BOSTON -- This week required me to dip into a bit of my reserve strength and confidence. There's just no way to really get up for a week that includes shaving your hair off and heading back in for the treatment that caused you to take such a drastic measure.

I find that music keeps me moving forward when my feet want to turn around and run the other way. Those early days of the diagnosis were spent in MRI machines that squeaked and shrieked as they scanned my body for tumors. I shouted out the '70s feminist anthem "I am Woman" in my head over and over again to keep my brain far away from its darkest thoughts. Then while the doctor took biopsies of my tumors, Aretha Franklin flowed into my ears giving me a sense of calm and strength. "Somebody Save Me."

But when it came to wrestling some of the power back cancer had taken away, that became my rock star moment. I’m a child of the '80s so I channeled Pat Benatar and Joan Jett.

My hair started falling out about two weeks after my first chemo treatment. A strand here, a strand there. I started to avoid washing or even brushing my hair. I reached out to other patients and survivors wondering how you know when it's time for the hair to go. For me, I knew it was time to shave my head after baby Cecilia grabbed my hair and got a fistful. Madeline complained at dinner she had a hair in her mouth. Totally gross. I was done.

So last Thursday, I called in the troops and prepared for what so many had described as one of the more empowering parts of the cancer journey. Supposedly, shaving my hair would give me back some control versus waiting for it all to fall out. I had mixed feelings. This just seemed like another lousy part of having cancer that I had to endure. That said, we did our best to make it as painless as possible.

Michael Rossi, my hairdresser, began cutting off pieces of my hair. That turned out to be more traumatic than the shaving part. It just seemed so odd to destroy a perfectly good head of hair. I could barely stand to look at my reflection in the mirror. We carefully cut the pieces and placed them in a bag for donation to Locks of Love. That is the organization that provides wigs for children with cancer. Technically, my hair wasn't long enough to donate -- it needs to be 10 inches -- but they will sell my hair and use it to offset their costs. That seemed better to me than simply throwing it away. I will do anything I can to make any part of this experience positive rather than negative.

Once he had cut off most of my hair, Michael started to shave it. That’s when I could actually look in the mirror and smile. Suddenly I looked like a "tough girl." I had been transformed from "the girl next door" to a rock star. I felt tough. I wanted to beg someone to mess with me. I had been stripped down once again by this disease, but I was surprised by what a tough layer we found underneath my TV bob. I paraded around the newsroom emboldened by the new me.

I wish I could say that feeling lasted all week long. Instead, I found myself feeling a little less rock star each day. I think of myself as having a lot of self-confidence, but this hair-thing instantly makes you look like a cancer patient. I didn't look sick until last week. Now, I find myself lingering at the mirror before I leave the house. Wig? Too obvious. Bandana? OK for the gym. A hat? What if it blows off? I just don't feel comfortable with any of my options. None feels like me.

For me, there is always good even in these tough weeks. I was lucky enough to be included in an event Channel 5 co-sponsored for the Faulkner Hospital Breast Centre. We packed up the family for the 15th annual Briefcase Race at Loon Mountain. No racing for me, but my husband Brendan made us proud on the slopes. For us to be surrounded by so many wonderful doctors, nurses, survivors and others devoted to this cause helped lift our spirits. We are new to the breast cancer fight and felt humbled to be around these veterans.

I’ve also decided to participate in a fitness study at Dana Farber. Researchers are trying to figure out if exercise can help mitigate some of the effects of treatment. I'm excited about this study because it will force me to exercise regularly. I was never a big gym person, but am determined to get through this illness and come out better than I was before cancer. I'm also doing physical therapy twice a week trying to ensure my mobility in my arm returns as well as my stomach strength.

So I keep moving forward eager to get through this tough chemo treatment.

Two down. Two to go.