Last September, when I started chemo, I also started taking a picture of myself every week. I was originally going to do this for the 12 weeks of Taxol. My Herceptin treatment (not technically chemo, but chemo-ish) was to last one year, so when Taxol ended I decided to keep going, and chronicle the full 52 weeks -- September 21, 2012 to September 21, 2013. That might actually be 53 weeks. Whatever. I went 21 to 21.
It's odd to look at this. I normally don't like looking at photos of myself. Um, particularly when I look like shit. But I feel, I don't know, separate from this person somehow, even though the last photos are from just a few days ago. I feel like the girl in the photos made it through pretty unscathed, though the look on her face sometimes makes me sad. A lot of people had it a lot worse. (I sort of hate it when other people say that to me, that "it could be worse," thing. I know they're trying to be comforting. But you know what? It could always be worse. My prognosis could be worse. I could have had to do harsher chemo. I could be going bankrupt. My dog could have run away. So yes, it could always be worse. But shit could be a lot better, too.)
I'm still not completely sure why I took these photos. At first it had to do with documenting the hair saga. But it wound up becoming about something else, too. The photos became hash marks scratched on the wall, marking time spent inhabiting the world of this disease. Every time I set up the tripod was another week down. Or was it another week lost?