The $7,932 Outfit: A Chemo Fashion Parody

Sometimes you just have to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

I created a parody fashion ad this week, and honestly, it might be my favorite thing I've done during treatment. Picture this: me in my cancer-patient-chic outfit, complete with fashion magazine-style callouts pointing to each item and its price tag.

The Breakdown:

Hat: $14 from Amazon (gifted by friends and family last week)

Sundress: $18 from TJ Maxx (gifted years ago by my boyfriend)

Neulasta Onpro: $7,900 from Rx (approved by insurance today)

Total look: $7,932

One of these things is not like the others.

What Is Neulasta Onpro?

For those fortunate enough not to know: Neulasta Onpro is an on-body injector that delivers pegfilgrastim, a medication that helps your body produce white blood cells after chemotherapy.

Here's how it works: About 27 hours after my chemo infusion ends, this little device automatically injects the medication. I wear it on my arm like the world's least fashionable accessory - a small medical device worth more than some people's cars, just casually attached to my body with adhesive.

Why do I need it? Chemotherapy doesn't just kill cancer cells - it also destroys your white blood cells, leaving you vulnerable to infections. Pegfilgrastim stimulates your bone marrow to produce more white blood cells faster, giving your immune system a fighting chance between treatment cycles.

Without it, my risk of serious infection would be much higher. With it, my body has backup.

The price tag? $7,900 per dose. Yes, you read that right. Nearly eight thousand dollars for a single injection.

The Humor in Healthcare Costs

There's something darkly comedic about the fact that my entire visible outfit costs $32, while the medical device on my arm costs 240 times that amount.

A sundress my boyfriend bought me years ago for a summer date? Eighteen dollars.

A cute sunhat my loved ones gifted me to protect my chemo-sensitive skin? Fourteen dollars.

A medication I'll need after every single chemo cycle to keep me from getting life-threatening infections? Almost eight thousand dollars.

The juxtaposition is absurd enough to make you laugh - because if you don't laugh, you might cry at the state of healthcare costs in America.

Gratitude in the Absurdity

But here's what I want to focus on: I'm grateful.

I'm grateful to my boyfriend who bought me that sundress years ago, long before either of us knew I'd be wearing it to chemo appointments and treatment recovery days.

I'm grateful to the friends and family who thought of me when they saw a sunhat, knowing I'd need sun protection during treatment. Their thoughtfulness shows up in fifteen-dollar gifts that mean the world.

And I'm grateful - genuinely, deeply grateful - to my insurance company for approving the Neulasta Onpro. Because while $7,900 is an absurd price tag, it's the difference between my immune system recovering properly and ending up hospitalized with neutropenic fever.

Not everyone's insurance approves this medication. Not everyone has access to the treatments that could save their life. I don't take that for granted.

Fashion as Coping Mechanism

Creating this parody fashion ad made me laugh harder than I have in weeks. There's something therapeutic about looking at the absurdity of your situation and deciding to make art out of it - even if that art is a silly photo with price tags pointing to your medical equipment.

Cancer doesn't have to strip away your sense of humor. Sometimes, humor is the best weapon you have against the darkness.

So yes, I'm out here wearing my $7,932 outfit like it's couture. The medical device may not be fashionable, but at least I can accessorize the rest of it affordably.

The Bigger Picture

This post is funny because it has to be. But underneath the humor is a serious reality: healthcare in America is prohibitively expensive, and many people fighting cancer face impossible choices because they can't access or afford the medications they need.

I'm one of the lucky ones. My insurance approved my treatment. I have support. I can laugh about eight-thousand-dollar injections because I'm not drowning in medical debt (yet).

But not everyone can say the same.

If this post made you laugh, I'm glad. If it also made you think about healthcare access and the cost of life-saving medication, even better.

And if you're going through treatment yourself and needed a reminder that it's okay to find humor in the absurd - this is your permission slip. Laugh at the ridiculousness. Make your own parody fashion ads. Find joy wherever you can.

Because sometimes a $32 outfit paired with a $7,900 medical device is exactly the kind of absurdity that keeps you going.

💜 Kayla

P.S. If you see me out and about in my chemo-chic ensemble, feel free to compliment my accessories. Just know that one of them cost more than a used car.