Marilyn Claire Murphy

I shaved my legs today.

Don’t let it ever be said that there is nothing good about chemotherapy. I recently wrote about losing hair on my head, eyebrows and eyelashes (the worst). But losing hair on my legs (and armpits) is a blessing!

It’s all growing back. In another month or so, I think I’ll be able to shed the wig. And the eyebrows and eyelashes are almost back to normal. I barely noticed the baby-fine hair growing on my legs as I’ve been covered up all winter with tights, thermal undies and long pants. But mine were starting to look like man legs, and I knew I’d have to take action one of these days. I scheduled a pedicure this afternoon as my toes are grossing me out. And I decided that my nice Vietnamese manicurist would probably prefer smooth, hairless legs.

Shaving took an extra-long time because my Gilette Venus Comfort-Glide razor wasn’t up to the challenge and got clogged frequently.

Anyway – now the ritual of thrice-weekly shaving will once again commence. Sigh . . . it was nice while it lasted.

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I can’t believe I haven’t written about my Christmas Surprise.

I’ve told the story so often that I was certain I’d written a blog about it. So here goes . . .

Christmas Eve dawned bright and sunshiny after a week of dreary clouds and rain. Scott had told me that he and his daughters, Erica and Ashley, would be going “out” that afternoon – and I couldn’t come. That was fine with me since I wasn’t feeling too hot. Plus, I figured the girls were going to help him choose my Christmas present.

I admit to feeling a bit perplexed when, by early afternoon, nobody was making a move to go anywhere. Ashley was fooling around with my Sony camera, Erica was lurking about and Scott was in the den on his computer. I was sitting in the living room, my bald head covered with a cotton cap, without makeup, feeling weak from the effects of chemotherapy.

“Maybe I won’t be getting a present from Scott,” I thought wistfully.

The doorbell rang. Scott went to answer it and I heard an unfamiliar female voice. I was puzzled. It’s not Girl Scout cookie season and an unlikely day for door-to-door solicitors.

I was curious. She obviously wasn’t selling anything because Scott hadn’t shooed her away by now. They were speaking in suspiciously hushed voices. Who was this woman?

“Hon, there’s someone at the door for you,” he said.

Baffled and annoyed, I rose from my chair and whispered to Ashley, “Don’t they know I have cancer?”

The woman at the door, who I guessed to be in her mid-30s, said cheerily, “Hi, I’m Jamie! Are you Marilyn? ”

“Hello. Yes, I’m Marilyn,” I said as I shook her outstretched hand, looking beyond her for evidence of a big surprise. Scott was obviously up to something.

My imagination raced. My first thought, a male stripper! No, no, that wouldn’t be Scott’s style – not for Christmas anyway. And then I thought, “flash mob!” I’ve always wanted to be surprised with a flash mob. But there was only one small car on the street and no evidence of people lurking in the bushes or hiding behind the trees.

“It’s Christmas Eve and I have a special delivery for you,” she continued.

I looked down to see what she was carrying and noticed the small black pet carrier. I couldn’t see what was inside, but I knew. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

For months, Ashley had joked that I needed a kitty. And that’s what it was: a Craigslist, Christmas chemo kitty.

Someone – not me – invited Jamie inside. I had dropped to the floor and Jamie set the bag down next to me. I peeked through the black mesh window to see two wide hazel eyes looking back at me. I gently unzipped the carrier.

Jamie told us the story of how she’d been fostering the kitten for several weeks. It had been living in a repo yard in Sylmar where it had been attacked by, she presumed, a vicious guard dog. The kitten had escaped by jumping into somebody’s van – who had then delivered the injured kitty to a rescue organization – who had spent hundreds of dollars to get a gash on his chin stitched up by a vet. How appropriate – my new baby is a survivor!

I gave him a few minutes to adjust to the sounds, tone, and temperature of the room before gently reaching inside to lift out the black kitten who settled effortlessly onto my lap. As I petted him, I could feel the rumblings of a purr.

Jamie rattled on about how sweet he was since she’d been fostering him and how lucky he was to have such a nice family to adopt him, but was quick to add, “You can return him if it doesn’t work out.”

“What will you name him?” Ashley asked.

I thought a moment. “Chemo.” No – that’s not it. “Scarface.” No – that would be mean.

A moment later I said, “Sunny! His name will be Sunny. For three reasons: 1) it’s a bright sunny day today, 2) because of my sunny disposition that has got me through these past several months and 3) because my chemo nurse is named Sunny!”

It’s been three months, and Sunny is definitely a mama’s boy. He sits on my lap for hours, especially when I have my laptop balanced on my lap to write a blog (like today). He’s taken over the household and is a voracious eater. Fortunately, he stopped pooping on the carpet after the first week and his farting has subsided – but it lasted long enough for us to call him “Stinky” most of the time.

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I’ve decided my last chemo treatment will be on March 15.

That will be the third of the once-a-month infusions of Doxil – a different chemo drug which was prescribed after it was determined that the “disease” (they seem to dislike using the word ‘cancer’) had spread to my lymph nodes after a few month of weekly chemo treatments with a platinum-based drug.

We’ll see if the doctors agree with my plan.

I’ll get another CT scan at the end of March and learn the results a week later. I envision that the lymph nodes will have shrunk back to nothingness – too small for the radiologist to see on the scan.

That’s my plan – and I’m stickin’ to it!