We were planning a small wedding, and a reception at my parents house afterward. But I had
been warned that by the time my wedding day arrived, I might be bald from the chemotherapy
treatments. So I started sending for wig catalogs, right along with making other preparations.
My sister helped with picking out my bouquet and the other flowers, we decided on silk instead
of fresh flowers. I would have a cascading headpiece of flowers and a short veil. A close
friend presented me with the wedding dress she had planned to wear at her own wedding, but
hadn't had a chance to. It seemed her wedding party wanted to dress less formally, so she
had opted for a different dress at the last moment.

The dress was something I would have chosen for myself. The long gown of white satin, and
beaded bodice, with wristlength sleeves of transparent white material. Again, I was gifted
from Heaven, I thought. Buying a dress, choosing the right one, had been worrying me. Now,
the perfect dress was given to me, with love from a dear friend. We decided to make our own
invitations, to save time. And everything went along so well.

We were also planning to put Larry's home up for sale, and after it was sold, we
would move to the house I was forced to leave nine years earlier, when my divorce
took place. I had wished to return there for so many years, but hadn't found the courage
to go back alone. The work involved in getting a house ready for the market can be quite
involved. It was a welcomed diversion, although very tiring work. There was the advice
from the agent handling the sale about what would add to the value of Larry's home. And
as we worked together, Larry told me that he would always be there to share life's tasks
with me. That we would continue to be a team through the years. And that we would share
the happy times together. Things like having tea and chocolate cookies, on the couch
together, snuggled close. We shared dreams, and oreo-flavored smooches, with plans for a
future we hoped would last forever. "You are promising me at least fifty years" he would
say, "I won't settle for less!"

Our hearts were open to each other, and we weren't afraid of the sickness in my body.
Larry would never let me think for one minute that I wouldn't be well again someday. He
helped me more than he'll ever know, just by being there with me, by my side. There to hug
me, or listen to my thoughts, to reassure me. But most of all, I was sure that he loved me,
and had chosen me to share the rest of his life. We made so many promises, to be happy, and
to stay close to each other throughout all of our years together. I felt the healing power
of those promises deep within my soul.

When the day came for me to recieve my first dose of chemotherapy, I arrived at the
clinic and was directed to the oncology department. Once I was checked in and weighed,
the doctor met me in her office for an examination. She was very pleased with the healing
of my wounds, and said that she felt I was ready to begin therapy. I was sent to the lab
for baseline bloodtests. Then brought back to a private room, where there was a bed. A
nurse stayed with me and explained what she would be doing, as she started to make me
comfortable on the bed, adjusting the pillows. You will recieve your first treatment here,
so that you can be more comfortable, she explained. She began to insert an IV needle into my
arm.

I was informed the treatment would take twenty minutes, which surprised me. I
thought that I would recieve an injection and be able to leave. I could be cool for
a few minutes, but this made me apprehensive. What if I got sick to my stomach, like
the booklets about chemotherapy explained, I asked myself. The IV was started, and I
was left alone with a couple of magazines and the remote control for the TV mounted on
the wall. The nurse also showed me the call button and told me to push it if I needed
anything. She told me to keep the arm with the IV in it still and exited the room. I
looked at the tubes delivering the "medicine" into my body, they looked so foriegn, and
I was a bit uncomfortable about being left alone. I felt so lonely all of a sudden.
I wished Larry were there with me, but decided that I wouldn't want him to see me should
I feel sick. So I clicked through the channels on the TV, and watched the clock on the wall.

The nurse returned, asked how I felt, and started removing the IV hookup from my arm.
She took my blood pressure before she would let me get up. I told her that I had a bad
taste in my mouth. She said that was from the treatment I had recieved and offered me
some hard candy from a jar on the beside table. We chatted as she helped me up and told
me I could go home. I felt a little light headed when I stood, but I made my way to the
appoinment desk and arranged my next treatment. It would be a month later. On the drive
home, I began to feel dizzy. I was very garteful to my father, for volunteering to drive
me to all of my appointments during my treatments. My mind was wondering what effect the
drugs would have on me? And by the time I reached my parents house I felt terribly tired.
My mother helped me to bed and I drifted off to sleep.

When Larry came to visit, several hours later, after he got off work, I was able to get
back up. I was feeling a bit "off" my usual self. During the following four days the tired
feeling remained. And my appetite was not good. But I grew stronger again and was able to
return to normal activites by the weekend. It felt good to get out of the house again. I
felt that I could handle the treatments if they were no worse than the first one had been.
So, I went on with the plans for my wedding. I was given a business card for a salon that
sold wigs from the clinic staff. Larry and I went there together, since I wanted him to help
me make a selection, to replace the shoulder length brown hair I would soon be losing.
We laughed as the beautician tried on the gaudy looking long ones, then the curly bigwigs.

Trying on wigs was an unsatifying experience. So we selected one from the catalog the
salon provided. It was to be styled for me when it arrived, to look like my own hair. I
hoped it would arrive for my wedding, in case I needed it. Mom and I had selected two short
wigs from a mail order cactalog we had at home days earlier, to be sure one of the wigs would
arrive on time. The reality of losing the hair I had worn long all of my adult life was
not a pleasant one. But I reminded myself of the day when I had learned that I didn't
need a mastectomy, and I promised God that I wouldn't complain about anything else the
treatment of my cancer brought my way.

The time for my second round of chemo seemed to run right up into my life too soon.
But mom would say that's one treatment done, five to go, as sort of a victory cheer.
The second treatment was given to me in a room full of reclining chairs. People sat
reading magazines, watching TV and some chatted. The nurse brought me in, made me
comfortable, offered me the jar of hard candy, and said another nurse would bring my
chemo-drugs soon. As I looked around the room, I felt as if my surroundings were strange.
If there weren't some wierd wigs, bald heads, and sick looking folks, it might seem like
a social gathering. Most of my companions were older than me that day. Each person sat,
hooked up to tubes and bags of the chemicals they were recieving. All seemed to be very
comfortable, ignoring their situation quite matter-of-factly. A lady sat and crocheted.
A man told a story about his wife who had had breast cancer twice, before she died.

As I was also connected to my apparatus, I felt strangely uncomfortable. I felt trapped.
"We look like a herd of cows at milking time" I thought to myself. I looked out the window,
at the birdfeeder that hung from the branch of a tree just outside. Some sparrows were
enjoying the seeds provided, seeming unaware of those who watched them from inside the
clinic walls. I tried to think of other things, far away, as the chemicals entered
my veins, and I started to feel dizzy. Time passed in slow motion, and I had to force
myself to sit still. But, finally the alarm on my IV setup went off, and it summoned
the nurse, to check that everything had gone well. I was finished, and she removed my
needle and tubes, placing a band-aid over the spot where the needle had been.

Again, I was very tired and my stomach was very queasy for about four or five days.
But my wedding filled my dreams as I slept away the days. Larry would sit by my bed
and watch TV, quietly, when he visited. I felt a little too uncomfortable to be up, at
first. My appetite was gone again, and I was a little weak from not eating. The first
week after treatment passed, and I was up on my feet again. While we were working at
Larry's house one day, I stepped into the bathroom, to freshen up. I stood in front of
the mirror to comb my hair. The comb came away from my head with many of my long
hairs hanging from it. I combed once more, and more hair fell away. This is it, I
swallowed hard, it really is happening! I cleaned the wad of hair from the comb and
carried it back to show Larry. I held my hand out to him, with a sad look. He hugged
me tight, reassuring me that he'd love me, even with a bald head. And we started making
jokes as I wondered outloud if I should use duct tape to hold my headpiece on at our
wedding if the wigs weren't satisfactory.

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