Recovery Time

As promised, the doctors did let me out of the hospital on Sunday.  The fevers were gone, the stem cells were stored in a sub-zero freezer and my hair was starting to rapidly fall out.  It was a relief to wear pants again and a shirt with sleeves that didn’t extend below my fingertips.

After meeting with my team on Monday, they explained that the next couple weeks are reserved for recovery.  I have very few appointments and not a lot to do.  I mistakenly thought I had a mini-vacation.  But I now understand what they meant by "recovery time."  I'm constantly sleepy, I can't concentrate and I certainly don't feel like I'm on vacation.  I'm flat out exhausted all of the time.  

But with chemotherapy hair-loss, it was time to get a transitional haircut.  As soon as I left the hospital on Sunday, I asked the lady inside my phone to locate a haircut place that would be open.  She said there was a “Great Clips” just a few blocks away.  I was there within ten minutes.  A fifty year old Asian lady with a  very modern haircut herself took me back to her chair immediately.  I explained that I wanted about a 1/4 inch of hair left everywhere before it all fell out.  It’s a haircut I was familiar with as a child of four and five.  It served me well then, It could work one more time as my transition to baldness.

In my mind, this haircut would take about two minutes.  She set the length on her clippers and as predicted, two minutes later, I had a crewcut just like I did in 1964.  Quick, easy and not as bad to look at as I had expected.  But then, she got out the scissors.  She snipped individual hairs, straightened edges, looked over my nearly hairless scalp as if she were creating a work of art.  I was impressed with her intense focus and the obvious pride she had in her work.  And all of this effort for a haircut that would only last a few days before complete baldness.  She worked on the “simple buzz cut” for fifteen more minutes before pulling out the hand mirror so I could inspect the back of my head.

So, it was cashier time.  A regular haircut was $17.  I thought that was high for a "Great Clips" but I planned to tip her well.  I’d never had such careful and thoughtful attention directed at a simple haircut.  Then she said simply, “no charge.”  I didn’t know what to say or how to respond.  Like anyone stricken with cancer, I’m certainly concerned about how to pay the big bills but I’m not so needy to worry about a $20+ haircut.  She knew I was from Alaska and that my stay in Seattle was temporary.  She knew that she would in all likelihood, never see me again.  All of this flashed through my mind before I mumbled a simple “thank you” and left her a tip with the first bill I could find in my wallet.  I dropped a $10 bill on her table and quickly escaped.  Her simple act of kindness to a complete stranger was one I'll always remember and appreciate and hopefully pass on to others.

The next big event will be around August 14.  That could be the day they pump me full of a nasty chemo called Melphalan.  In high dosage, it kills all of the bone marrow and white blood cells.  On August 17, they will give my frozen stem cells back.  Those stem cells will regrow bone marrow and the first transplant will be complete.