. A woman who knew what she deserved out of life and refused to settle. A woman who had crawled through the trenches of life, lived to tell about it, thus loved unconditionally and whole-heartedly and lived every day to the fullest. I believe I already had those qualities, although they needed some dusting off. This experience is an opportunity to be shoved in the right direction, the path of becoming the woman I have always wanted to be and had the ability to become.
I picked myself up off the ground, dusted off my black slacks, said "have a good one" with a smile to the ignorant man in the stairwell, scooped up my wig and shook it off and carried it down the hall to the bathroom as my heels clicked loudly along the marble floor. I stood up as tall as I possibly could and smiled. Yes, I, Jennifer Kwiatek walked down the hallway bald in my office building and didn't care. I have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of what is happening to me. I never asked for this. And with that, I can say that my Mom was right in her theory. I am becoming a better, more vibrant woman and I have to admit that I wish I could have met her sooner. I really like her!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
4/8/2008: Think Positive
I have been in a bit of a funk the last few days and I am not a hundred percent sure why. I had a great appointment with my oncologist Dr. Heyer on Friday. This weekend I attended the Cookie Lee Fundraiser in my honor hosted by Shana English, which was so much fun and just an amazing event. Additionally, some old friends and people that I care very deeply for have come back into my life, which I feel so blessed. So, I am perplexed by my own funk. It's hard to explain, but I shall try …
Anyone who knows me will tell you that my greatest fault is that I am not a patient woman. I am finding this process to be very testing. Perhaps I have been challenged with cancer and treatment in order to work on that aspect of my personality. Being halfway through treatment is a great milestone, but occasionally my mind will slip into the negative realm and I think, "Only halfway? That means I have to go through what I have already been through again." Then I quickly snap myself out of that thought process. No glass half empty for me! I have to stay in the right mind frame or this thing will suck me under.
I have always been someone who liked the way I look and my body. I never really have experienced being self conscious of my looks or went through any phase like that. I have always appreciated what God gave me, although there were times I thought bigger boobs would be nice. (I didn't want to go through all this to get them though. Be careful what you wish for.)
I had a "moment" Sunday morning that I have never experienced before. I took a shower and after drying off I stood looking at myself in the mirror. I don't love my body the way I used to and that saddens me. I hate my port more than anything. It looks like a quarter-sized zit on my chest. It just pokes out under my skin and looks disgusting. I hate my scars. I have one that is about two inches under my armpit and one that is about an inch on my chest where they inserted the port. And I guess I will have even more when I have my bilateral mastectomy in June. Makes me sad. Because I am so fatigued with chemotherapy treatments I am unable to be as active as I was before cancer, so I have put on four pounds. (I know … a whopping 103. Geez!) I don't mind the weight … I am more upset by my loss of muscle and not being as tone as I would like. And I am barely hanging on to my eyebrows and eyelashes that continue to thin. I find myself admiring people's hair a lot more than I ever used to. A lady stopped me in the Harris Teeter parking lot last week to ask me where I get my hair done. I said, "Sorry, this is a wig." I swear I will never curse a bad hair day again. Ugh … I am just annoyed!
It is hard to feel sexy and beautiful when you are going through treatment. Obviously, the most important thing is to kill the cancer. The little things that I have started to notice about my physical appearance I am aware that are things that only I notice and no one else really does. The bottom line is I need to keep remembering that all of this is just temporary and in the scheme of things this is only a couple months of my entire life. I will not let it define me or try and suck me under again.
Think positive, think positive, think positive … sometimes even I need to remind myself!
Anyone who knows me will tell you that my greatest fault is that I am not a patient woman. I am finding this process to be very testing. Perhaps I have been challenged with cancer and treatment in order to work on that aspect of my personality. Being halfway through treatment is a great milestone, but occasionally my mind will slip into the negative realm and I think, "Only halfway? That means I have to go through what I have already been through again." Then I quickly snap myself out of that thought process. No glass half empty for me! I have to stay in the right mind frame or this thing will suck me under.
I have always been someone who liked the way I look and my body. I never really have experienced being self conscious of my looks or went through any phase like that. I have always appreciated what God gave me, although there were times I thought bigger boobs would be nice. (I didn't want to go through all this to get them though. Be careful what you wish for.)
I had a "moment" Sunday morning that I have never experienced before. I took a shower and after drying off I stood looking at myself in the mirror. I don't love my body the way I used to and that saddens me. I hate my port more than anything. It looks like a quarter-sized zit on my chest. It just pokes out under my skin and looks disgusting. I hate my scars. I have one that is about two inches under my armpit and one that is about an inch on my chest where they inserted the port. And I guess I will have even more when I have my bilateral mastectomy in June. Makes me sad. Because I am so fatigued with chemotherapy treatments I am unable to be as active as I was before cancer, so I have put on four pounds. (I know … a whopping 103. Geez!) I don't mind the weight … I am more upset by my loss of muscle and not being as tone as I would like. And I am barely hanging on to my eyebrows and eyelashes that continue to thin. I find myself admiring people's hair a lot more than I ever used to. A lady stopped me in the Harris Teeter parking lot last week to ask me where I get my hair done. I said, "Sorry, this is a wig." I swear I will never curse a bad hair day again. Ugh … I am just annoyed!
It is hard to feel sexy and beautiful when you are going through treatment. Obviously, the most important thing is to kill the cancer. The little things that I have started to notice about my physical appearance I am aware that are things that only I notice and no one else really does. The bottom line is I need to keep remembering that all of this is just temporary and in the scheme of things this is only a couple months of my entire life. I will not let it define me or try and suck me under again.
Think positive, think positive, think positive … sometimes even I need to remind myself!
Monday, February 11, 2008
2/11/2008: Wig Shopping
I had a really rough weekend with the pain from my port. I called my surgeon's office and had the doctor on call paged. He called me back and I explained how black and blue I was down my left side, the horrible swelling, the oozing (eww) and the pain I still have around the port, around my ribs and on my diaphragm. He explained that because of my petite size and lack of fat that the blood that flooded the chest cavity would take some time to be absorbed back into my body and the bruising is just because I am little and there is not a lot of tissue where they placed the port. I also told him how sore my throat is. He told me that when I woke up from surgery screaming that I could not breathe, they knocked me out and scoped me fearing my lung was punctured. Glad no one told me that! The surgeon suggested continuing to take the pain killers and to come into the office Monday if I was truly concerned, but it all sounded normal for someone who is 100 pounds. Kere, Leslie and baby Hadley went shopping for wigs with me this weekend which proved to be a hilarious adventure. I wasn't necessarily thrilled about the shopping trip, but having my friends with me made it bearable ... hmm, even enjoyable. Kere actually tried on some wigs. (We have photos to prove it.) I spent time with my girlfriends this weekend and even gave one of my wigs a test drive on Saturday night for Girls Night and NO ONE could tell it was a wig. SUCCESS!!! The more time I spent with my friends over the weekend the more strength and courage I was able to gain from them.
Today, I had my bone scan, which was SO easy. (Thank goodness, because I am at a breaking point with being poked and prodded.) It takes 24 hours for that test to come back, but my doctor may wait to have both the results of this test and my heart scan on Wednesday before he talks to me. We are hoping that the bone scan shows that sixth rib as a "hot spot" and no other bones with cancer. I also swung by my surgeons office and had them look at my incision. Same answer ... "you're just tiny, the blood has nowhere to go."
So ... tomorrow I have my chemotherapy information session at the oncologist's office in the afternoon. After waiting an entire month on tests, I am SO ready to get started. After that, I have my heart scan on Wednesday. Then, I start chemotherapy Friday.
That is the latest! I will keep you posted as I find out more.
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