Onward and Upward: August 2012

So my hair is coming back - it's very subtle, almost a sheen of fuzz. And that fuzz is white on top and dark on the sides.

This unsettled my husband a bit. Personally, I think it's pretty awesome - white hair would rock! He thinks it will return to its pre-chemo color, but I'm still holding out hope for snowy tresses. And slowly but surely, teeny, tiny eyelashes and eyebrows are sprouting.

This whole bald thing has been such an interesting experience. I honestly don't miss the hair much - but as I have said before, I miss anonymity of not being known as Cancer Girl. My husband encouraged me to just be my baldie self, but I have tried to reclaim some privacy by keeping my noggin under wraps. I tried the wig thing - they are crazy hot and itchy - and settled on wearing all shapes and sizes of hats and these cool wraps.

It is no secret that I am bald - the hats that I have taken to wearing lately clearly reveal this - but I am glad to have something atop my seriously white head. Truly, I look like a Q-tip without cotton! I also feel like having something on my head acts as a physical buffer with people who want to Talk About It with me (i.e. a loved one they have lost to cancer, a new vitamin/vegetable/exercise routine that cures cancer, etc.).

"Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone." Colossians 4:6

Before I lost the eyelashes and eyebrows, I could be downright covert. A few months ago, I was enjoying dinner with a group of women. One of the participants began venting about how she felt like medical advances were keeping people alive who really shouldn't be - that perhaps our gene pool was getting weakened by people who really should just die.

(It was tempting to rip off my sassy little chapeau in that instant, but then, I also know that I have put my foot firmly in my own mouth many times. Can't we ALL use a little extra grace?)

Last week, Kate and I were re-reading the kids' cancer books that we have received this year. My personal favorite is "Nowhere Hair." It's about a little girl whose momma is going through cancer treatment and what that means (fatigue, sadness sometimes, funny hats and wigs). Then we got to this page:

Kate said, "You aren't confident. You never go bald at the grocery store."

I almost swallowed my tongue. I have come to terms with looking bald, and do my best to act like I don't realize that I am obviously going through some kind of treatment that has caused my hair to fall out. On good days, I can joke about not having hair with near-strangers. But on bad days, I have to muster every bit of courage to get out of the car and act "normal."

We talked. I told Kate how I am happy to be bald around the house - but I am also excited to have hair again someday.

"Sometimes momma feels shy being bald, though," I said. It was the best way I could think to explain it.

Two weeks from today I will be in the hospital for an overnight stay following the bilateral mastectomy. I have been walking 3 miles almost nightly - It feels wonderful to be exercising, and I can feel myself getting leaner, stronger. I hope that it makes for an easier recovery - when I'm ready, I want to give regular swimming a shot.

Because if I got used to having no hair, having no boobs should be a breeze.

Maybe literally ;)

Many years ago, during the two seconds I was a television reporter in Fairbanks, I used to bring in cookies sometimes for the rest of the staff. One of the producers always sought out the cookies that were squished on the side, a result of being smashed by the spatula when they were taken off the hot cookie sheet.

"This is how you know that they are homemade," he would say. For him, the imperfect cookies were made yummier because it showed they were hand-crafted.

I have been feeling like one of those obviously smooshed cookies these last few weeks since my final chemo on July 6, except not so yummy.

First and foremost, I am feeling deeply thankful that I am done with chemotherapy. It's ugly, strength-sapping, fingernail yuck-atizing stuff. And yet, much like child birth, I found myself thinking soon afterward that it was totally worth it. God willing, in combination with the upcoming mastectomy, it means that I have a lot of years of cancer-free life to live.

The morning after chemo was completed, I woke up and stared at my hairless self in the mirror and silently rallied: "OK, hair!!! Eyebrows and eyelashes, too! It is now time for you to (drum roll, please) DO YOUR THING!!!!"

But alas. They are not doing their thing so much. On a happy note, my strength has been steadily returning and that has rocked beyond measure. There is pep in my step, people! However, I think it has also given some people license to approach me in a variety of weird (sometimes thoughtless) ways about this cancer trek of mine.

(I actually began a blog a couple of weeks ago that went into specifics about this, and how truly surreal it is to be such an obvious poster child for cancer. I'm still pondering through that particular entry.)

So I have been feeling ugly - like, give me a bell tower in Notre Dam hideous. My husband is being his wonderful self, but we wives know: It's a husband's job to tell us nice things. I have been silently chastising myself - because I know to God, I am His child and God doesn't have ugly kiddos. At least as far as He is concerned. I have wondered if part of God's purpose in this was to humble me about my appearance.

But to the rest of the world, I'm this chrome-domed chick who desperately wants to use a mascara wand already.

Then today, as our family was taking a drive to find a new-to-us beach, I received this Facebook message via my smart phone from a very dear friend in Ketchikan:

I have been thinking the past week or so how beautiful you are, RB. And I don't mean "beautiful in the Lord," although you are definitely that, but a true beauty. I'm sure there have been times in your life when you wished you weren't so tall, but that simply adds to your grace. (Remember what Tom Coyne used to say about your height?!) <smile> Your smile is gorgeous, and your lips always seem so perfectly colored, whether you have lipstick on or not! But more than anything, I think your humble spirit adds so much your overall appearance - funny how the two are related! Maybe this would have been better sent in an email, but I wonder sometimes if you feel that your days of physical beauty are a thing of the past. Don't, because that is definitely not true. Love you, my friend.

When I got to the funny part about Tom Coyne (he was a skirt chasing city councilman in his 80s), tears began to literally squirt out of my eyes. Without eyelashes, tears real-deal project themselves out of my head (it's kind of a fun parlor trick, really - honest to goodness waterworks). I had to stop reading the message at that point, because I didn't want to freak out my girls ... I tilted my newsboy cap at a strategic angle while my water-projecting eyes quieted themselves.

So here I am, Lord: One of Your many squished cookies who is trying to patiently wait for her hair to grow back. Thank you for providing me with these friends who are bolstering my spirit when I am feeling like this, and for the lessons You are providing along the way.

A friend told me that she would love to see some pictures from a recent 3-mile hike our fam took. It kicked my patootie, but it felt so good to stretch my stamina wings. Here is a sampling: