Friday, June 23, 2006
Samson's Locks Don't Come as a Cranial Prosthesis
Samson is the biblical hero whose mighty strength lay in his fabulous unshorn hair. When his hair is cut, he loses his power.
I only mention this because today I have hair again for the first time in weeks, and I feel completely and utterly exhausted. The tendrils wafting about my face are most certainly NOT imbuing me with any kind of energy, strength, verve, or power. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep, which is a little bit unfortunate because I'm not currently in a position to do so (I'm tying at work...shhhh, don't tell).
I don't know if my physical weakness today is owing to wearing hair that isn't mine, or is just a natural ebb or flow of the chemotherapy. Maybe, as with Samson, the loss of my natural hair spells weakness and feebleness. Maybe it's just a result of a draining course of medication. Maybe adding extra hair is exacerbating my weakness.
Maybe it's just coincidence and I'm being foolish.
I actually do like my new hair, but I'm not sure I have the energy to fight with the insurance company on this issue. When I asked over the phone, I was told that wigs are "not covered" by my insurance policy. The hair store advised me to refer to it as a "cranial prosthesis" and gave me a list of steps to try fighting the insurance company. After all, they would pay for a breast prosthesis if I wanted or needed one; this really isn't different--except that the top of one's head is more difficult to conceal.
I'm sure bald men everywhere are playing their tiny little violins just for me. But it's not a natural, gradual genetic circumstance that led me to this. It was sudden, shocking, and one of the more horrible outward signs of this betrayal by my body. Some of my breast cells are going nuts, have migrated, and are attacking my spine and organs; and now the treatment is leveling destruction on one of the features I've always felt pretty good about. It just isn't fair.
Of course life isn't fair, but it doesn't have to be unmitigatingly awful, either.
Brian says he likes my bald 'do. I guess it's not the worst it could be; at least the treatment seems to be having a good effect on the tumor markers. Dr. Hayes views me as a stunning success story when you compare my current status to how I was doing in December. Then, I couldn't walk, I could move without excruciating pain, I was vomiting daily, and wasn't strong enough to bear chemotherapy. I suppose I should be grateful that things are better than they were.
I still want my hair back, though, dammit.
I only mention this because today I have hair again for the first time in weeks, and I feel completely and utterly exhausted. The tendrils wafting about my face are most certainly NOT imbuing me with any kind of energy, strength, verve, or power. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep, which is a little bit unfortunate because I'm not currently in a position to do so (I'm tying at work...shhhh, don't tell).
I don't know if my physical weakness today is owing to wearing hair that isn't mine, or is just a natural ebb or flow of the chemotherapy. Maybe, as with Samson, the loss of my natural hair spells weakness and feebleness. Maybe it's just a result of a draining course of medication. Maybe adding extra hair is exacerbating my weakness.
Maybe it's just coincidence and I'm being foolish.
I actually do like my new hair, but I'm not sure I have the energy to fight with the insurance company on this issue. When I asked over the phone, I was told that wigs are "not covered" by my insurance policy. The hair store advised me to refer to it as a "cranial prosthesis" and gave me a list of steps to try fighting the insurance company. After all, they would pay for a breast prosthesis if I wanted or needed one; this really isn't different--except that the top of one's head is more difficult to conceal.
I'm sure bald men everywhere are playing their tiny little violins just for me. But it's not a natural, gradual genetic circumstance that led me to this. It was sudden, shocking, and one of the more horrible outward signs of this betrayal by my body. Some of my breast cells are going nuts, have migrated, and are attacking my spine and organs; and now the treatment is leveling destruction on one of the features I've always felt pretty good about. It just isn't fair.
Of course life isn't fair, but it doesn't have to be unmitigatingly awful, either.
Brian says he likes my bald 'do. I guess it's not the worst it could be; at least the treatment seems to be having a good effect on the tumor markers. Dr. Hayes views me as a stunning success story when you compare my current status to how I was doing in December. Then, I couldn't walk, I could move without excruciating pain, I was vomiting daily, and wasn't strong enough to bear chemotherapy. I suppose I should be grateful that things are better than they were.
I still want my hair back, though, dammit.
Labels: baldness, chemo, Dr. Hayes, hair, insurance, tired, wigs
Comments:
Hang in there. Are you feeling better? I hope you are. Please know that people are thinking about you and wishing you the very, very best on a quick return to health.
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: 8:07 PM
: 8:07 PM 
