I found the attached photos interesting and indicative of how powerful chemo is and, as previously discussed, how remarkable the body’s ability to regenerate & heal is. I spoke (or wrote, rather) at great lengths on this subject, but never was it clear until I noticed how my fingernails showed signs of damage and regeneration. For me, I’ve expounded profusely about the loss of hair and the symbolism that exists in this shedding process. For some, undergoing chemo & losing their hair is slow and painful, and there is a lot of grieving in this time period. Some find it hard to lose their hair, to be bald, to witness this sort of physical transformation that is often paired with so many others that transcend the physical and plague patients on an emotional and psychological level. In the blink of an eye, there’s a diagnosis, being stripped of a sense of control and supposed certainty, hair loss, losing/gaining weight, emotional outbursts, anxiety, and being simultaneously sleepless and exhausted…  others, like myself and I sure many more, become acutely aware of what was happening on a cellular level, directly within their physical being. Then, somewhere in this time frame, there’s acceptance of the loss, and the concern of hair falls by the wayside in the desperate pursuit of health. Even then, some never get to witness their hair’s return. It was just one more physical attribute and symbol, one of many, that was taken from them.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that my fingernails were starting to crack and become brittle at the base, towards the cuticle. It seemed rather strange, and I didn’t think much of it until all of my fingernails, each and every one, were developing this definitive break in their surfaces that extended as they grew out. i had a hunch it was due to the multiple rounds of high dose chemo, though i wasn’t sure and actually wondered if it was indicating a nutritional deficiency of sorts. This had never happened before with conventional chemotherapy… but the toxicity difference between conventional and high doses is alarming. The distinct line/break running across my nails likened itself to tree rings and their revelation of the tree’s history and experiences. On larger, ancient ones it is possible to tell so much; was there once a forest fire in the area? How severe were the winters? Were there heavy rainfalls in certain years or periods of drought? Remarkably, all these stories are encased in concentric circles. The clear, definitive line across my fingernails shows when the cells started regenerating. Underneath, where the new nail is slowly growing, it appears “remarkably healthy,” according to my nutritionist. The top layer, the old growth being pushed outward and away, is brittle.

There’s no real way to calculate the time frame. Unlike each tree ring denoting a year, the lines on the surfaces of my nails simply mark the old and the new. my nails are like my beard, which is like my hair, they are returning and showing signs of growth and rebirth, but i still wonder when this happens, when regrowth & regeneration actually occur. While inpatient during the transplants, I would have daily (blood) labs done, which revealed when my counts were dropping and bottoming out, as well as when they were starting to climb back. So, on this level, it is possible to see the turnaround. however, I’m a deeply emotional creature, and even though the labs indicated the engraftment had taken place and gave the doctors an idea of when it would be safe enough to discharge me… I didn’t really feel that spark of growth. in fact it was quite the contrary and felt very weak and ill, so much so i had to utilize a wheelchair to leave the hospital.

… my question remains, when does it happen? The line between then and now, if just reading the surface of my nails as one might study a tree ring, is thin, almost nonexistent in some places. But it isn’t so, the line is a chasm; then and now are light years away from one another and, in many ways, i still feel as if i’m navigating the void between the two. On many levels, physically, psychologically, emotionally, etc., the jeremiah that was and is a cancer patient is straddling the two, trying to make a lick of sense of what was, what is, and what will be.