On hair regrowth

My hair has grown back enough to cover my head, so I’ve stopped wearing wigs, even to work. To be honest, I was getting tired of wearing them anyway. The one I was wearing was starting to look raggedy and it wasn’t very natural on me, plus it made my head itch.

One thing the wig was good for was keeping my head warm. December is a rough time to have next to zero hair. This winter I should invest in warm hats.

People have mostly been supportive, telling me I have a good head shape for short hair. So that’s something. There are a lot of people at work who may not even know I had cancer. Many started working there after I was already working from home during treatment. I get the feeling maybe they just think I have a new haircut.

I have, unfortunately, been mistaken for a man a couple times. The latest incidence of this was at a store after work last night. As I waited for the clerk to ring up my cat food and eggnog, he said, “How you doing, bub?”

It was kind of funny. Earlier this week, a man asking for change outside a drugstore called me sir. I gave him a dollar anyway. You just have to laugh about it.

Recent picture of my hair length.

Losing my hair was one of the most traumatic and jarring parts about cancer treatment. Sometimes I run across videos on the internet of women shaving off their hair for the hell of it, and it sends me back to that moment: me in my hairdresser’s chair wearing my mask and a “Keep up the fight” t-shirt, my mom watching from beside me. It’s not just the moment of cutting it off, it’s the dramatic change in your appearance that can be traumatic.

Earlier this week, I dreamt I had my long hair back again. I ran my fingers through the stands and knew that I was dreaming. I woke up with hot tears on my face and the realization that I was more emotionally attached to my hair than I knew.

But the good news is there are advantages to having hair this short. The biggest is that it takes me no time at all to get ready in the morning. I haven’t had to use a blowdryer since May.

And my hair is growing back more and more each day. Everyone around me says they see it getting thicker and longer each time they see me. I’ve been taking a hair, skin and nails vitamin to help it along. I can’t say for sure if it’s helping or not.

It will be awkward for a while, I’m sure. Anyone who’s every grown out their hair after it was short can tell you that. But I’m glad to have gotten to this point and excited to watch it grow.

Column: The end of cancer treatment

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Note: This column, published Sunday, is the last I’ll write about treatment for the Gazette-Mail. I plan on continuing to write updates here.

As I left the CAMC Cancer Center early Monday morning, I snapped a picture of the parking lot and sky outside. I wanted to remember how I felt walking out those doors after my last radiation treatment.


I carried with me a sheet of paper from the Radiation Oncology staff certifying that I had finished my prescribed course of treatment with “courage, determination and good nature.”


This is the last cancer column you’ll read from me. I am officially done with breast cancer treatment.
Even now after 28 rounds, my skin hasn’t had too bad a reaction to radiation. It’s red and itches like crazy, but there are no blisters. I’ve been treating it with a mixture of hydrocortisone cream and Aquaphor. I continue to feel tired, as I expected to.


From diagnosis to surgery to chemotherapy and radiation, these past eight months have been a fight. A global pandemic has only made it more difficult. In some ways, I’m not the person I was before March. I don’t look or feel like her. I’ve still got a ways to go until I’m completely recovered. I’ll always be onguard for signs the cancer has returned.


But I realize how lucky I am to get this far. Hang around a cancer center for too long and you’ll hear stories of people who are not as fortunate as I have been. I think about them often.If there’s one thing this year has taught me, it’s that I can’t take my life and health for granted. I’m grateful that I caught the tumor in my breast when I did. I’m grateful for the doctors and nurses who treated me. And for the family members and friends who have supported me.


Throughout treatment, writing this column has been an outlet for me. It’s been a way for me to process what I’m going through. At times I’ve felt like my readers have humored me by continuing to follow along. It’s not always been exciting, and I appreciate everyone who has trekked with me over these weeks.


Thank you to everyone who has reached out after reading with words of encouragement. You have certainly made this time in my life a little bit easier.


I hope my story is a reminder to you not to skip out on those doctor’s visits and cancer screenings. I hope it teaches you the importance of knowing your body. At 35, I didn’t even have regular mammograms before I was diagnosed. Had I not noticed the lump myself, I could not have had the mammogram and biopsy that ultimately confirmed my cancer. My cancer fight could have faced an entirely different outcome had I been diagnosed later.


If you’re caring for someone with cancer, I hope these glimpses into my life have helped you understand more about what your loved one is going through. If, God forbid, you ever get cancer or face another life-threatening illness, I hope reading this has helped you believe that if I can get through treatment, you can too.


I’d like to thank the Gazette-Mail for giving me the opportunity to write about my experience here. Despite the circumstances, it’s been a great feeling having my byline back in the newspaper each week. I had missed it so much.


I hope you’ll continue to follow my writing on my blog and that one day I have another chance to write for you, next time about something other than cancer.

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Column: Starting to feel it

In the movies and comic books, radiation gives mortal men superpowers. Peter Parker got bitten by a radioactive spider and became Spiderman. Gamma Radiation made Bruce Banner into The Hulk.

I am nearly to the end of my 28 radiation treatments, and so far all it’s given me is red, irritated skin and the ability to nap before bed and still sleep soundly through the night.

This week, for the first time since radiation started, I’ve started to feel the side effects. I was expecting this. My doctor told me I wouldn’t feel anything for the first couple of weeks, and that I would feel it more toward the end of my treatment.

Right on schedule, my skin has become red, not quite like a sunburn. But this is breast cancer treatment, and I’ve never felt a sunburn on this part of my body. (If you’re taking notes for you or someone you love, Aquaphor works wonders).

My skin’s reaction is actually pretty good to others. Honestly, it doesn’t hurt that much. Radiation can cause anything from red skin to flaking and even blistering.

I’ve also noticed I’m more tired than usual. A couple of times I’ve gotten home from work and fallen asleep on the couch not long after. I usually wake up from the nap and go right to bed.

The doctor compared radiation treatment to spending a day out in the sun. In both situations, radiation (from the sun or a machine in the Cancer Center) makes you tired and your skin burns.

I’ve also been nauseous at times this week. My doctor told me that can be an indirect side effect of the treatment.

Overall, though, I have much preferred radiation treatment to chemotherapy. It’s been a breeze compared to the nausea, sleepless nights and other side effects that chemotherapy brought with it. Everyone is different, though. I’ve heard from people who have said that radiation was much worse for them than chemotherapy.

I expect the sunburn feeling and the exhaustion to intensify this week as treatment continues. As I write this, I have three radiation treatments left to go before cancer treatment is officially done.

The hardest part of radiation has been getting up early and being there five days a week. Even that isn’t so bad. I’ve found that living in Charleston, just across the river from the CAMC Cancer Center, has made my experience easier than most. Cancer patients drive from other counties to get here. My 10-minute drive is a piece of cake.

What radiation treatment is like

I figure there may be a few of you who stumbled onto this blog because you’re going through your own cancer treatment. Maybe you have questions about what it’s like.

With that in mind, here’s what radiation has been like for me so far.

I’m about to be done with my 28 radiation treatments. I go every weekday to the CAMC Cancer Center for treatment. Luckily, the treatments are relatively quick.

My treatments are usually scheduled for early in the day — around 7 a.m., so that I can go before work. The cancer center let me tell them what time of day I prefer, although not all appointments are that early.

When I arrive, I scan a registration card to let them know I’m there. Usually within a couple minutes, they call me back to get changed into a hospital gown. There’s a men’s dressing room and a women’s dressing room.

Patients put their clothing and belongings in a locker. Another minute or so and I get called back for the actual treatment.

Since my cancer was in my breast, I lie face up on a bench on the radiation machine (it has a more formal name, but that’s what it is). My arms are over my head with my hands gripping handles.

The therapists adjust my body to a precise position.

The room is kind of cold, but the therapists put a warmed blanket over my arms.

The most uncomfortable aspect of this type of treatment is exposing myself to strangers, but even that you can get used to. Laying on a machine with my chest exposed was awkward for the first day or two. By a few treatments in, I was chatting with the therapists about the weather and weekend plans. Everyone at my cancer center has been extremely kind and respectful.

The therapists leave the room, and a big thick wall closes in the doorway.

It’s hard to describe the treatments themselves. I can’t see much but the ceiling, a monitor and the machinery moving around me, buzzing and making other noises. I don’t feel the radiation or anything at all during the treatment itself. It’s over within 10 minutes or so.

Only recently have I actually felt the side effects of radiation. My skin is red, despite the layers of Aquaphor and lotion I’ve been putting on it every night. It hurts, much like a sunburn would.

And I’m exhausted. I sometimes take naps before bed. Occasionally I’ve been nauseated to the point of throwing up. That wasn’t one of the side effects my doctor mentioned, but I’m sure it’s from the radiation.

But luckily this will all be over soon. Monday is my last treatment.

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Column: Not so easy on the eyes

With cancer treatment, there’s always a new side effect to discover. This week, it was my eyes. I got an eye exam for the first time since I was diagnosed with breast cancer back in March. I’ve always been nearsighted, but now, nearly two months after finishing chemotherapy, my vision is worse. I needed a stronger prescription.
If this means anything to you (it didn’t to me until I Googled “how to read a glasses prescription”), my right eye went from -1.25 at my appointment last year to -1.75 this week. My left eye went from -1.00 last year to -2.00 this time. The change was significant enough that my eye doctor and the woman at the counter in his office made remarks about it. Otherwise, my eyes are perfectly healthy, the doctor said.
I was at first concerned that vision change might be a temporary side effect of the cancer drugs. Some of the chemotherapy fact sheets list blurred vision as a possible side effect of Taxol. The last thing I’d want to do is invest in new eyeglasses and contact lenses and then find out later that my eyesight change is a temporary side effect.
The day after my eye exam, I called my eye doctor’s office back and asked a medical technician about it. He assured me that my eyesight may improve a little eventually but it’s likely permanent. Apparently, chemotherapy changes the eyes. (Incidentally, so does being pregnant or having diabetes). I checked with the ladies in the Facebook group for breast cancer patients — some of them said they had experienced vision changes after chemotherapy, too. One woman advised me not to bother with an eye exam until my treatment is over.
A change in my eyeglasses prescription is a small thing, to be sure. But it’s also another reminder of how much chemotherapy affects the body. When I started chemotherapy treatment back in May, I never would have guessed eyesight would be an issue. It’s always something. I had hoped that once it was over, life and my body would go back to the way it was before treatment. But I’m not there yet. I’m still finding out about all the ways it has affected me.
On another note, something that chemotherapy took from me is slowly making its comeback: my eyebrows and my hair. I never knew I would miss my eyebrows so much until they were mostly gone. Now that they’re growing back, I look like more of a human.
As for my hair, it’s still peach fuzz, but everyday there’s more of it. It’s fine and soft and there’s not enough of it yet for me to stop wearing wigs. But soon there will be. I’m looking forward to that.

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Column: A new appreciation for pink

When I came back to my office earlier this month for the first time since March, I found a bright pink bulletin board with pictures of my face, printouts of this column and information about breast cancer.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month and I am literally the face of breast cancer within the building. Later, in another really sweet gesture, the Kanawha County Commission recognized me for continuing to work while undergoing cancer treatment in a proclamation for Breast Cancer Awareness month. Then I was interviewed for a local health podcast that focused on the disease for this month.

The bulletin board at work.


But believe it or not, when I started this column and my blog, my goal was not to raise awareness of breast cancer. Selfishly, I started writing as a way to cope with my diagnosis and treatment.
All I’ve ever wanted to do is write. So when life gave me breast cancer, that’s what I wrote about. If the column and blog increased people’s awareness that women in their 30s get breast cancer, or if it encouraged women to get a mammogram, that’s amazing. I’m glad to have been a part of that.
Generally in years past, I’ve been annoyed at some of the things done in the name of breast cancer awareness. It deserves attention, to be sure. I’m willing to bet that raising awareness of breast cancer over the years has increased screening rates and saved countless lives.
The bulletin board, proclamation and podcast are all great ways of raising awareness.
But some of the messages put on t-shirts associated with breast cancer awareness are just crass. The sayings “Save Second Base,” or “Save the Tatas,” really annoy me. You will never catch me in a t-shirt that says “Cancer touched my boobs, so I kicked its ass.” I do appreciate the sentiment, though.
Then there’s October 13, No Bra Day. Apparently on this day women go without bras as a way to raise awareness of the disease. The point of awareness is to encourage women to get their mammograms or do self exams.
So what does going without a bra for a day do to encourage women to get a mammogram? Nothing on its own.
This month, if you’re looking for a way to increase Breast Cancer Awareness and save lives, before you commit to going without underwear for a day, encourage your sisters or girlfriends to schedule their annual mammograms. If you can, consider giving to an organization like the WVU Cancer Institute, which operates Bonnie’s Bus, a mobile mammography clinic that provides screenings and education to women. Or give to the American Cancer Society, which among other things funds cancer research.
The color pink is a part of breast cancer awareness month that I’ll forever see differently after this year. Pink used to bring to mind something soft and cute. Something pretty or sweet. But none of those describes having breast cancer.
These days, I don’t feel cute at all.
There’s nothing cute about having a head with just peach fuzz a few weeks after ending chemotherapy. It’s not cute having half of each eyebrow and just a few eyelashes.
Nothing was pretty about having four rounds of Adriamycin and Cytoxan that made me nauseated, or the 12 rounds of Taxol that’s turned my finger nails a yellowish color. It’s not cute having a body that’s still sore a month after chemotherapy.
A woman’s body after a double mastectomy is not cute. There’s nothing pretty about the medical debt that people accumulate while battling cancer.
Having cancer isn’t cute or sweet. It’s been incredibly hard sometimes. It takes courage to get a life-threatening diagnosis and get up and go to work the next day. It takes physical strength to endure the chemotherapy regime. It’s not easy to feel peoples’ stares when you’re out in public without a wig or a head covering.
Breast cancer pink isn’t soft or sweet. It’s brave and strong. It’s powerful.
I hope my sisters wear it proudly.

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Column: Celebrating the end of chemotherapy

My last day of chemotherapy was a celebration. At some cancer centers, a patient finishing either chemotherapy or radiation therapy rings a bell during a ceremony that signifies the end of their treatment. I’d seen videos of patients ringing the bell while cheering hospital staff look on. There are no bell-ringing ceremonies at the CAMC Cancer Center. I asked one of the nurses once and was told that’s because not all patients make it to the end of their treatment to ring the bell.
I’ve thought about that a lot these past few days.
I knew not to expect a bell ceremony, so I brought a party with me to my appointment Friday morning. Well, more specifically, I brought cupcakes. It was my very small way of thanking the oncology nurses for all the care they’d given me during my treatment.
Doctors diagnose and make decisions about treatment plans, but a good nurse can make the difference between a good day and a bad day of treatment. They’re the ones who drew blood for my labs each week and hooked me up to the chemotherapy drugs. They answered my questions and brought me a warm blanket and an occasional snack to keep me comfortable. Admittedly, 9:30 a.m. is kind of early for a dessert, but they still seemed to enjoy them.
My treatment that Friday morning went smoothly.


Two of my coworkers showed up at the Cancer Center after my treatment to surprise me with posters, balloons and roses. They had conspired with my mother, who came in from Ashland, Kentucky every week to take me to treatment. When I texted my mom that I was done with treatment, she stalled to give them enough time to get from the health department downtown to the Cancer Center in Kanawha City.
I stood outside waiting for maybe 20 minutes, rather annoyed that she wasn’t there yet, even though I had told her when I’d be done. Before too long, there came Julie and Kandy in their face masks holding big blue signs that read “We love Lorithebrave,” (a reference to a social media name for myself) a bunch of helium balloons and a vase of white, purple and pink roses.

It was such a sweet surprise. Because I’m working from home, I hadn’t seen them in person in a while. It was so good to visit with them.
My last surprise of the day was from a good friend who after work brought over a cheesecake with a picture on it of late actress Rue McClanahan, who played Blanche Devereaux on “The Golden Girls.”

The Golden Girls helped me get through chemotherapy treatment. Many nights I’d fallen asleep on my couch watching and laughing at the antics of Rose, Blanche, Dorothy and Sophia. I’d seen many of the episodes already but I rewatched the entire series. The cake also had an altered version of one of Devereaux’s famous lines from the show, “Eat dirt and die, chemo.” My friend also brought over a 6-pack of one of my favorite beers. I had abstained from any alcohol since chemo started because I read it can interfere with the drugs and cause their side effects to be worse.
My day was full of celebrations because there was so much to celebrate. I had finally made it through five months –16 rounds — of chemotherapy. I was one big step closer to being done with cancer treatment, to calling myself a survivor rather than a patient.
Chemotherapy took my hair, my energy and many nights my sleep. It made me anemic. Some days, early on in treatment, I felt so bad I cried. Other days just moving from my bedroom to the couch to work was an accomplishment.
I thought this day would never come, and now it finally had.

An update and a request

Things are overall going swimmingly with my chemotherapy treatments. By this time next week, chemotherapy will be over. I will have completed 12 rounds of Taxol and four rounds of Adriamycin and Cytoxan.

Taxol has been a walk in the park compared with A/C. I’ve not been nauseated and had the severe headaches that I had on A/C. Even the brain fogginess I had with A/C seems to be better.

Taxol has had its own side effects, but they’re less severe. My nails are discolored. I try not to use them much for fear they’ll come off. I’ve had nose bleeds. Then there was the anemia I’ve written about before. To my surprise and delight, my body has healed on its on from that. I didn’t need the blood transfusion my health care providers thought I would. Some days, I’m really fatigued.

But I haven’t had the bone pain or neuropathy that can be so common with Taxol. I’d like to attribute it to the ice gloves and socks that I bought, but the truth is it might be my age and my lack of nerve damage before this process started. While I’ve tried to use the gloves and socks, I still hate the cold, and I’ve been able to keep the gloves on for very long. I’m sure they’re doing some good, but I don’t know how much.

I’m very much looking forward to being done with chemotherapy. I’m really tired of being bald. I can’t wait till I can start taking vitamins to help along hair regrowth.

I’ll meet with a radiation doctor at the end of the month to learn what that process will be like. I’m hopeful it will be easier than chemotherapy, but we’ll wait and see.

This week I also signed up to fundraise for the American Cancer Society. The organization supports cancer research and also offers resources to cancer patients and caregivers, like a 24/7 hotline for questions about cancer. Because of COVID-19, they’ve had to cancel Relay for Life events around the country. That’s their biggest fundraiser of the year. I wrote about it in my newspaper column for this week and interviewed a couple of their staffers.

My goal is to raise $2,500 for the organization. If you’d like to help, go to my fundraising page: http://main.acsevents.org/goto/loriakersey

The view outside the Cancer Center from where I sat during my most recent chemotherapy treatment.

Anemia and how to solve it

My nurse put down in front of me three cups of different fruit juices.

“I’m ready for you,” she said.

After the last two weeks of me getting light-headed or sick and nearly passing out after blood tests before chemo treatment, she brought the juices to help me recover just in case it happened again.

I’m not sure what was causing it. Last week a nurse told me I could be dehydrated and that I should eat before lab tests. I spent all day Thursday and some of Friday morning with my water bottle in hand. I made myself pancakes for breakfast Friday and put snacks in the bag I take to chemo.

This week a physician assistant told me it was probably my fear of needles and aversion to blood. I tried to take her advice of closing my eyes and thinking about the beach. The beach is not a nurse’s office. No one ever came at me with a needle at the beach.

Yesterday went much better, though. I didn’t even feel light-headed and I was able to walk back to the waiting room and then to chemo without a wheelchair. A little victory.

You’d think cancer treatment would have me over my dislike of needles and blood by now, but no.

Speaking of which, I was told this week that I have been getting progressively more anemic over the last few weeks and if it gets worse, I’ll need a blood transfusion. I can’t tell you how much I dislike that idea. It grosses me out.

I said this to the nurse who delivered the news and he kind of laughed. He said it sounds like a bigger deal than it actually is. Apparently the chemo does this and it’s a routine procedure. I’m hoping that somehow my numbers get better next week and I don’t have to have one.

I have noticed that I get winded just walking sometimes. I’m told that could be a symptom of anemia.

I’m a little frustrated that this has been an issue with me and no one told me until yesterday. Could that be why I had been getting sick during lab tests? Surely someone would have mentioned it to me if it was.

Anyway, yesterday marked the halfway point for Taxol chemotherapy treatment. If all goes as planned, I’ll be finished with chemo in mid September. That’s just in time to have a much better fall than summer.

After chemo comes radiation treatment. I’m not sure how long that will take. I still need to meet with that doctor.

Things are moving right along.

Column: Thoughts on a fate worse than cancer during a pandemic

I realized recently I’ve been looking at the timing of my cancer diagnosis all wrong. I found out the lump in my breast was cancer March 20, the same day the first case of COVID-19 was confirmed in Kanawha County. I thought being diagnosed with cancer in the midst of a pandemic was tragic timing.
At the time, all I could think of was that going through chemotherapy treatments that would compromise my immune system at the same time there’s a highly contagious, potentially deadly, virus going around would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
(It still might be, but I’m staying home, wearing a mask, washing my hands and using sanitizer and basically doing everything I can to avoid COVID-19. So far, so good.)
Cancer’s always bad news, but it took reading an op-ed written by Dr. Sherri Young, my boss and the health officer for Kanawha County, and Monica Mason, education director for the Kanawha County Emergency Ambulance Authority, to make me realize that the timing could have been worse.
When the pandemic started, the Centers for Disease Control recommended that doctors delay routine or non-emergency care of patients for a time in order to mitigate the spread of the disease in hospitals and preserve masks and other equipment to be used during the pandemic.
So while cancer is always bad news, the timing could have been much worse. My tests could have been put off. Or fear of COVID-19 could have caused me to stay away from doctors’ offices.
My doctors found my cancer at stage 2. Had I put off those tests for later because of COVID-19, at what stage might the doctors have found it? Timeliness is so important when you’re talking about cancer. It can mean the difference between life and death.
All that to say, take it from me, go to the doctor. Get your mammograms and other cancer screenings. Don’t let COVID-19 take more than it already has.
I’’m 35 years old. Regular mammograms aren’t even recommended for women until age 40. My cancer was diagnosed after I found the tumor. Breast cancer is the last thing I thought I expected this year. Cancer doesn’t seem to run in my family. I only found out recently that I had an aunt who also had breast cancer.
So, even if you think it can’t happen to you, it can. Don’t put off cancer screenings and other doctor’s visits. Wear your mask, stay six feet away from other patients and use your hand sanitizer when you go, but don’t put off going to the doctor.