Look Good, Feel Better

Months ago, I heard about a program called "Look Good, Feel Better". It's a class that's put on through the American Cancer Society for women who are going through cancer treatment where they teach you how to apply your makeup and give tips and advice on how to survive chemo. The biggest perk is that they give attendees a free makeup kit that's worth about $300 or more that includes full sized, brand name products. I've been trying to sign up for a class for a few months, but it seemed every local class fell on a day that I either had work or had a scheduled doctor appointment or infusion. I almost decided not to go at all, especially since I'm so far along in this phase of treatment, but let's be honest, what girl would turn down free makeup? (Okay, I know that some would, but I figured it was a good perk). So I scheduled the class, and after changing out of my yoga clothes on Monday, I headed to Pleasanton where the class was being held. And then, ironically enough, one of my worst side effects hit me right before I walked in the door - diarrhea. So I had to run to the bathroom. I laughed to myself and thought about how comical it was that I was going to be late to a cancer event, because of a side effect of treating my cancer. After I felt it was safe to pull my pants back up, I headed to the conference room where the class was being held. Aside from the girl who was there to play makeup artist, I was the youngest person there. I wasn't surprised by this, but it always sucks when attending things like this, because I feel like people don't believe that I'm a cancer patient. After all, I've heard time and time again, "but you're so young." And my most recent response has been, "clearly cancer doesn't discriminate based on age." Just because a certain type of cancer is more common in older women doesn't mean that it doesn't affect the younger generation, as well. Back to my night. I was greeted by three older women, and one gave me this really awkward hug. I picked up my name tag, found a seat, and sat quietly until we got started. The host of the event was an older guy named Mark who owns a wig shop. Some of the other ladies involved were "survivors" (I hate that word, by the way, so please don't ever use it on me), and then I'm not really sure how the girl who did the makeup demonstration came into play. So the survivor ladies came up to talk about how they make these chemo care bags for women going through chemo. I was put off immediately when they pulled out a prayer devotional and said repeatedly "These bags get prayed over, from beginning to end." I'm all for religion, don't get me wrong, but this is one of those instances where religion really shouldn't be involved. Everyone's beliefs are so vastly different, and we weren't there to get prayed to or preached upon - we were there to learn how to look halfway normal during treatment. Needless to say, I didn't fill out the request card for one of those bags. Mostly because I already had a lot of stuff that came in it - either because people have given them to me (journals) or I've bought the items myself (soft toothbrush, mouth wash, nail clippers, lotion, sunscreen, tissue....).

So then Mark the wig guy starts talking about his business, and leads with "All of you are going to lose your hair." Way to be gentle, Mark. Even my doctor was more delicate when addressing the hair loss side effect when he first addressed my treatment plan. I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't, and cried like a baby. He let me cry for as long as I needed while I tried to hide behind the curtain of my hair so he couldn't see the grief on my face and hope that maybe I'd be lucky and I'd keep all of my hair. That didn't work, he clearly saw my pain, and I had to look at him again to keep talking about the other side effects I might encounter. So Mark didn't even try to clean the wound before dousing rubbing alcohol into it - he just went right in with it, advocating that you should just shave your hair off before it falls out on its own. I had already mentioned when we introduced ourselves that I just finished round 4 of chemo, and he definitely seemed surprised by the hair on my head. So when he goes into his spiel about shaving your head and buying a good wig (of course, his business card was at every place mat), he looked at me and asked about how my hair was doing. I said, "Well, I'm actually using cold caps. I've lost some hair, maybe about 20% or more, but for the most part, it's all there. So they're working." He gives kind of a disgusted look in response and says, "Oh. Well, there's pros and cons to cold caps, I guess." And while I know that in writing, this doesn't sound like much of a response, but in person, when he said it and the expression on his face, I wanted to slap him and yell at him and basically tell him to fuck off for being such a judgmental asshole. A lot of people are skeptical about cold caps due to the thought process that the chemo might not reach the brain and therefore that some traces of cancer could be missed due to cold capping. However, I based my decision on my diagnosis. My cancer hadn't spread past the tumor, so it's highly unlikely that I have any metastasizing. I'm pretty sure that's where his thought process was going. And also probably that he lost a potential customer since I have no intention of shaving my head and buying a wig. Although, if I did go that route, I already have a great wig picked out at a different salon. This was only about 30 minutes or so into the 2 hour class. I so badly wanted to leave after that because of how rude and unprofessional I thought he was, but I stayed and endured it. Again, for the free makeup.

I don't really know what I was expecting for that part of the class, but what it was definitely wasn't it. They chose one woman to come up and be the model, and the makeup artist used what was in her kit to give her a little makeover. So, out of the 5 women that were there, one of them benefited. She looked great when they were done, and during that time, the rest of us talked. I guess the nice part about me being so far into treatment was that I was able to give advice of my own, talk about what I've experienced so far, and answer a few questions. After the makeup demonstration, Mark got out one of his wigs and put it on Maria, the lady who was volun-told to be the model. She looked so uncomfortable. I don't even think he asked her if it was okay before he did it. She looked great, and I loved seeing the smile on her face as she looked in the mirror and saw someone different looking back at her. After that, she asked for advice on how to tie scarves, so they showed us a few examples of that.

When I scheduled the class over the phone, the customer service rep convinced me to go with a bag that was labeled "medium". He made the "light" sound like it was more for really, really fair people. I should've just listened to my gut and gone with the light. They gave me the medium bag, and you'd think that maybe even the reps that were at the class would've questioned it, but they didn't, and they opened the bag before I could say anything. When we were going through the bags to see what products we got, the concealer and foundation in my bag were way too dark. At the end, I gave them to the lady sitting next to me. The young makeup artist told me to ask for another bag, so I did. But they wouldn't give me one because they'd already opened the bag, even though I didn't open any of the products. I understand that, but it just left an even worse taste in my mouth about the whole experience. So my main reason for going - the free makeup - wasn't even much of a perk anymore. I felt like I'd wasted two hours of precious time where I could've been sleeping. I know other women have really benefited from this program - they host them at various hospitals all over, so each one is different - but for me, as I assumed it would be, it was a waste of time. Like I said, the only take away was that I was able to offer advice and suggestions. One of the women there I talked to afterwards told me I looked great and asked how I could stay so positive. I told her, "Don't get me wrong, I have bad days. A lot of them. I cry all the time. But your cancer experience is what you make of it." You can either play the 'why me?' game and dig yourself an even deeper hole of depression than the illness will leave you with, or you can do what you can to accept it, welcome the good days and the bad days, and try to just survive it.

It's taking me a lot longer to bounce back from my last round of chemo. I've been told that that's pretty normal, but it really sucks. Because even though I sort of know what to expect, I don't really, because it gets a little worse, a little more unbearable, each time. I'm exhausted. I slept over at a friends house last night because I was too exhausted to drive back home, I usually sleep better at places other than my house, but last night it was just the same routine as it is at home. It took me over an hour to fall asleep, and then I woke up at least 4 times to use the bathroom, until I finally gave up around 5:30 and just stayed awake. I came home and tried to go back to sleep, and I started to fall asleep, but .. then had to pee. I'm exhausted. I'm actually crying because I'm so tired and frustrated. I also went to the hospital yesterday to get IV fluids because I've been having a hard time drinking my 2 quarts of water a day, and I was hoping it'd help me recover from chemo a little bit. So far I feel just as crappy.


Side Note: I'm not knocking religion in any way. Like I said, people have different beliefs, and I respect that. I, myself, am not really sure what I believe in. I went to a Catholic school from K-8 grades, and although I'm baptized Catholic, I'm not practicing. I don't consider myself religious. However, I've had many people, of many different faiths, tell me that they're praying for me, and I welcome and appreciate those prayers. I just didn't feel like a public even that's supposed to be focused on makeup and appearance and surviving through chemo should have any religious undertones. That's not the time or the place for that.


Side, Side note: I just read this on Facebook. And I think it perfectly sums up a lot of my feelings:

 “I enjoy controlled loneliness. I like wandering around the city alone. I’m not afraid of coming back to an empty flat and lying down in an empty bed. I’m afraid of having no one to miss, of having no one to love.” — Kuba Wojewodzki

I miss having someone to love, and being loved. And I'm thoroughly terrified that I won't ever have someone to love again because of my cancer. And now that I'm crying again, this seems like the perfect place to end this entry and cuddle with Maggie until I have to go to work.