Last week, I recounted a story where I accidentally flashed my left bosom at my nurse, which caused me some embarrassment. I did say this in the blog, but I was not embarrassed because somebody saw an illicit part of my body, I have myeloma for goodness sake, so that sort of thing really doesn’t matter, and hasn’t mattered for a long time. I was embarrassed because my well self, would never let myself get into that sort of situation. When I say situation, I mean, my well self, would never allow a stranger to see me in elasticated trousers, sans confidence with my booby hanging out.
Whilst I am aware that the body is just the body, I want and expect mine to look a certain way, in order for me to feel a certain way. My transplant, and if I am honest, aided by my eating ability on VDT, has zapped all comfort and confidence I had, away. I have become embarrassed to see people. A cleaner in the hospital asked me at the weekend whether Big Sister was my daughter… She just about summed things up.
I sit and hope that my transplant has temporarily banished my myeloma, whilst I sit and curse the fact that my transplant has made me feel ugly. Spending a fortnight in my pyjamas, slowly balding, looking grey, immune to weight loss, has done absolutely nothing to boost my confidence. Nothing at all. I do not feel 29. I feel old and irrelevant.
It seems strange that given the seriousness of my procedure and my illness, that I have found time to worry about my appearance, but I have. I am vain. Since I was diagnosed, I have worked with the changes imposed upon me, and made the appropriate concessions, but I have not been able to do that in hospital. There is no need for accessories in here. I have looked like a slob the whole time, and I cannot express how excited I am about getting dressed today. I’ll be putting clothes on and maybe a bit of make up, and a wig. Not quite sex on legs though. Not even, for I have not shaved my legs for 10 days. I thought the chemotherapy would deal with that for me, I was wrong.
I also thought that the Melphalan would do something else for me, it failed…. I am absolutely flabbergasted and disappointed to announce that I have not lost any of my VDT/VTD weight during my transplant. In fact, during the eight days I could not eat nor drink, I lost nothing. I thought weight loss would be my payoff for having to go through my transplant, I was almost promised it. I was wrong. Instead, I got to listen to a nursing assistant compare the size of a blood pressure cuff to the size of my waist. Thanks. I felt like a princess.
To improve matters, and by that, I mean to assist My Myeloma in its quest to turn me into a fetish, I have lost my hair again. Not all of it as I hinted above, just the majority of the stuff that had regrown on my head. In nearly all the places you do not want hair, my hair remains.
Oh, and for some reason I am leaving this place with some very dry skin. Just to top me off.
This was not the long spa break I pretended it was. I may have been given a fitness regime (on my request), had a number of alternative therapies and met with an inept dietician, but I do not feel cleansed.
What am I saying? Sexy, everything about me so sexy. I don’t even know why I got. I really hit the spot.