My ovary has betrayed me

Again. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at 17. They removed the left one where the tumor was and then forced me to spend an entire year in the 7 th level of Dante's summer home. Yep, chemo. I lost all my hair, gained weight and got bloated. Add to that the fact that I'm pretty sure I vomited my spleen up daily and you've got your self my junior year of high school. Needless to say my hair in my senior pics is reminiscent of Sharon Stone. Not a good look for me.
I go back to the devil, um, doctor, every 6 months. Up until yesterday everything was fine. Not so much anymore. There are cancerous cells. According to the doc we caught it SUPER early but none the less it's back. I start Topotecan treatments on Monday. It's an IV drip, half an hour. I go for 5 days, then back every 21 days for four months. Rumor has it that there isn't usually significant hair loss with the drug. That's what bothered me the most. Because then people know. Not that I'm embarrassed to have cancer. Mostly I'm angry. Angry at having lost an entire year of high school. Angry that I had to have children earlier than planned b/c they weren't sure if I was going to have to have a hysterectomy. Thankfully that worked out for the best. I'd been married a few years, finished my B.S., etcetera etcetera. It's pretty certain that even still I'll have to have a hysterectomy in my 30's. They would do it now, but I'm not ready.
I still don't want people to know. They look at your differently, they treat you differently, and worse of all they fell sorry for you. I hate hate hate pity. Don't feel sorry for me dammit. Be angry at my body for betraying me. Distract me when you can tell I'm about to lose it. Help me cope with my panic attacks. But DO NOT feel sorry for me.
The anger will subside some. I'll begin to accept the challenge ahead of me and hopefully this drug is better then the last Molotov cocktail they pumped through my veins. Thankfully I convinced Dr. Doom that treatment could wait until next Monday. Thursday is my birthday and I will not spend my birthday with my head in a porcelain bowl.
So I have a little less than a week to pretend that life is normal. I'm going to lunch with a good friend this afternoon who makes me laugh and will buy me a beer or two. My best friend goes in tomorrow to get his PET scan done to see if his lung cancer is spreading. I told him this morning that even G*d's sense of humor isn't warped enough for both of us to have shitty tests.
I hate that "cancer patient" has become my identity again. It's not one I like. I hate that I have this stuff in me. It's not like a cold virus. It's tangible stuff. And I want it gone. What I don't want is to have to start hormone therapy before I'm 30. So for now, I'm opting for the chemo. I'll keep my uterus and ovary even if they are staging a rebellion. And I will win.