Phase One: Finito. Terminé. Fertig. Done and Dusted. Yipppeeeeeee!!

Well, Phase One is finally over. Halle-freaking-lujah! After 33 treatments to my melon and 49 of those monstrous Blue Pills, This Gal is glad to be over my recent Fiesta-of-Fun. Doc Radiation advised me that I would probably continue to feel tired (sub text: haggard, exhausted, butt-draggingly burnt out) for a couple of weeks yet and I suppose that makes sense. After all, that's a whole lot of nuking and chemical sh*t that my body has ingested and endured over the past nearly 7 weeks, and as the central nervous system is a wee bit slower to cleanse and purge all that toxic crap and those dead cells, I have been resting (read: sleeping) for the past few days. In fact, as I look at my Uber busy social calendar (HA!), I see a whole slew of appointments (I'm a popular gal) for all the hot spots in the area: a wonderful Tuscan trattoria called Dormire; Schlafen, a new German brew pub; and a rooftop bistro by the name of Dormir. ;-) Hmmm there's a theme here. It's about both sleep AND food! Wish I was hungry though. Oh I suppose I should mention that my appetite has not yet returned. It will be interesting to see what happens when I start the six-month chemo maintenance program and how my appetite is affected. After all, the side effects from the past almost seven weeks was the result of double the effects of both radiation and chemo; in any event, I digress, as usual. Suffice to say, my calendar is full of appointments with my current best amiga -- Sleep.

So, on Wednesday I took the mask home -- because Drew and I have plans for it -- and I posted the shot below on Facebook. Not surprisingly, I received a couple of "ugh - shades of Hannibel Lecter" and "ooooh ......scary looking." Scary looking indeed.

Methinks that what is scary is that I don't believe that anyone ever envisions themselves strapped into a mask like this for 33 days and having their head blasted with radiation in an attempt to shrink a cancerous tumor in one's noggin. And that includes Yours Truly. Just never thought about it. Why would I after all? So while the mask is indeed scary looking, the process that the mask represents and everything behind it is far more frightening.  But I am through that part of it now. Yee HAW!

On a lighter note, Drew and I are either going to capitalize on the whole creepy Hallowe'en thing and dress The Mask up with googly eyes and bloody bits and creepy ass sh*t (that's Drew's domain), or make it our own homemade Chia pet ("ch-ch-ch-CHIA!"). Part of me prefers the latter, just for sh*ts and giggles. And really, who knew these babies were still around?

A Google search revealed that Barack Obama is a particular favorite ("discuss"), but I am leaning towards somehow turning that mask into Homer Simpson or everyone's favorite bonehead these days -- Justin Bieber (what in God's name is wrong with that dude?) -- because the more ridiculous, the better. Perspective, right? If turning it into something gut-bustingly funny helps me deal with what it represents, then that's a good thing. That, or Drew will turn it into something beautiful, enchanting and inspiring which will be even more of "Ma Vaffanculo!" to this whole thing.

I also got tired of having bad hair days -- a perverse irony when one only has a half a head of hair -- so Drew and I went to the same barber shop (Drew's spot and my new spot for the next few weeks) and shaved our heads on Thursday. Drew did it for the second time -- my man! -- and this time, I went full-tilt-boogie. Yup. It all came off. Bzzzzzzz. And as Drew so aptly put it, we are now officially boycotting shampoo. Just because. Best part is, this time around, I didn't weep or get choked up or emotional. In fact, I was giggling as I just couldn't believe I was looking at myself with no hair. Frankly, I have grown accustomed to the sight of Me-Without-All-My-Hair and it just is what it is. That's not to say that I'm not looking forward to my hair growing back -- of course I am. I simply grieved the loss of my hair a couple of weeks ago, accepted it as part of the process and moved on.

Once I see how long it will take for the hair in the absolute bald spots to grow back -- the radiated spots are completely bald and the hair there takes much longer to grow back than hair that falls out because of chemo -- then I may contemplate a temporary henna tattoo. It will either be something beautiful and spiritual like "Each day is a gift" (which I truly believe and something for which I thank God every day), or something a little more radical like "F**K Cancer" in Urdu or Dari or Chinese (traditional). Haven't decided yet.

Next steps include an MRI on August 9 -- this is The-First-One-After-The-Treatments -- and where the Docs will have the first peek at the 2,500 or so images of Il Tumore to check out what state It is in. In other words, I'm remaining hopeful that this first phase of the Nuke-and-Chem-O-Rama was all worth it. Think positive, Cancerella; think positive. Then, on August 21, Drew and I meet with Doc Radiation, Dr Ferragamo and Dr Neuro-Oncologist (He-Who-Drilled-The-Hole-In-My-Head) to review said MRI results and until then I am going to Zen out, meditate and take the advice of my dear uncle and not think too much about it all. Speaking of family, my freaking AWESOME cousin and his wife shaved their heads as a tribute and to show support. Words cannot describe how unbelievably touched both Drew and I are over this unbelievably selfless, generous and incredible gesture of love, kindness and support. There have been few times in my life when I have been absolutely and completely gob-smacked and this is one of them. Overcome with gratitude and love and emotion.

And it just reinforces to me -- again and again -- what really matters. Love. Family. Friends. Health. The small wondrous things in life. Everything else? i.e. stuff? Doesn't matter. Not one iota. Means absolutely nothing in the end. Things cannot comfort you in your hour of need, or ease your worry or pain or suffering. And as awful as this experience is, there is always a bright side to things. It just opened my eyes that much wider to what I have always intuitively known and felt anyway -- about what matters in life; about what is worth complaining about. And please know that I do not say that to sound holier-than-thou or judgmental. It's all about perspective. For folks who -- God bless them -- have never been through anything traumatic, it's all relative. It's the whole question of how can one experience or define true joy if one has never experienced true pain? I am waxing far too philosophical here. Suffice to say, that each day is indeed precious and time with family and with friends, love and health are the only things that really matter to both Drew and to me.

So that's all the news that's fit to print today and this week, dear family and friends. Will keep you all updated on what happens next and in the meantime, thanking you all again -- profoundly and from the bottom of my heart -- for your love, support and kindness, for your cards, calls, texts, emails....and for reading this blog. Seriously, I could not have gotten through this first phase without each and every one of you and for that, I am, and will always be, eternally grateful, as is Drew, my amazingly dedicated caretaker, the love of my life, my gift from God! Thank you for the gift of your love and friendship.

Grazie per viaggiare con me,

Cancerella, Balderello e I Due Gatti
xoxoxoxo