This week I'll be starting IPT again. This is the low-dose chemo-cocktail that wrought havoc on my white blood cell count and was put on hold for the last two weeks.
My initial reaction was hesitation and fear. I've been feeling so good lately that I hate the idea of going back on the drugs. I hate the idea of doing something I know my body reacts poorly to.
But if I'm really being honest?
Honestly, what I really hate most is the idea of losing what little hair I have left.
How vain is that? And what a stupid fucking reason not to do something. Seriously, this stuff has proven to kill cancer cells—my cancer cells. After all, that is the reason I'm here -- not to win some beauty contest.
Do I worry about the idea of consistently having a low white blood count, putting me at risk for infection from the mere cough of a stranger? Of course. Am I thrilled about the idea of IPT repeatedly compromising my bone marrow? Of course not.
But no one said the journey to cure cancer comes without compromises.
Look, as long as I losing Little Hodgy, then great.
If it means I must lose my hair, then that's one compromise I'm willing to make.