Chopping It All Off: Screw You Chemo, My Hair, My Way, My Time.

All girls twirl their hair, its just what they do. A lot of people can take it to mean that they're nervous, or bored, or its just a habit. I love my hair. I absolutely consider it a huge part of the reason I am who I am today. I mean, I wasn't called "Sorority Barbie" in high school because I was a brunette who was socially inept. Social stereotypes aside, there's nothing I love more than throwing in a good old "Ooops, Blonde Moment." I've never dyed my hair because I never wanted anything else. I've always loved it, just the way it is. So getting my hair cut = nerve wracking. I go to reach for it to twirl and its barely there.

With all this being said, think about society and how it reacts to quite simply: hair.
In university I conducted a social experiment. BOYS! I wanted to see how boys react to different looks. I had the ability to do this because my hair was short at the time. Very short. I could whip in extensions, throw on a wig and with in seconds, transform my look. Now granted this wasn't a top notch academic study, I understand lots of variables were at play but it was fun none the less. I would go to the bars with the girls, and try different combinations to see how they affect the opposite sex.

Long hair, with flats.
Long hair with heels.
Short hair with flats.
Short hair with heels.
etc. etc. etc.

Guys don't really care what shoes you're wearing. In all honesty they probably don't even notice. What they do notice is whether or not you can actually walk in them. You look like an idiot if you can't. Just watch Bambi stumble to the bar to order another drink, that's not a model strut, that's inexperience and alcohol hunny, take off the damn shoes. This is besides the point. Realistically, guys flocked to me when I had my extensions in. When I was bartending, the nights I wore my extensions I made double the tips. Something about longer hair excites men. Check out Maxim's top 100- how many girls have short hair? SIX, and 4 of those 6 are still to the shoulders.
*Both Bartending shifts on Halloween below with extensions in*

My main conclusion, was that people are superficial, not just guys. However, maybe not totally superficial in the off chance that there is one variable that really affects this... confidence? Was I just predisposed to believe that I looked better when my hair was longer because that's how it had always been?
*Me- very little*

*Me at approx 11 years old.*

*Grade 8 and 9*

Confidence is what made the difference and my long Victoria's Secret model hair gave me confidence that was magnetizing. SO my point, being a 15 year old girl and losing your hair = devastating.

I liked being an inpatient in the hospital because of my hair, or lack thereof. Nobody wasn't used to seeing a bald girl, so it wasn't unusual to see me prancing around looking like a member of hells angels. As soon as I stepped out into the real world, I was different. My lack of hair made it very obvious something was wrong with me, which made it more apparent that I was the "sick girl". Even while in the hospital, there came a point where I wouldn't allow visitors anymore. I didn't want them to see me at my worst, I didn't want them to see me ... ugly.
I wanted to be remembered like this, which was conveniently taken a week before I was diagnosed the first time.

Not like this...

I lose my mind when people say to me, "its just hair." Ok then, go ahead, shave your head. Now I know people who have just up and shaved their heads. A girl I went to high school with just did to raise money for the Canadian Cancer Society's Relay for Life, in honor of her mom. She looks INCREDIBLE and I wish I had her strength. However, not many of us could do that. Yes it grows back, but it takes time. Years.

It sucks that I'm admitting, that my confidence comes from my hair, but it does. (RATED R ALERT) My favorite sex scene of all time is a girl, riding a guy, and she leans down to kiss him. As she's coming back up, her hair flies up and over her head and she shakes it out of her face. A few strands cover her tatas and it is the epitome of "freshly f#@$%@" hair. Just think Christian Grey, braiding Ana's hair. Long hair is a symbol of sexuality. This is why its SUCH a big deal when female celebs chop their hair off. Anne Hathaway, Demi Moore, Kelly Pickler. It gets plastered on tabloids and becomes first rate celebrity news, because its not the norm. Call me a conformist, but hair, this stuff, helps me to feel like I fit in. I have no problem being my self and being different in a world where everyone is trying to be someone else, I just don't want to be "different" because of my look, my hair, being the sick girl.

We all want to feel beautiful. I had one boyfriend J, tell me to stop wearing my extensions because he liked me just the way I was. I also had another boyfriend, whose initial I'll leave out because as much as this hurt and I know he scarred me with this one, I don't harbor resentment. I caught him with another girl. I was fresh out of treatment, fresh out of confidence and in a really low place. He told me, and I'll never forget this

"It's not that I don't love you, I'm just not attracted to you anymore."

We stayed together for a while after this, because I loved him with my whole being. He broke me with that one statement. He reduced me to appearance after we had been together for a while and my view on life was forever changed. This person who had been my rock for so long in an instant became a rock crusher. I've said before, "the treatment hurts, it sucks, but if I didn't lose my hair, I could do it easily." I think this all stems back to that moment with that love who showed me how superficial this world really is. I laugh because another boyfriend broke up with me because I was "Too Marilyn and not enough Jackie for where he was at that point in his life". I took that one as a compliment.

People can say, wigs. I used to refuse the "W" word when I was first sick. I hated it. Wigs are hot (as in heat), they are mind numbingly hot. They are continual hot flashes on your head. They are itchy. They never look right. They are a pain in the @$$ to wash and style. Lady Gaga makes it look easy- its a lie. On top of that, they never stay where they are supposed too. I would ALWAYS have a headband or hat or something holding it in place, which added to the extreme heat. Even with my extensions, I added something.
*Brunette wig, which I clearly didn't pull off very well and then blonde extensions*

After my first bout with cancer, I was with my ex T, on our lake. He had friends up, a few were couples. We all went wakeboarding, and they weren't that good. I knew I wasn't a pro, but was way better then a first timer. I had to risk though, going in wearing my wig. I could have taken it off but I didn't want to embarrass T, by having him have a bald ugly girlfriend. It was bad enough the steroids to save my heart after heart failure had made me fat, I didn't need to be bald too! I took my chances, jumped on the board and gave it my all. It went really well for the first bit and they were impressed. Then I caught my front edge. The board dug in to the water flinging me forward. I hit the water and my wig flew off. I wanted to drown right there in that second. Tangle my self in the weeds and hide. I only had a few choices and the one I went with: pretend like this is not big deal and I'm not bothered. I could have cried, I wanted to cry, I could have made a big scene, I could have played the victim, but I knew I needed to retreat into my self and harbor the biggest amount of self loathing I had ever experienced until later. When T brought the boat around, everyone was quiet. I threw "cousin it" into the boat and tried to pretend like it didn't bother me. No one said anything, because obviously, that wouldn't have been right on any level but I knew what they were all thinking. A mash of pity, embarrassment, wow she's stupid, WTF. When we got back to the cottage I retreated into a bathroom and cried harder than I think I ever have. It should have been a reality, that his friends didn't care. He didn't care, he was still with me, still loved me. But I cared. To be honest, I've never once told anyone that story. He and I never spoke of it ever. I always talk about feeling naked from the vulnerability of writing this, but that is the most personal of scary, embarrassing stories I've ever shared.
*Our annual cottage Wakeboard competitions, Waketivis: My first year and my second year there*

Another time, after my second transplant (third bout), a bunch of us were out boating again in the water. One of our mutual friends who we hadn't seen in a few months jumped in the boat. He took one look at me and said "Oh Court, you chopped off all your hair!" He didn't realize that no, I hadn't, but this was it just growing back. I was once again mortified, and he later apologized and I felt just as bad for him. Thats the other thing about losing your hair, its a constant reminder that Yes. You didn't do this by choice. You have no control over your body and life when disease takes over because your disease dictates everything from what you're capable of, to what you look like. The only thing you can control, is how you handle it.

This is a superficial topic, so its hard to talk about. I don't want people to think that the right things are not important to me. However, this is important to me. My hair gives me confidence. When I'm sick I lose my hair, when I lose my hair I lose my confidence and when I lose my confidence I lose myself. Its a domino effect. When I went to Costa Rica, no one knew who I was, so I didn't care if I was the weird girl with short hair and a different bikini for every single day. It was liberating, but a huge part of me knew deep down inside, that this wasn't what the real world was like. It reminded me that in the real world, Kate Spade or Kmart, doesn't change who you are, it just changes the way people around you treat you. Hair is the same way, its the kmart in this metaphor. Sidenote: I think that's why its the BEST feeling ever when someone says "OMG where did you get that?" and I can confidently say "Target!"
*In the airport on my way to Costa Rica and nail painting sesh in Costa Rica*

I learned how to transform myself with my extensions. You would never know that in these pics, my hair is actually above my shoulders.
*First pic- actual hair length and then some transformations* -Sorry Dad for the Duck face pic... I know how you feel about that ;)

I rocked wigs when I had too, I made due. But I hated it. My 19th, I was bald.

Come to think of it, I was for my 21st too. I spent my 21st birthday in a wig.

BUT, I've been dealing with this since I was 15. I went to prom with no hair, twice. This is one of the proms I rocked a wig, some of the others I didnt... Those pics are hidden, I can't even show you if I wanted too. They're hidden deep.

I graduated High School in a wig.

I never was promiscuous with guys because I was afraid if they kissed me, and put their hands on my head, they may realize I'm wearing a wig, and then wonder whats ACTUALLY wrong with me. Those were some big milestones that I had to adjust for. I couldn't just be me comfortably. I had to be the best version I could be of me given what I had to work with. 15, 18 and 20. All three times I lost my hair, all of it. I'm sick of waiting for it to grow back. Someone special to me recently told me "the difference between a bad hair cut and a good hair cut is two weeks". For me its not a hair cut thats the issue and the two weeks is actually years.

When I first heard I was sick again, my first thought was OMG my confidence, my hair. So as I was sitting in the waiting room last Wednesday, brushing through my hair with my hands, watching it fall out, my heart sank. My hair was at a length I loved. Mermaid hair as one of my best friends back home and I strive for. I could rock BIG country curls. I could straighten it. I could do my Victoria's Secret hair. Three weeks prior, I had spent $200 at ULTA on hair products because they were having a huge sale and I thought I should stock up. Now I have all the hairspray in the world, and may not have hair to use it on.

Now granted, I may NOT lose my hair, but after one week of treatment and its already starting to shed, I panicked. I convinced myself that if I cut it, the weight of it wont drag it down. If I cut it, it will be super healthy. This is coming from the girl who takes prenatal vitamins just for her hair. SO I did the most UNCourtney thing ever and went and chopped it off. If Chemo is going to take my hair, I'm going to do this my way. Its my choice this time!
Pre/ During cut

My adorable hair stylist J, was so nervous apparently to cut my hair.

"What if I'm cutting it and it all falls out."

Luckily that didn't happen. She was so sweet and understanding with me. She even emailed me after and apologized for taking it too short because she felt so guilty. I told her she had nothing to worry about because it was exactly what I wanted. It's a fresh start. A way for me to be proactive in controlling the way the chemo affects my confidence. Its my way of keeping control and not letting the disease control me. This is my "Britney" moment. (Except slightly more sane, ok a lot more sane)

It's short, but I'm excited to try out my hot rollers with my short hair. I may actually be able to pull off a sock bun now. J said that my hair was extremely thick and didn't fall out more than the average persons. This really reassured me, but its still in my head. Everyone just wants to feel beautiful. I am covered in scars and cursed with a body that doesn't seem to cooperate with me. The one thing I could rely on to feel good about my self was my hair. Now I have what I'm calling my mom cut, but I'm planning on rocking it. I look innocent as hell (which can be devilishly fun), and that can only be used to my advantage. Its so much lighter and less hot which helps when I'm fevering. I'm learning to love my new do. I'm also learning, that it really shouldn't be my source of confidence. It's a lot easier said than done, but everything is a learning process.
The final product: (sorry for the delay, I know a ton of people have been DYING to see!)

I had one of my good guy friends F, tell me

"That's hot, I've gotta say, I'm diggin the new look."

Even when I insecurely said "Really?" He replied with "Uh YEA" along with some other R rated comments. Thats what friends are for :)

So we'll see what happens but my hair is just another metaphor for my womanhood being taken away from me. Long hair typically symbolizes feminism, and mine is potentially being taken away, just like my lady bits. It never ends, but really this is the least of my worries. Its just room for another social experiment ;)

Lymph Node Biopsy, with drugs and pickles :)

As I rolled over in my bed, my back instantly had a shooting pain like Zeus shooting a lightening bolt. I woke up instantly from the pain. 5:55am. Great. I still have 35 minutes until I have to be awake. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like gum sticks to your shoe. I was so parched. I knew I was allowed one sip of water to take my meds, so I decided to use it wisely. I got a perc and my other two morning meds and savored that one single sip like it was going to be my last. Frustrated because it was not even remotely enough, I knew that being in a little discomfort now, would override vomiting my brains out later, so I let it go.

I crawled back into bed and grabbed my phone. Figured I could find something to kill time with on there. Solitaire, Yahtzee, Euchre, OOH a text from crush.

"Good Luck Today :**:".

Those are the kinds of things that make waking up on a day like this a whole lot nicer. It was the perfect start to my day!

My mum walked in to see if I was awake and was shocked that I was.

"What are you doing up?"

I told her about my back and how I was a little anxious about what was ahead. She told me to get ready to go and I was like fine. I threw on my VS cropped sweats, a lulu top and my Lady Gaga zip up hoodie. I was like there's no point in a bra because I'll have to take it off anyway. Tuxx was snuggled on my bed, and I so would have rather just crawled under my *new* covers and hid with him. But, it was go time. I grabbed my book and purse and normally a water bottle, but was forced to continue being parched... so I walked. It was like walking the plank on a pirate ship... those slow dragging your feet steps, to your demise.

We got in the car and were off. It was one of those, I just want to talk about boys kind of days. So I did and it was great, because the car ride flew by. J, my mum's partner in crime, who came with us had some great guy advice.

"I would go with *, he seems like a genuinely good guy."

We went over the pros and cons and it was actually really fun to discuss it with someone who wasn't a chick.

"It's not even really like it matters right now, I'm currently not exactly in the dating pool."

In fact if I were to fully jump in, I'd probably drown. Of course when I was healthy, the pool was empty, but now that I'm sick again, its just been cleaned, refilled, the ph is perfect and its sunny with a chance of hotties, lots of them.

As we were driving to the hospital we got a call around 7:44am. (We had left the house at 7, and it takes about an hour to get there.) It was the booking lady from Interventional Radiology. (My moms phone goes through the blue tooth in her car so we could all hear.)

"Hi, this is L from I.R., we were just wondering where you were because Courtney is supposed to be on the table at 8 and you were supposed to be here at 7:30"

My mom extremely agitated said,

"I thought so, but we got a call last night after 6pm from K and she said that it had been moved to 8:30 and that we didn't need to be there until 8."

The lady got a little more agitated and was like

"Well we don't have a K in our department so I don't know who called you. We gave you your paperwork and it said 7:30. How long do you think you'll be?"

We told her we were getting there as fast as we could. Never a dull moment with us. My mum being in the medical field was exceptionally frustrated because we were just doing what we were told. How were we supposed to know that this rando person was calling us with misinformation, even after my mom questioned it to her. Later in pre op, the nurses told us not to worry because this isn't the first time this has happened so I felt a lot better. The rest of the car ride however, we boogied.

I got a little antsy by this call. Now I was just thinking to myself

"Great, they're going to be rushed and mess something up."

As if I wasn't already nervous. We took a new route which we loved, Thank you Dr. D2. When we got there my mum had me jump out and run to admissions to register. She and J valeted the car. I went in and explained the situation and was like

"LOOK, I'm kinda in a rush because there was a miscommunication, so I know you need me to sign the sheet, wait my turn and stuff, but they need me up there now."

She looked at me, with absolutely no expression in her face (obviously one of those people who LOVED their job) and said

"Sign the sheet, we'll call you when its your turn."

So I did. My mum came in and I explained. I had gotten even antsier after about 4 minutes of waiting, so I said

"I'm just going to go upstairs to the unit, you wait, and I'll let them know I'm here but that they're taking their sweet @$$ time down here."

It was go time. On my way out, there was this huge piano, I wanted to go belt out a round of heart and soul so badly, but the sign said I wasn't allowed. It was a good thing I was running late or anything could have happened.

I got to the floor and the girls were SO nice. It was different then the outpatient surgery unit I had been on for my EUA. I had my own private room, with a tv and a closet. It was nice that my mum could wait there instead of a generic waiting room with infomercials. I was fascinated that they left a love note on the toilet.

"Sanitized for your protection."

I was like well thank you for thinking of my tush!

My mum and J left admissions because they were still taking too long. I got undressed into the sexiest that hospital wear has to offer. After they put in my iv, I had a mini photo shoot. When I get nervous, I do whatever I can to take my mind off of it. Be funny, or at least try, talk, dance sing whatever.

The nurses went over a bunch of questions with me, since they had to register me. While they did that, I braided my hair to get it out of the way. I was getting antsy again.

We were almost ready to head to Interventional Radiology. They told me I had to pee first. All I wanted was ice chips of some sort. My mouth felt like I had eaten a spoonful of flower. It was rollin time.

We got into the IR pre op area. It was nice. I met my new nurse S and the first thing I noticed was her pocket on her scrubs. It was full of syringes which I knew were full of happy medicine. I was ready and excited. At least if I was going to be scared $#!%less we could get the happy drugs flowing. Her and my mum started talking about the IV I already had. Apparently it was only a 22, and because I was going to be receiving contrast (The dye to make everything visible in the catscan) I needed at least a 20. (The smaller the number, the bigger the needle 20>22). I was most likely going to need another IV and I was not excited about that. S, however had already gotten on my mom's good side. My mum being a former nurse can tell when someone knows their $#!%. I later found out during my procedure (because yes I was akwake) that S, had a shit szu. I should have known, no wonder she and my mom were instantly on the same page.

The doctor came in and introduced himself He seemed really relaxed and like he totally knew his stuff. He went on to describe the procedure to which I stopped him.

"I'm sorry I really would rather not know what you're doing."

I put my hands over my ears and started humming like a 5 year old. I knew If I knew what was going on, I would break down into a ball of nerves. He left and the nurses continued to prep me.

After I was almost finished prepping it was time to take me to the Cat Scan procedure room. I would have to say good bye to my mum at the door. The team got me rolling and I met the other two nurses. I felt so comfortable with all three. I knew this wasn't going to be as bad as I thought but I was still nervous. As we were rolling I said

"Who has two thumbs and needs drugs- THIS GIRL!"

When we got into the procedure room the first things I saw were the cat scanner and the table. They asked if I could walk and I was like totally. I laid down and that was when it hit me. This was happening. I started shaking, and they thought I was just cold, and I might have been, but I was nervous as hell. They put warm blankets on me and started prepping me to get me into position. If they were pushing the Versaid, I didn't feel it. I felt nothing. Tears started to stream, and S knelt down beside me and started talking me through it.

"Its ok Court, you're doing absolutely great"

I kept apologizing for shaking but I couldn't help it.

"Stop apologizing, you're doing great. Just try and breathe, relax and let the drugs work."

I kept trying to breathe. I even thought for a few minutes to try my ujjayi breathing technique. Its a yoga breathing technique to generate heat and energy for flow yoga classes. I don't know how well that worked and I probably looked crazy. The nurses and doctor had to leave the room a few times for me to go into the cat scan machine. They put the second IV in and luckily the meds worked in the sense that I didn't feel it. The tears would always flow even faster during the cat scan parts because I think I felt the most alone and exposed. They came back out and placed a sticker of sorts on my tummy. It felt like a graph. C, one of the cat scan techs injected the dye and then I went back into be scanned.

After I had been scanned for what felt like the third time, the nurses came in and the doc started smearing something all over my tummy. OH great. So that part that I didn't want to hear about in pre op was about to happen. Then he said

"Tiny pinches"

. Tears were now pulsating down my cheek as if they were in a race to see who could fall the fastest. Dr. B poked me with lidocaine needles which hurt more then you would expect. "Ugh more scars for my tummy" was all I was thinking. As Dr. B was poking, S was simultaneously shooting me up with more drugs. One of the nurses was stroking my head to try and calm me down and another was holding my hand. I knew something intense must have been coming. Everything was a little blurry at this point but I remember the tears. There were so many which is why is was blurry. It was as if it was pouring rain and the windshield washers just could not keep up fast enough. I felt an odd sensation in my tummy. I could see the cold bright lights. I could hear the nurses. S,

"Breathe Court, let the meds work, you're doing awesome. We're almost done."

They sent me in to the scan again, and then Dr. B came to talk to me. He pulled out what must have been the biopsy tube and it felt like pulling a huge sliver out. I could feel the wiggly cord as it came slithering out.

"I'm very sorry Courtney, but we're not going to be able to complete the procedure. I'm not out to prove anything today and its just not safe to continue. We've been in here for about 2 hours and I don't want to risk it."

TWO HOURS? It had felt like twenty minutes. I was devastated that it had all been for nothing. This meant more radiation.

I think because I was finally able to relax, or so I thought, knowing that it was over and there would be no more pain, I blacked out for a little bit. I woke up in the IR recovery room and was given some Ativan. Although I was no longer scared I was upset. I wanted my mom. She had apparently gone on a coffee run and there was a miscommunication about whether we would go to her, or she to us. I was given gingerale, or shasta. haha I don't even know, and my favorite peanut butter crackers. While I waited, S showed me pics of her shit szu, Lady. She was a little muffin. All of the nurses were ordering food, and it made me realize how hungry I really was. I started to get a little emotional because the time was really ticking by. My mum wasn't coming to us, and I knew it. Not because she didn't want too, because I knew that if she knew I wanted her there... she would have come barreling in, but because someone didn't relay to her that I was ready. S could see the despair in my eyes as the tears started welling up again. She told them,

"I'm taking Court upstairs, you guys can wait for me to order food."

She took me up and bumped the bed into the wall.

"See, I'm terrible with these things, its like bumper beds when I drive."

For a moment a smile broke through the tears and I was feeling relieved.

We got to my room and I saw my mum and it was the moment I let go. I could finally relax and actually let the drugs work. I begged the nurses to let me take my IV out. I hated letting them do it, because well, I had done it enough times and it didn't hurt when I did it to myself. I started to remove the tapes and the little nurse got nervous.

I couldn't wait to get out.

"How much longer do we have to be here? I want to go home. They said we could go at 11:30."

My mum told me the nurse said 12:30 departure time but I wasn't having it. I told my mum, how they didn't give me enough drugs, because I was told I wasn't supposed to remember anything... I remembered everything. I was given one more xanax at this point because I couldn't calm down. I was flustered and upset. I was having another panic attack. I was feeling claustrophobic and just needed to leave. The tears would come and go, and it was getting exhausting. We still had to go see Dr. D for our chemo consult.

We finally got to leave. I up and changed and was ready for Dr. D. I could finally feel myself relaxing. Everyone kept trying to put me in a wheelchair but I was on a mission, I just needed to leave and knew I could do it a lot faster on my own. I knew exactly where to go to get to Dr.D's office, even drugged. We got there and a TIME magazine was sitting right on top of the magazine pile. It said "The Childfree Life: When having it all means not having children." I was like, "well isn't this ironic." We snagged the mag, because I wanted to know who was writing a story on me, or just the fact I was too high to understand what I would be reading.

We saw Dr. D and he went over our chemo and radiation schedule. Tuesday of next week. I HAD to do chemo. These were the words I was dreading.

"Am I going to lose my hair?"

It was the one question I didn't want to have to ask. He said

"Its not likely but it is a side effect, maybe just some thinning."

I was too stoned on xanax to cry. A panic attack was trying to creep in, but the drugs were all finally taking effect. They couldn't have started working at a better time. Finally.

We left and went to valet to get the car. It was Tuesday. The only good thing about Tuesdays is Cream of chicken and wild rice soup at Paneras. I don't remember the car ride back but we stopped. When we got to the house I started inhaling pickles. I was stoned out of my mind, but I was home. I was with Dexter, I didn't feel the pain from the incisions and I LOVED my food. Lets just say there were a lot more pics hahaha, but I narrowed it down.

After I finished eating, my salad, my soup, my pickles, I went and crashed. I finally slept, a good sleep. I needed to recover. My mind was hazy from the meds and so I didn't have to worry about thinking about the reality of chemo or radiation or anything else miserable. I was content. I slept and am glad it was all over. Even though- it was really just the beginning.