Can't complain; well, I shouldn't. And yet...

It's been a while since my last post, mainly because I've had company this last week. What I need to remember, however, is that folks look for updates on this and worry when there isn't one. Sorry! It takes longer than one might imagine to complete an entry, though; after a night fighting insomnia and then waking with the blue haze around my ears, finding something to write that is both lucid and informative is a challenge. 'Write every day' Annie Lamott says. But there's no news, Annie, and I don't want to write just for the sake of off-loading. Readers will get bored. They will stop reading. I will get frustrated that the viewing stats will go down (Yes, I notice these things, and wonder who on earth is reading me in Poland) and will sulk.

It's a slippery slope, this blogging business. 

The final chemo session of the first stage of the treatment is tomorrow. The days have passed very quickly in between sessions. I'm blaming the fact that I am ignoring so much work on that, and fear that I'll reach the end of the whole process only to realise that I have accomplished nothing. Well, except lived, of course.

At the moment, I am reading all the posts from friends who have jaunted off overseas and stewing in my envy. Ann and I were supposed to be in the UK for the summer, and were very excited about camping with Linda and Huw and looking at universities and eating fish and chips from the College Green chippy and drinking a pint of Organic at the Victory with Tim and passing hours with Mel at the Jalsagor and sitting in the garden at Sarah and Martin's with the children and strolling on Offa's Dyke with Heidi and letting Steras mix too many Bombay and tonics... didn't need an adventure, just keen to be home. We cancelled the trip because of the cancer treatment- needed to stay handy for the chemo, and while a trip in between sessions would have been feasible, I was convinced that I'd be much sicker than I have been. Who knew? It turned out to be a wise decision financially, since I had to make Annie's tuition payment and would have have struggled to pay for the fish and chips and pints and curries (and universities- yipes!!) if we'd gone, especially once I had to withdraw from teaching summer school. However, being here for the summer is not as scintillating as one might expect. And most of you will not have expected it to be especially scintillating. Now that the summer school crowd has also flown out, Songdo is a bit of a ghost town. I should either jump on a train and explore, OR I should get working on my dissertation.

Before I leap to do either, let's get an update on things cancer-related:

I am almost completely hairless, and hating it. Despite the reassurances that I look good (you know, for a bald chick who is neither Natalie Portman nor Sinead O'Connor) I really, really hate it. Yes, I have an impossibly symmetrical skull and good cheekbones, and am grateful. But gentle reader, I am vain beyond belief, and very sensitive to the stares. I am even more sensitive to the children who laugh and point in the streets. And that happens. I defy anyone to remain upbeat when people -even children- laugh and point at you. It looks better when I don't try and hide it, and I am stubborn about refusing to be shamed by it- let other women hide indoors or don scarves and wigs in this heat- but it comes at a price. I am the only bald woman I have seen in a country of women with beautiful hair and a fixation on beauty- and there aren't alot of bald men. Do not join the voices that remark 'Well, think of all the money you'll save on hairdressing!' That will get you smacked in the nose, right along with the people who continue to stroke me, despite my many assertions that I hate it. (Cancer has revealed a serious chippiness in my nature.)

Another thing I advise against saying, while I'm on the topic: 'You will come out of all this so much stronger'. Errrr... I really think I don't need to be stronger, thanks. In fact, if the cost for gaining strength is going through a year like the one I've been having, I think I'd rather be feeble, if it's all the same.

Last night the last of my eyelashes came out. If you've never noticed someone without eyelashes, then you won't know the froggy appearance it lends one's eyes. It is hard to combat that with makeup, because there is nothing for the eyeliner to adhere to and it tends to run away. I am being very gentle with my brows, hoping not to lose them entirely- they are also starting to come out. Sob.

I appear to be one of the few people who does not lose weight on chemotherapy. I am pleased not to have nausea, for certain. However, those who do not lose tend to gain, and according to my reading, often up to twenty pounds. This is deeply worrying. Having already put on more weight than I care to make public here since coming to Korea, I am very fearful of gaining any more. There is a lot of water retention and bloating; my fingers are like sausages every morning. It is just uncomfortable, especially in the heat, and contributes to the overall feeling of YUCK that hits me every time I look in the mirror.

So: bored, bald and bulky. That's how I'm feeling at the moment. And as I proofread all the whining and negativity in the paragraphs above, I wonder why you even bothered to wade through it to get this far. Here's something I see through the fog, though:

All the cancer news in the media is badbad. Bernie Nolan, Iain McColl, and a 13 year-old you tube hit Cover Girl have all died this week, according to the headlines and updates on my new feeds. And that is sobering, when I'm surrounded by the streamers and balloons of my latest pity party. I have no right to bellyache about how I look, or how much more fun other people are having. I am alive. I'm still here to shake my defiant fist. And I shall begin sticking my tongue out at the children who laugh and point.