Survivor

sur·vive

 verb \sər-ˈvīv\

: to remain alive : to continue to live

: to continue to exist

: to remain alive after the death of (someone)

<http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary>

I am called Survivor. The next time I go to the Relay for Life, I will walk the Survivor’s walk.  Cancer kills, but it didn't kill me.  So I am a survivor.  But what does this word imply?  That I managed to simply stay alive?  That I continue to exist?  That I outlived other patients?

My last cancer treatment was Sept 8, 2014. Man the tears flowed that day... and still do regularly to be honest.  But it was over.  It IS over.  I fought cancer… and I won.  My mind is blown almost daily when I think about the reality of what I just did. 

I created this blog as a way to express my thoughts and possibly encourage others – then I got too tired to write.  Treatment went on (and on and on and on) and I just didn't have the energy. I wanted to write – and I did from time to time – but here’s the thing – I was determined from the start to keep my life as normal as possible.  So I worked – almost every day (which, I have since been told by the ladies in my Survivor’s group, is somewhat unheard of during Chemo.)  And I went to things I was invited to – Not all of them… not even close to all of them – but I maintained somewhat of a semblance of my previously active social life.  (Although I must admit – throughout all of this I have developed a very powerful appreciation for Netflix nights on my couch!)

In the beginning, I was all about being strong and stubborn and kicking ass.  I am a strong person.  More importantly, I am a stubborn person.  I was simply not having this.  Cancer?  Seriously?  Pish - nothing I can’t handle.  Superman, right??   …False.  It was the hardest thing I have ever dealt with.  Ever.  At first, I thought it was nothing… bullshit to Cancer – I've got this!   And I was in control.  I was calling the shots.  I decided that cancer treatment could piss off with its sickness and side effects and I was going to barrel through it.  I did what was required – because I am a “survivor.”  But things changed.  I had to accept the reality that I am (unfortunately) human and my body couldn't just be OK on cancer treatment simply because I said it could.  She worked against me (and really, can you blame her??  The sick amount of chemicals my body took in – of course she would be angry!) 

I believed that Chemo would be the hardest part – and after my radiation therapy started, I maintained that belief… for about two weeks… then I got tired again. Really tired.  And my skin started burning.  I was so burnt I couldn't wear a bra most days (and trust me that was not a pretty sight!)  I actually think I had a harder time with radiation than I did with Chemo.  Chemo made me feel sick and gross and not myself – but radiation exhausted me.  Imagine that you haven’t slept for two full nights.  Then multiply it by six.  And no amount of sleep alleviates the fatigue – you simply have to power through it.  Most nights I was too tired to eat by the time I got home (don’t worry though folks – I eventually caved and went to stay with my dad and Lori who made sure I was well fed!)

It may have been an emotional thing – going through chemo was so wretched and I assumed that once it was done, everything else would be smooth sailing.  Wrong again.  I was prepared for battle when I started Chemo – I was not ready at all for the penetrating weakness that the radiation brought.

But now – Everything is changed.  I am FINISHED treatment (except for the drugs that I will be taking for the next ten years – which BTW cause MORE hot flashes!  Ugh.)  I have gone back to the gym (albeit in small doses).  I have gotten some of my energy back.  And those who know me will tell you - I am ME again!!

There are many many moments in which I reflect on the past nine months and I am overcome with joy.  I am just so so happy that it is over.  There are also moments in which I am still afraid.  I will have a follow up in February.  This is when I will find out if my breasts are cancer-free.  I don’t think I will sleep easy until then.  The treatment is finished, but the emotions are not extinguished.  I still get bouts of fear and self-pity.  I still get jealous when I see a woman with pretty hair (although my hair is growing back very nicely!) I still get overwhelmed when I really try to fathom what I just went through – Cancer.  Chemotherapy.  Radiation.  It’s actually a little crazy when I start to think about it too much.

Cancer is a messed up thing.  It changes the way you are treated.  It changes the way you feel.  I have really not been me since this whole thing started.  It is hard to think about anything else while you are in treatment.  It becomes your whole world.  Every minute of every day is consumed with thoughts of appointments and drugs and pain and fear. People tell you that you are courageous and strong but you feel weak and afraid.  You fight because you have to – because there is no other option.  And in the middle of it, you don’t even realize you are fighting.  But you fight – trust me, you fight.

I am called Survivor.  But Survival is not enough. I have endured and conquered.  I have suffered and succeeded.  I have felt broken and defeated and ready to die, all while pretending that I was brave.  I fought to keep things as normal as possible.  I fought to be able to stay on my own.  I fought for my life.  And I won.

Anger

Ok.  So I haven’t posted anything for a while.  And I have a reason – albeit it isn’t necessarily a very good one.  Lately, I have been just too damn angry.  If you have read any of my blog you know that I try to put a positive spin on the negatives and keep it upbeat and at least pseudo-positive.  I have not been able to do that this past few weeks.  Everything I have written has been angry – I type fast and furious with hot tears on my face.  Then I read what I wrote and decide, no – I can’t post that.

But I have changed my mind.  So far this blog has basically been me blasting my feelings all over the internet so why should I be afraid to post about my anger?  Because I am having a very hard time staying positive that’s why.  But I have decided to post about it anyway – I am sure I am not the only one with a bit of rage inside and maybe people can relate and even offer me some advice.

Because oh man… I am so damn angry.

For me - and for my family.  We have had a rough year.  Cancer hits most families in one way or another.  I needed every horrible treatment that exists which made me feel like garbage and caused my whole family to worry about me.  THEN my mom comes to visit me for my final chemo treatment – and four days after she gets here, her husband dies.  And there are other (more private-family-type) things that I can’t get into in this setting.  Thank God my family has so much love for one another or none of us would survive.

As I was driving my mom to the airport, she said to me, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”    SHE said that – hours after learning of her husband’s passing.  Her faith is strong and I admire her so much.  I am a Christian and I love and trust God – but I still said back to her – He needs to back the f&#@ off of our family!  It was a moment of pure anger – at life and at God.  Not my proudest moment as a Christian.  I hated feeling that way.  I still do. I keep (forcedly) reminding myself that it could be worse.

When I had my follow up appointment after I finished Chemo, my Nurse Practitioner asked how I was doing.  I said I felt good - I mean I was done Chemo and starting to feel a little better physically… then I bawled like a little girl.  From the moment I found my lump and throughout Chemotherapy, there was no time to be sad or angry or feel sorry for myself.  There was only appointments and medications and being so careful and staying aware of what’s happening.  You just do what needs to be done to get through one day to the next.  It’s as though I was holding my breath for the last six months and at that appointment I finally let it out. 

It’s like your adrenaline is going crazy and you don’t even know that your emotions exist – then once the danger has (somewhat) passed, your mind and body suddenly recognize what just happened and you kind of break.  That’s what I have felt like this last few weeks.  I simply couldn’t be emotional before now – too much was at stake.  Now that Chemo is over I am experiencing a world of emotions – and I just don’t know how to deal with them most days.  I tend to tune out and simply not deal.  It’s a bad habit but it’s as though if I don’t face it, it doesn’t really exist.  I can pretend that I am fine and that I am strong and that cancer hasn’t affected me emotionally.  I can fake it most of the time and lie to everyone, including myself.  I can pretend as though I am not filled with rage all the time.  And I do.

Yet my anger grows exponentially – it creeps like a disease that knows no limits – I am angry that I got the cancer.  I am angry that my mom lost her husband.  I am angry that there are SO many damn people at the cancer institute needing treatment.  I am angry that after all that I have been through with chemo, I am still not done and still spend a large portion of my time dealing with treatment and side effects and an inability to do the things I want. I am angry that deserving people don’t get what they want and that innocent people everywhere have to deal with disease and abuse and hunger and disaster and heartbreak.  I am angry about unrelated tragedies in other people’s lives.  I am fully aware that I have ZERO control over any of these things and that I should just let them go, but I am having a very hard time with that.  I am just so pissed off that life is so unfair.

Do you know how many women get Breast Cancer every year in Canada?  23,800!!  Stupid!

One in Nine Canadian women will get breast cancer.  One in 29 will DIE from it.  Breast cancer is the second leading cause of cancer deaths in Canadian women (the first is lung cancer).  It is the most commonly diagnosed cancer in women.  Luckily, we don’t all have to die from it.

We do, however, have to deal with the fear and the horror and the anger.  We are terrified – and sick – and we often feel alone.  We are so tired and just want it all to NOT be happening.  We know it could be worse and we feel awe and sadness for those who went before us.  We feign courage in hopes that we can fake it til we make it.      And truthfully my friends, we can.

I am fully aware that many people face more terrible things that what I deal with.  I feel like my anger is silly and selfish.  What right do I have to lash out?  Mine was a relatively easy tragedy.  I am alive.  Chemo is finished (Thank God!) and I am getting healthier.  I have great support from family and friends.  I am alive.  I haven’t had to struggle much financially throughout treatment.  My tumor was small.  I AM ALIVE.

So why am I so full of rage these days? 

Are there any of you who read this who are also survivors? If so, please tell me… how did you handle the anger??  Because I have been trying – I wanted to have something more positive for my readers… but I don’t. 

And I am sorry… I wish I could give you some more positivity.  I know that a lot of my readers look forward to my upbeat and foolish attitude in my posts.  I am hoping that posting this message will be liberating for me (as my online rants generally are) and that it will help me begin to heal emotionally.  I don’t want to be mad but I am.   I have never been a perfect person – but did I deserve the cancer??

It’s not fair, it’s not right.  It’s cancer.  

Pray for me.


Charlotte Savarian Poem: The Anger

The Tripod

I have been asked by you, my readers to shed a little light on my fabulous girlfriends.  I have had a really hard time writing this one – these women are so ridiculously special to me and they have done so much for me since my diagnosis (and prior to!) that I will never be able to truly express it in words.  I’ll give it a shot, but know that no matter what you read here, it will never fully encompass the love I have for my girls.

Let’s start with a bit of history.  I met K in the winter of 08/09.  We both worked for TD Bank (a job we have both since left to work oilfield jobs – yeah Alberta!)  Neither of us is exactly sure how we became friends but we think it started with an argument during a stressful day at work. Neither of us would back down (fiery east coast tempers!) and I guess that’s how we knew we would get along.  We started getting together occasionally outside of work and an amazing friendship blossomed. 

L worked for TD too – although she and I never worked together.  I met her through K.  I think our big bonding moment was a Tegen and Sarah concert in January 2010. We both loved the band and we both had a little too much to drink.  We had a pile of drunken feelings and then one of us ended up on the bathroom floor by the time the night was over!  And no – I won’t tell you which one of us it was!

We had ladies night after ladies night, many of which consisted of watching The Bachelor and drinking red wine in K’s basement, much to her husband’s chagrin (Thanks B!)  K and L came to be my uber-besties way before “bestie” was even a word.

  

We have a very childish TV habit.  Maybe this foolishness of ours is isolated to our social circle, but I highly doubt it.  Our Tripod tends to liken ourselves to any show we happen to be watching at any given point in time… You’re Melissa!  No I’m not!  You’re Karla!   You know what I mean, right?  It’s all extremes and no one is really one character or another to a T, but there are always similarities.

If we were Sex and the City (everyone’s ultimate classic!), K would be Miranda, L would be Charlotte and I would be Samantha.  K is the level-headed logical one, L is the pretty wifey one and I am the boy-crazy one (and the funny thing is that Samantha was the one to get Breast Cancer!).   If we were Friends, K would be Monica, L would be Phoebe and I would be Rachel.  K is the responsible one, I am the flirty one and L is the tree-hugger-hippie-clean-your-house-with-vinegar-and-have-homemade-rustic-looking-wedding-decorations one.  On our favorite Netflix sitcom Happy Endings (which by the way should NEVER have been canceled!) – I am Penny – single and clumsy and a little bit cray-cray (I am SO Penny – you need to watch this show!), K is Jane – type A obsessive and a little (alotta?) bossy and L is Alex – cute as hell but… I’ll stop at cute as hell (“I’m not as dumb as I am!”) 

Of course, none of us are the character to the extremes that they are in their given shows.  And there is no Carrie.  Or we are all Carrie.  Carrie is the ideal combination of all the aforementioned characters – including the ones from the other shows.  Carrie is perfect and therefore does not exist. 

But we do exist – and we are awesome!   K is the “mom” of our tripod – although she hates that we call her that.  She takes care of us all.  When I am faced with a difficult (or even simple) decision, she is my conscience.  She bases her life choices on logic and common sense and she keeps track of our schedules.  She works as an Operator at an international pipeline company (the first female Operator the company has had EVER!!  HUGE deal FYI!)  She is an insanely powerful woman working in a typical man’s job yet she still maintains a certain classy-yet-tough femininity.  She takes a lot of flak at work and handles it with strength and grace.  She organizes our girls’ nights, makes time for all of her friends (and she has many!) and plans date nights with her husband. She values her friendships and has a huge heart.  She is always right and bossy as f!@# and we love her for it.  We call her the Kelli-App because she always has it all together. L and I actually relish a little (but ONLY a little!) in the rare moments where she is less than perfect (i.e. she locks herself out of her house when going to a party a block away and has to call a locksmith) because it makes us feel more human.  K is a pro.  At everything she does.  Legitimately.

L is not (and neither am I!)  She gets pulled over regularly (and was once told by a cop that her life was a mess).  Her license / passport / health card / WHATEVER is always expired.   She may or may not have clothing in her car that has literally gone stiff with dirt.  If K is my conscience, L is like the little devil on my shoulder, telling me that my bad choices are okay, because I should just follow my heart.  She makes me feel human.  L is tough as nails, yet sensitive and realistic.  I can be baby la-la with her when I need to be emotional… which happens to me more often than I like to admit!  You know what though?  She too manages to keep it all together...splendidly!  She is a full-time student (and she is hard-core!  She got into U of Calgary for Social Work – one of 16 accepted from hundreds of applicants!  GO ELLE!!!!), works THREE jobs and makes a nice dinner for her husband most nights.  

L is the friend who will pet my hair and tell me I’m pretty when I am having a bad day.  She will make me macaroni and eat it with me in front of the TV if I am feeling sick or depressive.  K will make sure I have my shit together when it comes down to the important life stuff (like – what time do I need to be at chemo again?)  She keeps me strong and disciplined when I can't do it myself.  She will also lovey-dovey me if that’s what I really need (Legit – she has snuggled me to sleep while I bawled uncontrollably on more than one occasion), but her first instinct is to get me to toughen up – which I most often DO need from her whether I want it or not! K gives me a very special kind of friendship – she is really good at it too – she can find way to take care of me without making me too defensive (as is my nature) and I love her dearly for it.  The three of us treasure our time together.  We can be each other’s rock during hard times, and we can also be really silly.  I don’t think that anyone anywhere has ever laughed as hard as we do when we are together.  We laugh and we laugh and we laugh.

Neither of them will let me sit alone and depressed, even when I try to hide from them (and I do… sometimes a girl just wants to stay home and play sad!)  And they both have found time in their ridiculously busy lives to take care of me while I am having chemotherapy.  That in itself is mind-blowing… I will never be able to thank them for this.  Never.  It is so difficult to describe the relationship I have with these women.  We have so much love for one another.

I have always had a hard time accepting love from people and it was strange to me at first that these women loved me, despite my MANY flaws. It was as though I wasn't given a choice – they were going to love me whether I loved myself or not (and at one time, I really didn't).  I love them both so much… more than words. We each have a different relationship with one another and we genuinely cherish these relationships.  We also have a very special three-way relationship with each other.  Ours is a friendship that is rare and timeless.  Our bond with one another is truly indescribable.  I will never be able to fully put into words how much these ladies mean to me. We are more than friends - We are sisters. We are family. 

Childless

My sister got pregnant in 2007 and gave birth to our family’s pride and joy Joseph in February 2008.  I’ll never forget the night he was born.  Our whole family was there as well as his dad’s family – it was a big party in the waiting room! When “little” Joseph finally decided to join us in this world (after many excruciating hours for my poor little sister – crazy kid was almost ten pounds!) his dad brought him out of the delivery room to meet us.  My nephew’s father looked up at us completely awestruck and softly said, “That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”  (My sister on the other hand was exhausted and said to me Why would ANYONE ever do that more than once!?)

As time went by and I witnessed my sister bonding with her child, I realized that I wanted that as well.  I won’t say I was jealous – I wasn’t jealous – that word implies negative thoughts towards the object of my desire.  I genuinely was (and still am) enormously happy for my sister, and I love my nephew more than life.  The relationship between my sister and her son and the overwhelming amount of love that she has for him showed me that I too wanted to feel that kind of unconditional love. I can almost understand it when I think about my nephew.  I love him so much sometimes it kind of hurts.  I think about his future and I want to protect him from everything bad in the world and keep him safe from ever being hurt.  At all.  By anyone. Ever!  I am consistently reminded by parents everywhere that I can never fully understand the love of a child unless I have my own (Side note – hey parents – quit rubbing that in to your childless friends!  It’s just mean!)  And I wanted my own, very much.  But cancer has other ideas.

It was never my intention to be childless.  I was careful not to get pregnant when I was in my twenties – never wanting an unexpected pregnancy – always assuming I had time for that later.  Perhaps that was not the right call.  You can plan and plan and plan your life down to every detail but we all know how often plans work out.  I got pregnant (on purpose) in 2011.  I was 30, engaged and going to have the perfect life – wedding, marital bliss and beautiful children to love and raise, surrounded by loving family. I did everything right – I followed the food guide in the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book, I took the pre-natal vitamins, I didn’t smoke or drink, I got plenty of rest.  But still – 9 weeks later I miscarried.

I believe that a miscarriage is one of the most horrible things for a woman to ever have to endure.  We women bond with our unborn children the instant we learn we are pregnant.  I loved my child more than words, even though she was only a mass of cells when I lost her (yes – I refer to her as a girl although I have no way of actually knowing).  She was real to me.  She had a name and a future.  She was so loved.  Losing my baby literally broke me.  And I stayed broken for a long time.  People don’t talk about miscarriage much, which I find strange considering how common it is.  No one seems to acknowledge the grief and pain associated with the loss since the child isn’t developed yet.  You don’t get medical time off work, there are no Hallmark cards and people say insensitive things like, “At least you can try again.”

It is very unlikely that I will ever try again.  Chemotherapy has shut down my ovaries and it is unknown whether it is permanent or temporary.  The Oncologist said that there is a 40% chance I will regain “normal” ovarian function after chemo.  My nurse practitioner Anne thinks that because of my age it is likely that I will become “regular” again within a year.  This gives the illusion of hope – however, once I am finished chemo and radiation, I will then be facing five years of endocrine therapy (commonly yet inaccurately called hormone therapy).  This means I will be taking a drug called Tamoxifin for five years.  I have always avowed that hormones are a woman’s kryptonite and here is my proof - my female hormones (nasty little buggers) promote the growth and spread of the cancer.  From what they tell me, the Tamoxifin basically blocks my body’s ability to produce estrogen.  The benefit is that the drug will help keep the cancer from coming back.  Nasty side effect – the drug can hurt fertilized eggs, induce miscarriage, or cause birth defects.  While my body may be physically able to conceive while on Tamoxifin, it is seriously harmful for a fetus.

So, in five years, I will be 38 – well past ideal baby-making age, although according to my fertility doc, I’m already beyond that and my ovaries are old!  They sent me to the fertility specialist prior to chemo to discuss my options.  Hah.  My “options’” were bullshit.  Option 1:  IVF - I could freeze my eggs (for $10k!!!) then have them in vitro fertilized in 5 years and put back inside me (assuming I had a “donor” - ew.)  In vitro is hit or miss and often unsuccessful.  Option 2:  I could use drugs to put myself into a chemically-induced menopause to help protect my ovaries during chemo.  This option was also pricey and would not guarantee that I would not go into chemo-induced early menopause.  It would require a lot of drugs and would only slightly increase the chance that I would regain normal ovarian functioning after chemo.  Both of those options would mean delaying my cancer treatment for weeks or months.  Or I could do nothing - and this doctor said my ovaries would most likely be destroyed (can’t get a straight answer out of anyone! Grr!) 

Okay - so maybe the options aren't that bad and I should be grateful that they even exist – but I had to decide between my fertility alternatives on the same day I found out I needed chemo and had to choose whether or not to accept the treatment (yes – I could have refused treatment – some people do that and I don’t understand it… but that’s another story).  I made a choice that day that will always be with me.  I gave it to God.  I had been so back and forth for the last few years about the idea of having children.  As you all know, I am 33 and single.  I am already kind of pushing it when it comes to child bearing and I don’t have any potential baby-daddies on the horizon.  If God wants me to be a mom, I will be a mom.  But I decided not to mess with it anymore, chemically or otherwise.  The decision is no longer mine. 

It hurts sometimes (ok often – it’s still pretty fresh).  I tear up now and then when I hear children laughing and my heart hurts when I see little babies – even on TV.  I have to admit though - it’s also somewhat of a relief. I don’t have to stress about it anymore.  I don’t have to feel like my clock is ticking and oh I’d better find a husband quick if I want to have kids!  The pressure is off.  I am free to embrace my life and I don’t have to scrutinize every man I date wondering about his baby-raising potential (What?!? Girls don’t do that!) I can truly enjoy people for who they are without ulterior motives and I can take my time with my life choices without feeling rushed. 

There may be a possibility to adopt at some point.  However my fertility doc also made me aware that adoption agencies frown upon giving babies to cancer survivors.  You know, because if the cancer comes back I could die and the child would be an orphan… again.  I guess that kind of makes sense, but is the kid really any worse off in that scenario??  I mean, better to have loved and lost, right? Seriously though, I understand.  There is always the opportunity to foster or volunteer.  Or maybe one day I will be a step-mom – who knows?   There are always children in the world that need love and I have a lot of it to give.  I’ll find a way.  And I’ll always have my precious nephew Joseph (Courtney will share… I’ll make her!) whom I will love like he was my own even when he becomes a teenager one day and hates us all.

I had my “baby.”  She died in the womb.  I still have the ultrasound pics, the pregnancy test (I know – gross – but I can’t bring myself to throw it away) and a beautiful wrist tattoo to honor the memory of my lost child.  Some people are born to be parents and some are not.  I still don’t know for certain what my fate is in terms of parenthood, but I have chosen to accept and embrace my reality for what it is.  I am no one’s mother.  Chances are, I never will be - but I am someone’s aunt, sister, daughter and friend.  And that’s enough. 

Being Human

If you know me then you know that I am growly.  I growl all the time… a cranky work email?  Grrr.  Friends changed my plans?... Grrr.  I have to stop for gas?  Grrrrr.   I am being serious… I legitimately growl.  My former roommate told me once that my growls sound like something is dying in my throat.  Dramatic much??  I growl when something mildly upsets me and I growl when something seriously upsets me.  I make it known in my (subtle?) way when I am unhappy with a situation or circumstance and I tend to forget that people around me can hear me – this often results in the solidification of their initial suspicion that I am just plain nuts.  And can I really argue with them?

Let’s review:  I am a terrible housekeeper.  My apartment is generally disorganized and I will frequently buy new socks and underwear because I don’t feel like doing laundry.  There are dirty dishes in my sink and I never clean my floors – honestly - who has time for that??  Furthermore, if the opportunity presents itself, I drink wine at 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and I have never shied away from a good bar fight. I have terrible taste in men (but fantastic taste in friends, as K and L will avidly express!)  I am boy crazy (despite being in my 30s!), vain as f*%@ and I care way too much what people think of me, though I always pretend otherwise.  I am a ridiculous clutz, I am bad at math and I correct people’s grammar all the time (my friends just love that!)  I hate washing my hair (when I have hair I mean – it’s bad to wash it every day…seriously!) and I eat beef jerky and chips in bed.  I love to climb trees and jump in mud puddles and dance in the rain.  I am selfish and reckless and impulsive – but hey – bad decisions make great stories right?

I am also a person who is kind and forgiving (although I will admit, there are some resentments I am still holding onto).  I am told I am thoughtful… I frequently bake treats for the guys I work with (they love my banana-chocolate-chip muffins… seriously… they ask for them weekly) and I regularly worry about my friends and family.  I am wildly protective of my loved ones - to the point that some of the above-mentioned bar fights may or may not have been a result of fiercely safeguarding the honor of the people I hold dear!  I am awed by the love and support I am receiving, I am surprisingly good at writing poetry and I have a really great rack… oops I mean had!  I make people laugh – usually at my ultimate clumsiness or some of the ridiculous things I say, I am great at my job and I try not to judge others (considering what a mess I am on a day to day basis, how could I possibly pass judgement on anyone else!)

I am human.  I am flawed.  I am often self-conscious, although I call it being self-aware.  I know I have many failings, and I don’t let that get me down (Well – I try – we all have our moments!)  I believe that people need to accept themselves for who they are.  Striving too hard for absolute perfection can lead to feeling dissatisfied – not good enough – unlovable.  None of us is perfect and we never will be.  Please don’t misunderstand – I am not saying that we should all give up on being better people and instead become lazy, self-indulgent slobs – self-improvement and growth are fantastic and important.  But I think we need to find a balance.  We as people have a terrible habit of judging ourselves so much more harshly than we would ever dare judge anyone else.  We feel guilty for things in our past for which we would easily forgive another.  We blame ourselves continuously for our shortcomings, despite the fact that we can accept other people’s imperfections as a simple part of the human condition.  Why are we so hard on ourselves?  What has our society done to us to make us continuously chase the unrealistic standard of perfection that we will never reach?  Why are we unable to love ourselves, the good and the bad, and accept reality for what it is?  What will it take for us to forgive ourselves?

Setting impossible standards has led me time and again through trails of self-doubt and negative emotions. I have wasted years putting too much pressure on myself to be something I simply am not.  My diagnosis has forced me to slow down and look at my life more realistically.  I am learning to appreciate the little things about who I am.  I can (and often do) laugh at my own mistakes.  I am trying to learn now how to forgive myself the way God has forgiven me and to love myself for who I am.  We all have weaknesses (aka opportunities for growth.)  We all have guilty pleasures (see above beef-jerky comment). We are all human.  And we’re all in this together, whether we like it or not.

Yes, cancer has changed my perceptions on certain life aspects, as you can tell by my blog posts. But I am still me… I am ridiculously emotional but love to pass myself off as stoic and indifferent.  I fail at the simplest social tasks (for example returning phone calls…. I am sorry friends), yet people seem to like me anyway…. Weird right??  I feel like a failure most days but I hold my life together somehow.  I contradict myself daily (hourly?) and I get super shy on dates.  I act stronger than I feel, but that’s okay – I’m going for the whole “fake it til you make it” thing in that aspect. I laugh a lot, I cry when I need to, and I growl.

I’m not going to lie to you, my growling is likely never going to change. I will always growl when I don’t get a good parking spot, or when someone cuts in front of me in line.  My growl is part of who I am.  And trust me… I am fully aware that many circumstances are worth more than a simple grr and many require a lot more delicacy than my inconsequential rubbish.  But I am okay with my growling - I am who I am… foolish, lovable and human.   And besides - Sometimes you just need to growl!

Fear

I am afraid daily.  I was anxious when I found the lump.  Was this serious?  How long has this been here without me noticing? I was deeply troubled when they biopsied it.  I didn't know they were going to do that.  This appointment was supposed to be a simple ultrasound.  What was wrong?  I was petrified when they told me it was cancer.  I had so many questions and so few answers.  What kind of cancer?  What is the treatment?  What do I do now?  What’s going to happen to me???

A friend sent me a link recently about a fellow cancer survivor Jennifer Glass who is a bit of an internet sensation right now.  In her video (Fear. Less.) she says that while we as cancer patients are not fearless (as some people might believe,) we try at least to fear less.  She said that her friends and family called her fearless in the face of cancer – but she admitted that she wasn't.  I can relate. 

People in my life think I am strong – that I am a hero – hell I even call myself a hero some days.  But the reality is that I tell myself that to battle the fear.  I am terrified daily.  What if they missed some cancer cells during surgery?  What if the treatment fails?  My biggest fear – what if it comes back? 

Despite surgically removing the tumor, destroying my body with chemotherapy, blasting my breast with radiation and popping anti-estrogen pills for 5 years – there is still a 9% chance that the cancer will come back (according to my oncologist.)  I try not to think about it – I passionately hate chemotherapy. I am 24 days away from my last chemo treatment and I can’t bear the thought of having to go through this again.  If cancer recurs, the survival rate drops dramatically.  They are throwing everything they have at it right now.  If it comes back what more can they do?

I wrote a piece on fear several years ago called The Commonplace War– before I knew what real fear was… Or did I?  One doesn't have to have cancer to be afraid.  We are all afraid of something.  Some people dread being alone, while others panic at the thought of falling in love and the potential heartache it brings.  They are millions of mental and physical ailments in this human life that cause us to be afraid.  Fear presents itself regularly in our day to day lives.   There are a great deal of “garden variety” type fears like driving in the city, heights, spiders or public speaking.  Many of us fear change.  And many more are afraid to die.

Whatever your fear is, I believe it is important to understand that it is valid, despite what anyone tells you.  Even though logical thought might tell you that it is foolish – that your fear is silly and you should not be afraid – it is a genuine human emotion that exists in all of us.  All human emotions are valid - they exist and we cannot just will them away.  You cannot tell someone (or yourself) that they should or should not feel something (fear or otherwise).  We feel what we feel.  We can manage our emotions, but we cannot deny their existence.   Those who claim to be fearless are lying.  Courage is not being fearless.  We are courageous when we act despite the fear – when we acknowledge its existence and stubbornly persevere, unwilling to allow our fear to hold us back.

Fear can be overpowering – even debilitating at times. I often feel as though I can’t talk about my fears with anyone.  People tell me not to worry – that worrying will not help, or they say tough it up, cupcake (well okay – maybe that’s what I say).  And of course, my favorite is the one I hear more often than any - Stay Positive. Perhaps by talking about my own fears I make other people’s fears more real.  I know that I am not the only one who is afraid.  My loved ones fear for me as well.  Maybe people feel like they need to be strong for me to help me get through my battle.   The thing is, most of the time I am positive and finding myself being the strong one for friends and family.  I don’t want them to worry and I try to ease their fear as well.  Are we all foolish?  Each of us hiding what frightens us to put on a brave face for the others?  The thing is, I don’t think that being aware and afraid of that 9% chance means I am being negative. I think I am being realistic.   And I don’t mean I sit around trembling and terrified, refusing to live my life because I am afraid.  But the fear is real.  The cancer could return.  And sometimes, I need to be able to talk about what scares me.  I think we all do. 

Fortunately for us, our wide array of human emotions contains a counter attack for fear – hope.  Hope is always there as well, helping us fight through the fear.  Hope is what keeps us alive inside when we feel like our lives are crumbling.  Hope gets me out of bed each day and keeps me counting down the days until this ordeal is behind me.  If we lose hope, we have nothing. 

No one ever wants to hear the words “You have cancer.”  I sure as hell didn't.  And yes, of course I am afraid.  But I cling to the hope that is very much alive inside me.  I have hope that I will beat this wretched disease.  I have hope that it will never return and I will live out the rest of my life cancer-free.  And I have hope that my story might be able to help ease the fear of someone else going through their own battles – be it with cancer or otherwise.  Stay strong my friends, and stay hopeful xo!

On My Own: Facing Cancer as a Single Woman

When I was a little girl, I didn't play with dolls.  I didn't dream of wedding gowns and tiaras or of finding Prince Charming.  Mostly I was a tomboy who played in the dirt with my brother and the neighborhood boys.  Even as I got a little older and girlfriends around me were tearing pages from bridal magazines and planning their happily-ever-afters, I was imagining life as a typical Cosmo girl – tough and strong, with a cool apartment, lots of parties and friends - and maybe a scooter (think Vespa in baby blue).  I dreamt of freedom.  I dreamt of independence. I wanted to be on my own – to make my own rules.  I guess even then I knew I wasn't the fairy-tale princess type.

How funny life is.  I have everything I ever wanted (except my Vespa – give me time – it will come!)  I subconsciously veered my life in the direction that my 8 year old self envisioned, despite the ever-constant pressure (even in this day and age) for a single girl to settle down and find a man.  In fact, I am so stubborn that it may have been that pressure that led me away from ideas of love and marriage.

They say don’t knock it until you try it - and I tried it their way.  I fell in love at 23 and I reveled in the sweet euphoria that only love can bring.  And I don’t mean I did it just because they said so – I was really in love – and happy.  I lived the small town pseudo-WASP life.  I went to the social events, the soccer-mom vendor parties, the country-club fundraisers, the family gatherings - I tried to play the dutiful wife – I was just really really bad at it.  It just wasn't me.  I was trying to live in a shell of someone I simply wasn't.  I am impulsive and often irresponsible.  I crave external stimulants and chaos and noise that only life in the city can bring me – and eventually that small-town life smothered me.

So now I do it myself.  I live alone and I pay my own bills.  If I want something, I buy it.  If I wake up in the middle of the night coughing, I get my own water.  When my legs ache at the end of the day, I run my own bath.  If I picked up too many things at the store (which always happens), I make two (ok three) trips in from the car.  If I feel sick, I figure out my own meds.  And I take out my own trash!

Now don’t get me wrong - I have PLENTY of help when I am sick – I am not discounting the help I get from my loved ones during this wretched cancer ordeal!  Friends and family have been there for me endlessly – preparing meals, taking me to appointments, helping with housework, letting me cry on shoulders as required.  My chemo life would be impossible without them and I will never be able to repay their kindness! 

What I am saying is that in regular day-to-day non-cancer life (yes – I do have one…it’s around here somewhere I’m sure…) I’m on my own.  And most of the time, I love it. I don’t have to share my bed, I don’t have to consider someone else when I make plans and I watch what I want on Netflix (I never have to watch sports!)  I sleep when I want, take care of myself (and my little fish, Ishy!) and I pee with the door open.  I make my own choices, I hang out in my pajamas and I enjoy my quiet mornings alone with my coffee and my laptop (P.S. – this phrase also works by replacing coffee with wine and mornings with evenings!)   I am single. This means I have to sleep alone.  It also means I get to sleep alone.  I am self-indulgent and set in my ways.  I love my apartment, I don’t like to share my things and I am terrified of commitment. Clearly I am too childish for a mature relationship anyway!

As always, to you my readers, I will be truthful – I definitely have my melancholy moments. Sometimes, this is all very tedious – particularly during chemotherapy.  Every now and then I long for someone to be here to help ease my struggles – to rub my back and tell me I’m pretty – to hold me when I am sad – to get me a snack because I am just too damn tired to get it myself.  I think that everyone at some time or another just wants someone to hold their hand and say with honesty “I will never leave you.”  I sometimes fantasize about being a cliché protagonist from a Sophie Kinsella novel.  Little miss independent fights hard on her own and one day some Romeo shows up to sweep her off her feet, despite her hardened exterior, and they live happily ever after.  Except, there is no Romeo for me right now – only cancer.   And no one wants to date a sick person.

I was on the verge of one of these woo-woo-poor-me moments a few days ago.  I was chatting with a friend about her marriage and I caught a glimpse of what my married friends have that I just might be missing – unconditional love and support.  A partner in life to share the joys and help bear the burdens.  I couldn't figure out why I was unable (unwilling?) to find something that so many people had found.  Was there something wrong with me? (Answer – I make terrible choices when it comes to men...unfortunately that is all me - that is not something I can blame on cancer. Dammit – I hate when I have to accept responsibility for my own choices!) 

Within minutes of this potentially gloom-inducing conversation, there was a knock at the door.  City Census.  An older-than-me woman with a friendly smile and cheery eyes.  She asked the standard Census-type questions:  Marital Status?  Single (she winked at me and exclaimed Good for you!)  Employed?  Yes, full time.  Do you drive?  Yes I have a car.  Rent or Own?  I own.

This was one of the many little so-called “coincidences” in my life that prove to me that God is real.  The timing was impeccable. Those four simple questions snapped me right out of my petty feelings of loneliness and instilled a sense of validated satisfaction with my life.  I am not a rocket scientist.  I have not made any world-changing discoveries.  I am not a super-mom maintaining a family, I am a terrible housekeeper and I don’t own fancy things. But I am smart, strong and successful.  I have a job I love, my super-cute condo and an immeasurable amount of love from family and friends. I have all these things as a single woman AND I am beating cancer.  I am a superhero!

Being diagnosed with a life-threatening disease does change one’s perspective on certain things and my perpetual singledom is no exception. Prior to my diagnosis, I had decided to take 2014 off – no dating – focus on me: My health, my faith, my family – Year of Nicki!  I am really bad at keeping commitments (especially to myself) so the cancer came at the perfect time. Of course there is no right time for cancer, but for me if it had to happen, I am glad it happened now.  It has forced me to slow down and to focus on the things I have been letting slide – Faith in God – love of family – compassion – human connections. I know that I don’t want to be alone forever.  But I also know that I am fine on my own if that is my fate.  I am done changing myself or my beliefs and behaviours to suit other people.  I believe that God has a plan for my life and I am willing to wait for it to unfold. If He can get me through cancer treatment as a single person, He can get me through anything.  Whatever joys or challenges await me in this life, single or not - I am ready.  Bring it on!

How Are You Feeling?

How are you feeling?  A common phrase for a “sick person” to hear, often many times a day.  It is asked at work, at home, on the phone and via pretty much every online communication method that exists.  It seems like a simple enough question, and one that is predominately anchored in care and concern.  I am asked quite frequently how I am feeling.  My challenge lies in figuring out how to answer.

If you have read any of this blog, you know that I am working very hard at staying positive throughout all of this (though don’t you dare tell me to stay positive!)  I am human and I am generally (occasionally?) able to acknowledge my flaws and failures, and overall I am trying to keep things as normal as they can be under the circumstances.  Yet this innocent and sincere enquiry has actually proven to be quite difficult to answer.  Do people really want to know?  Do I tell them that I feel like garbage, that my legs are trembling and that I am sweating profusely under my hat?  Or do I flash a smile and toss out a casual “Peachy keen, jelly bean!” as I am often apt to do?  Both answers are honest – even when my body feels like it is killing me from the inside, most of the time I am able to maintain my tough and (dare I say) sunny disposition.  (Well, ok – maybe not sunny - it’s more like an upbeat sarcastic-and-inappropriate-humor type disposition.  I am who I am. Deal.)

So in order to effectively respond to the concerned questioning of well-wishers, I have decided that this blog post is going to address a few of the physical side-effects of chemotherapy.  Not as much fun as other topics I’m sure, but these are things that I want to make known – both to the people in my life and to anyone who might have a loved one dealing with chemo as well.  I’m not going to lie to you – it ain’t pretty, folks!

Right now my body is fighting two unrelated infections and I am on so many drugs I can hardly keep track.  They have me on SO many different pills - Anti-viral, anti-biotic, anti-fungal, anti-nausea, steroids, pain-killers and quite a few more.  I get dizzy often.  I get a lot of headaches.  I am regularly nauseated and unable to eat the things I used to love (oh yogurt how I miss you!).  Not to mention the other stomach ailments that chemo causes.  My tummy literally screams in pain sometimes (I’m not kidding!  It is soooo loud!)  It’s obnoxious and unpleasant, to say the least.

The hot flashes are DESTROYING me - seriously – they are so frequent – I’m talking 2-3 per hour.  My sleep is completely disrupted since I wake up every hour either sweating from a hot flash or freezing because I have unwittingly stripped down to my birthday suit and kicked off all my blankets. During my waking hours I get overcome with heat and sweat, then 5 minutes later I am cold because I took all my clothes off and blasted the AC.  I am literally to the point where I often HOPE this is menopause because I don’t think I can endure it more than once!  It is possible that this is a chemo-induced temporary shut-down of my inner lady parts (trying to keep it clean for the boys reading!) but early-onset menopause is another probable side effect.  There is no way for me to know at this point which I am facing.  I may get “normal” again during the year after chemo.  Or I may be permanently “changed.”

Another big one for me is the fatigue.  I want to go out.  I want to shop, to run errands, to visit friends and family, to do Yoga, to go on vacations, to go to concerts – to just get out!  Unfortunately I can’t.  I am still working 30-35 hours most weeks (and don’t tell me to take it easy – I am a workaholic – that is taking it easy!)  My work is my “out” time.  I leave the office (aka trailer) usually mid-afternoon and I go home and crash.  I don’t have the energy most days to do my dishes, to go to the grocery store, to do my banking – often to even stay awake. I NEED to lie down.  This is a big one that people don’t understand.  I can’t just have an extra cup of coffee and be fine (trust me – I've tried!)  I can’t go out and play, or have backyard dance-parties (a frequent occurrence for me and mine!) or do Wine Wednesdays with the girls, or go to my parents’ for dinner. The weather is finally getting nice and I SO badly want to sit on a patio on Whyte Ave with friends and sip a cold beer or a margarita!  These are the things I love and I just can’t do them.  It is very frustrating and might be the hardest part of all this for me.  I have always thoroughly enjoyed my independence and I genuinely hate feeling so needy.

There are many other treacheries of chemotherapy.  My bones ache terribly because of the drug I take to boost my white blood cells – an injection called Nulasta that has to be jabbed into my stomach the day after chemo.  My steroids cause intense heartburn.  My legs are weak and sometimes buckle because the chemo is attacking my muscles and nerves.  I get disgusting mouth sores to the point where it hurts to eat or drink.  And even on the days it doesn't hurt, my taste buds are broken and everything mostly tastes like cardboard.  For the first week after treatment, everything - even water - tastes poisonous and I have to force myself to eat and drink.  I am not allowed to get sick – even a minor infection can turn serious very fast for a chemo patient.  I can’t get a mani-pedi or go to a public pool (aka West Ed Water Park!) because of the risk of infection.  I have to be careful my skin doesn't get too dry and crack, because those little cuts can become seriously infected.  I have to take my temperature several times a day to ensure I don’t have a fever. My chemical-infused blood has weakened my body and I can’t fight off the simple human ailments like I used to.

This damn Chemo has changed things in my life (albeit temporarily – Thank God!) and one of those things is my beloved social life. Friends and family often ask me, “When can we get together?  When are you free?”  Valid questions – for the pre-cancer Nicki – little miss butterfly whose schedule was jam packed with dinners and parties and wine nights.  Nowadays I can only tell people to call me and if I’m awake, I’ll answer. I can’t make plans.  I can’t commit to even a coffee date.  It always depends on how violently the side effects are kicking my ass that particular day.  Don’t get me wrong – It’s not always so taxing – some days are better than others.  I just never know.

So ask me – How are you feeling? Nine times out of ten I will tell you I am great.  Five by five. Dandy and spiffy and excellent! But every now and then you will get me at one of my low points and I will tell you that I feel wretched – that my body hurts – that I am sick as f#@& and I need a nap or a lobotomy or something.  I am not saying this to play poor-me or to seek out your sympathy. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me – or to feel helpless, as I know is common when someone you love is suffering (MOM! xo).  When I tell you I am fine – I am not lying.  Emotionally, I don’t think I have ever felt stronger.  I am merely trying to allow people to understand that physically, I am a little less than ideal these days.  I am hoping to effectively illustrate the naked truth about life for a chemo patient – without all the sugar and glitter and rainbows that I usually throw in. 

If you have someone in your life who is dealing with this wretched beast called chemotherapy, please don’t stop asking.  In fact – ask more questions.  Then they can tell you what’s really going on.  I think this might apply to anyone (everyone?) who is suffering – not just chemo patients.  Doesn't everybody ultimately want to be understood after all?  Even when I can’t answer your questions honestly, it still means so much to be asked – to be cared about.  Just know that generally a chemo patient always feels sick in one way or another – less than par – not quite themselves.  We just don’t know how to tell you that without making things weird.  But thank you – I mean it - thank you - for asking.

People

People are funny.  You never know how they are going to behave.  I mean, you think you know, but they surprise you sometimes.  When I found out I had cancer, I didn't tell many people at first.  I was worried that it would change the way people see me – the way they treat me.  And it has.

Many people surprised me when I went public.  I received emails, texts, FB messages and phone calls. I was offered TONS of unsolicited advice (and we all know how much I LOVE that!)  I became the latest hot topic for the gossip gals.  I became a pariah.  I became a hero.  I lost touch with some people.  I rekindled friendships with other.  So many different people with so many different reactions.

A person from my past with whom I have not spoken in many years sent me a beautiful encouraging message that left me speechless - while an everyday buddy literally avoided talking to me because cancer was too depressing. 

My ever-thoughtful ex sent flowers and genuine care and concern (those who know me will know right away who Mr. Ever-thoughtful is!) while a new man in my life dropped me instantly without an explanation.

An estranged childhood friend reached out and we are rekindling our relationship, while a few former gal-pals gossiped away without contacting me.  (If you want to know, just ask – seriously)

I received an unexpected visit from a precious friend and I got broken plans and empty promises from others. 

People I don’t even know offered love and prayer and support (and even cash!) yet some of the people I held dear faded away. 

Some people cried.  Some people prayed. Some people ran.     

                           

One thing about getting cancer – you learn a lot about people. 

At first, I passionately resented those who shunned me.  I had so much anger.  It hurt me.  A lot.  How could they be so cold?  How can MY cancer cause THEM discomfort? How stupid!  I was the one with cancer!  It was ME who was going through this period of uncertainty and fear and (let’s face it) ugliness!  Who could have problems worse than cancer?  Who could turn away from me when I needed love now more than ever?  How could they be so damn insensitive? What do you mean it isn't all about me……..??

Hmm… I’m not going to lie - I am still not 100% over that anger.  But I am working at being more compassionate.  I am trying to put myself in other people’s shoes (which is WAY easier said than done by the way… especially since my shoes are so super cute!)  Everyone handles life the best way they know how with the information they have. And everybody has their own pain.

I think the majority of people are uncomfortable – they don’t know what to say.  I mean, how can anyone know unless they have been there?  I certainly didn't.

Maybe they have their own traumas going on in their lives – I have said before that everybody has a story.  It is beyond selfish for me to think that my disease should be any more important to someone else than whatever they may be going through.  Not everyone is as open as I am.   I don’t know their story.

It’s very likely that they have lost their own people and it frightens them. I know my own dearest K and L have cancer scars in their families and they have told me that they are scared sometimes.   They need me as much as I need them. (I love you more than words K & L!)

I am sure that my flippant attitude and inappropriate humor doesn't help the situation.   But to be completely honest, I don’t particularly care.  I decided early on that I was not going to be a “sick person”.  I was not going to let cancer rule my life or bring me down.  (Again – easier said than done.)  And I am not going to walk on eggshells because someone else thinks my attitude is too bold or that my jokes are offside.  I am sorry that those people can’t handle me – but I am who I am and I’m doing what I need to do to get through it.  I refuse to play poor-me (for the most part anyway.)  I refuse to sit around feeling sorry for myself.  I am open about my strengths and my weaknesses – or as I like to call them, Opportunities for growth (though I have to admit – opportunity knocks quite often in my life – unfortunately these days I’m usually taking a nap.)

The truth is that my problems are not isolated.  I am not the center of the universe and it is foolish of me to get upset about other people’s reactions. Yes, the actions of the people I love can hurt me. And let’s be honest, the actions of the people I don’t love can also hurt me.  But I need to be more understanding of the rest of humanity.  It isn't all about me.  It never was, and it never will be.

The gossip girls? Well, they weren't really gossiping.  They were talking with each other about me with care and concern.  They wanted to know what was happening but didn't know how to ask.

That pal that avoided me? He has lost quite a few people to cancer and I was being so nonchalant (Superman complex again).  He wasn't sure how to deal with it happening to a close friend.  He showed up after my first chemo treatment.  He brought me to doctors’ appointments and bought me a milkshake.  And he is there now when I am in need. He helped in the only ways that he knew how.

Those empty promises and broken plans?  People have their own things going on.  And they don’t know what I am dealing with.  They can’t possibly know and they can’t be held responsible for that lack of knowledge.  God knows I had no idea until I had to face it myself.  My situation does not make anyone else’s problems less real.  We all have our own crosses to bear.

That new guy in my life that dropped me?  Actually, yeah… turns out he’s just a dick.  Thank you cancer for helping me dodge THAT bullet!

Yes, many people’s attitudes towards me have changed.  But that’s ok because my own attitudes and perspectives are changing.  Things that mattered, don’t. And things that didn't, do.  My challenge is accepting that people are people – we are all only human. Few people are able to fully understand the pain I am dealing with and I need to learn to understand that people don’t understand.

People are people. We are what we are. We are stronger than we think, smarter than we give ourselves credit for and ridiculously emotional, despite our pretenses or intentions. We are capable of affecting each other and we sometimes are blind.  We are who we are.  And I love us.

Losing my Hair

Those who know me will eagerly tell you that I am very vain.  I am the kind of girl that doesn't even go to the gym without at least mascara.  I like my nails done. I like clothes that flatter my body (and show off the good parts!) I don’t like being overweight.  I wear lipstick daily and I have shoes for every outfit.  I have not yet mastered the level of confidence required to accept myself for who I am and to not be so concerned with outward appearance. And I really loved my hair.

It was long and thick and a rich chocolate brown. I loved brushing it and curling it and straightening it.  I wore it up and down and in braids and pigtails.  People would compliment my luscious locks and I would play the shy and quiet “Aw shucks” girl – but I secretly glowed with pride inside with every comment.

When I found out I would be getting chemotherapy I was more worried about being ugly than anything else.  I did not want to lose my hair.  I did not want to lose my lashes (I just got a new mascara after all!) I did not want to look sick.  I liked the way I looked and this just wasn't fair. But, being that I am Superman, I decided to own it.  I took the opportunity to chop it off and color it blond and pink (which I think I pulled off quite well, thank you very much!)

It started to fall out two weeks into my first treatment.  Sometimes it happens quickly, sometimes slowly.  It was a Wednesday morning when I first noticed it.  Then on Thursday I took off my sweater at work and there was a clump of pink on my shoulder.  And another in my car (which is STILL there by the way… sigh).  The worst was Friday when I finally washed it.  It came out in handfuls in the shower.  When I finally got up enough nerve to look in the mirror there were giant bald spots all over my head. I was home alone.  I poured a glass of wine, stood in the mirror and cried.

As a rule (… ok, ok...guideline), I generally only allow myself the briefest of poor-me moments, so within minutes I called K and L.  Being the amazing friends that they are, they headed over to my place to hold my hand and cheer me up.  My roommate got here first.  He took one look at me and my tears and said “Harden the @#%! Up!” as is his nature to do.  By the time the girls arrived he was charging his shaver.  We were going to shave my head and I was going to own it!

We had some fun that night.  We played some girl-power music (think Katy Perry and Spice Girls).  We had wine. We made videos and took pictures. I had a cute pink Mohawk at one point. I have fantastic friends who do all they can to try to help me to feel “normal” during this ordeal.  And they did a great job.

But when it was all over, no amount of music or laughter (or wine for that matter) could change the fact that I was now bald.  That I looked different now.  That I looked like a cancer patient.

I’d like to be able to say that in seeing myself without hair, the gravity of the diagnosis sunk in and that was why I got scared and sad and anxious.  But that would be untrue and I must tell the truth in this blog otherwise what’s the point?   I hated the way I looked.  Hated it.  People tell me I look fine – that I rock the bald – that I have a nice-shaped head – that I don’t look like a boy.  I don’t believe any of them.  I want my pretty hair back and I want it now. 

I hibernated.  I was completely thrown at how bad the depression took me that first week.  I mean, I thought I was ready.  I thought I had prepared myself for this.  I cut my hair super short so that I already looked drastically different from myself (or as my 6 year old nephew says, I looked like a stranger!) I avoided phone calls.  I didn't go to work.  I cried and felt sorry for myself. I had a full blown baby-lala pity party.  Luckily I had to pull myself together by the weekend for my second chemo treatment.

The next few weeks were filled with searching for the perfect head covering.  I tried the wigs (hot and itchy).  The headscarves made me feel like a pirate (hmmm… idea for Halloween?)  I wore bandannas a few times but I couldn't get over how much better I looked in a bandanna when I had hair! (You know that I-swear-I’m-not-even-trying-I-just-finished-gardening-I’m-really-just-this-cute look?) Some of the hats worked a little, but again I was too hot during the day (Dreadful hot flashes – but that will be a blog post for another day).  Fortunately, I met a lady at my third chemo treatment who unknowingly helped me put things in perspective.

This woman was in her early 50s and beautiful.  Bald as an eagle and rocking it.  She was on her third cancer – her 14^th chemo treatment.  She had been hairless for years.  She talked about the fun things she did with her girlfriends.  She talked about how people are super nice to you when you are a cancer patient.  She said when she is stuck in traffic she takes off her hat and people wave her in.  She told stories of hockey games and shenanigans and parties.  She told me how she organizes her pills by size and color because she can’t remember their names.  She laughed and she laughed and she laughed.

So here I was, depressive and angry and hiding from my life like a spoiled little child.  And there she was – on her fourteenth chemo treatment!  And still laughing, still staying positive, still having FUN!  It was humbling to say the least.  I was shamed.  What right did I have to linger in my silly little pit of despair over something so foolish? Who did I think I was feeling sorry for myself?  Why couldn’t I accept the fact that I AM a baldie – I AM a cancer patient and that it doesn’t matter what I look like?  At what point in my life did I start defining myself by my outward appearance and how could I change that attitude? 

The following Monday at work, I took off my hat.

I’d like to say that instantly I was changed - that I beamed with certainty and confidence and that I didn't care what anyone thought.  But enter the honesty piece again – I was considerably horrified.  I had to ask the girls to tell me I was fine.  I nearly panicked each time someone entered the trailer for fear that it was someone who hadn't seen me yet and would be freaked out by my appearance (as if everyone had remained magically unaware of my baldness in the weeks prior to the hat coming off!) But it was a step.  And each day since then I am more comfortable with the way I look.  I am learning (ok TRYING to learn) to accept things for what they are and avoid wishing for something impossible (like for example waking up with my beautiful brown tresses miraculously restored!) 

I have a very long way to go before I am able to fully let go of my foolish vanity.  But I am comforted in knowing that I took the first step – I took off my hat.