Ch-ch-ch-changes

I start radiation therapy today. I am not scared or anything. I have met my radio team twice now already- once to get positioned and another to get chest scanned and tattooed. I have four little freckle tattoos now to help them line up the beam. Not sure how I can turn those into something artistic later. Guess they will just be another souvenir of this awesome fun time. You know, because those crazy scars down my chest just aren’t enough. Honestly, I almost cried last Friday when I walked into the cancer center. I am just so sick of that place. I hate the stupid smiley greeter guy. I hate the receptionist people who keep asking for my $40. I hate the art work on the walls. I know that none of this is fair. This is the place that is saving my life. These are the kindest, sweetest people in the world. At least the radiation stuff is downstairs. The chemo stuff is upstairs and I hate that scene even more. And for all you folks that work there and may read this, don’t take it personally. I detest lots of places for no good reason. For example, I really hate the dentist office and Jiffy Lube and Chuckie Cheese.

So my vanity is really getting the best of me. I look in the mirror an insane amount of times during the day. I am constantly taking photos of the top of my head with my phone and then deleting them after I look at them. I am willing my hair to grow stronger and faster all the time. Right now, I have a small patch of fuzz. Is it dirty blond fuzz or gray/brown fuzz? I am afraid to ask. I return to work next week, and I am already feeling self-conscious. This post chemo thing takes the first day of school anxiety to an entirely new level. Do I continue to wear wigs? Do I face my students with my G. I. Jane hairdo, keeping in mind that I don’t have Demi Moore’s bone structure or slim frame? Do I draw on eyebrows even though it is obvious and ridiculous? I bet you are thinking who cares. You will tell me I am beautiful no matter what, and you will be right, but I still feel like a thirteen year old at a pool party whose body is uncontrollably changing and not necessarily for the better.

To top off my fuzzy hair that grows a micron a day, I also seem to be gaining weight. Great, right? No, people. I lost some weight courtesy of the red devil, but I want that weight to stay lost. Between the steroids and early menopause, my body is in survival, fat-storage mode. No matter how much I walk and swim and pretend I am a beach volleyball Olympian, and no matter how much I DON’T eat, the scales keep going up. Really, universe? This does not help with the body image issues afore mentioned.

All-in-all, though, I am getting my groove back. My energy levels are up. I am very excited about returning to work. I have done lots of back-to-school shopping for me and the kids. I actually skipped in Staples. I am so damn excited. I am excited for a new academic year, a new set of boobs, a new not-tired cancer free Anna. I am sad for my pets that have spent the last year napping with me in my queen bed nest for hours on end. I think Buddy, my loyal and cuddly Australian Shepherd, will miss snuggling with me and watching hours of bad reality television. Don’t worry, sweet animals. I hear radiation makes you tired so you and I will still have our daily naps. Only this semester, mommy (ß me) will get out of bed and actually cook her family dinner. Well, some of the time.