@msfarn Welcome to this discussion and to the Gynecological Cancer Support Group. Cancer treatments take such a toll on us physically and also psychologically. Your description of what you are doing sounds like you are taking very good care of yourself and doing everything you can to optimize your recovery. I did not have chemotherapy when I had a recurrence of endometrial cancer. I had external beam pelvic radiation therapy and two treatments of internal (brachytherapy). My radiation oncologist advised me to rest when I needed but to make these rests very short. He said not to lie on the sofa all day. He said that the more I moved around and kept up a normal routine the better I would feel. While I realize our situations and treatments are very different from one another, like you, I did everything I could to support myself. I kept up with exercise, clean eating and spiritual readings. Since I had my treatment before religious institutions re-opened their doors I participated in services through Zoom.

Will you have six cycles in total and how many more weeks of taxol?

I replied and goofed up, it’s down below Naturegirl15,
Hope you can read it. I can’t tell you how much your response has helped

Dear msfarn,
I too received Taxol for chemotherapy. I was in my mid-thirties when I was diagnosed with stage 2b ovarian cancer.
I was told by my oncologist that with Taxol, I most certainly would lose my hair. My reaction was a stoic acceptance wrapped in comic denial. So I made a plan to ease myself into the loss of my strawberry locks. My hair was long. (middle of my back). The first thing I did, before the chemo started, was to have my hair cut as short as possible-a “boy cut”.
My hair started to fall out not long after my first 6 hour course. So, the next thing I did, was ask my husband if he would shave my head, as I didn’t think I could. I did shed a couple of small tears, but I kept telling myself that it WILL grow back.
I’m not sure if the acceptance of my fate, as a bald woman, was simple denial or something else. Regardless, I found the best way to cope was to face it with humor.
I started mass emailing my progress toward my “Mr. (Mrs.) Clean look to friends and family. Apparently my humor was appreciated. And, it helped me to laugh at myself.
I told the tales of going to my appointment to pick out a wig. I’d never worn a wig in my life. And my wig ignorance was as obvious as my fuzzy scalp.
As I’m getting fitted with my new mop, the hairdresser says to me: “Of course you’re going to need a chin strap.” I was baffled. A chin strap? I’m thinking it might be for windy days, even as I’m aware that I’ve never seen anyone wearing a chin strap. I asked: “Won’t the chin strap make it obvious that I’m wearing a wig?” The hairdresser’s response was abrupt. “You only wear it when you’re styling your wig.”
Ohhh, of course. I felt silly.
Long story short—I think humor helped me get through the ordeal. If you can laugh at yourself, given what you’ve facing, and you have wonderful, loving support. It’s not so bad.
My eyelashes and eyebrows were the last to go (and the first to return). Honestly, that loss was more surprising and traumatic than losing the hair on my head. But, I found a way to lighten up. I didn’t miss shaving my legs and underarms. This too is not permanent.
As for my rather expensive wig (insurance covered half), I hardly wore it. It was heavy and hot. I chose to wear hats—fun ones.
I got through my 6 courses and am proud to say (21
years later), I’m still here and no longer bald. I was surprised at how quickly it came back. And, I’ve kept it short. My Mia Farrow in “Rosemary’s Baby” look is less time consuming—a bonus gotten from a step I never end dreamed I’d take.
I know what you’re going through. You’ll be in my thoughts and prayers. Just try using humor. Erma Bombeck said, “…it’s the best medicine.”
Hugs.