Too Much Reality

Too much trauma this week. My "hair" appointment was emotional. I admire the take charge women who shave their heads with a my-bald-head-is-beautiful and a kiss-my-ass-if-it-makes-you-uncomfortable attitude. But I feel shorn.
Losing my hair was a grievous process. Half gone by Tuesday morning, it was falling out everywhere. My dogs laughed at me: I was shedding!
To fit into my new hair, I had to give what was left of the old. The process: brush, scalp massage and then the clipper's evil buzz takes the rest. My kick-ass friend Valerie held my hands through that moment. I left Madeleine's with the big, sexy, Texas hair of my dreams, but I'd lost my hair and a basic recognition of myself.
Psychologists say babies recognize themselves as separate beings before language in the "mirror moment." It's when we develop our self-awareness, our self-image. I identified strongly with my hair in my mirror moment--I know this for sure!
What is true beauty? Can I still feel pretty without my locks? This is the journey of authenticity. The women survivors of breast cancer whom I've met radiate a glowing confidence. I think this redefinition of what beauty truly must be is one of the underpinnings of that power.

A Chemo-Induced "Rape of the Lock"

Even Alexander Pope's genius invented militia of light spirits could not prevent the loss of my locks any more than it could that of Belinda from losing half her hair to the evil intentions of a suitor and a jealous coquette. (literature nerds check here: http://www.luminarium.org/eightlit/pope/popebib.php ).
I took my second chemo treatment Friday and noticed the small locks that were falling when I washed my hair. I was able to style my hair as usual, with less volume. Saturday, it was hands off the top of the hair while I curled the bottom, using hairspray more as adhesive than styling aid.
Sunday afternoon, while watching a movie, I noticed my collar forming an additional collar--of hair! My hair! Instant tears. Meltdown time.
It's not just the hair; it's the "in your face" confirmation that, yes, this cancer thing is real; you're a chemo patient. This is really happening.
And, I'm still traumatized from the Pixie cut my mom gave me when I was five!
Today I'm allowing myself some space to grieve the loss of my locks.
Tomorrow morning, new, big sexy hair from Madeleine's in the new, beautiful Sullivan Center, Saco, Maine http://www.sullivancenterofmaine.com/.
I'm confident that by the time I leave there, Ken, hair magician, and Tammy Ahearn, breast cancer survivor and owner of this wonderful resource for women, will help me through this transition with their support and humor.
My hair loss is another right of passage on this journey to beating cancer. I salute all the women on this path who have redefined beauty. I'm thinking especially of my fabulous Texas friends Teri and Theresa.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I'm very attached to my hair. Our roots are deep. My hair and I have experienced the highest highs (thanks to Super Powered hairsprays) and the lowest lows (the '80's, need I say more?). I've never had perfect hair. Mine is fine and it takes a strong will and honed blow-drying skills to get it to poof and curl, but I love its style. Its curly, fringe hugs my neck and tickles my shoulders, reminding me at every turn that I am a flirty feline.
But my hair's days are numbered.
Tomorrow I'll take my second chemo treatment and the experts predict that by Tuesday, I'll look like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.
Take my breasts; leave my hair!
I can't prepare myself for this moment. I don't think anyone can.
All I could do was launch Plan B: The Emergency Hair Back-up system (EHB). Girls, I bought the hair of my dreams: Big Sexy Hair. It's thick with long, loose curls. It's beautiful.
And creepy. There's a mannequin head clamped to my bath vanity. She's wearing the EHB until I need it.

I Feel Bad About My Breast

Just when I’ve pulled my life to a place where I’m feeling empowered, inspired and positive, I find the one thing none of us ever wants to find. I call my best friend, Claudette.
“I found a lump.”
“Come over and let me feel it.”
“What do you think?” (My BFF is also a nurse practitioner).
“Call your doc right now.”
A mammogram, ultrasound, and one biopsy later, I’m diagnosed with lobular invasive carcinoma, the second most common kind of breast cancer, my left breast gone bad, left lymph nodes behaving badly, probably Stage II.
Three martinis will not make this “girl, interrupted” moment go away - I tried.
My breast cancer is curable, but the road to remission is a long, tough journey: sixteen weeks of chemo, then surgery, reconstruction, and radiation.
I change my ring tone to the Bee Gees’ classic “Stayin’ Alive.”
The next step is a series of eerie, intimidating diagnostic tests. I want to run away, but can feel my doctor’s footprint on my behind to get all the tests done.
A couple of the tests make you radioactive! I thought about how cool it would be to be eight years old again, telling my school friends that I’m radioactive. It doesn’t make you glow in the dark—I checked.
The MRI is easy – the after-pictures suck. This is NOT your best look, lying face down, boobs hanging through two square holes. Seeing a few of the images, I imagine the radiologists asking each other, “Holstein?” “No. Definitely a Guernsey.”
I still don’t believe I have breast cancer. No family history, healthy lifestyle – except when I was three, I used to chew on my great grandma’s lead-painted windowsills. Geez, it’s not even breast cancer awareness month! Isn’t this an October thing?
Cancel bikini wax.
“Breast cancer is an epidemic,” says my oncologist (I have an oncologist!). “I’m seeing eight to ten new patients every week.”
Girls, we need to be talking about breast cancer more than once a year. I don’t think I understood the word, epidemic, until the cancer invaded my left breast.
Now the message is close to my heart.
My daisy chain of kick-ass girl friends is here, holding me and helping me. This undeniable strength between women, a chain of love, an invincible bond, growing exponentially faster than any cancer, fills my heart.
My daughter, Kay, loving and courageous, shows her support with lots of notes, phone calls and weekend visits home from college. My mom is hat shopping for me as I write this!
Together, my family and friends have formed a formidable team, already supporting my journey in lots of life affirming ways. The amazing thing is that I’m making new friends, too, among girls who have already done this journey, survivors, and those who are still in the fight. I thought illness would isolate me, instead I’m making more connections.
I’ve already ordered custom-made big sexy hair, and a second, edgy, 80’s rock chick version for tough days when I might want to sing “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”
Yes, my life is interrupted. Cancer treatment makes me tired. It gives me some bad days and a renewed appreciation for good days.
I am determined to meet this tough challenge with spunk and my bad attitude. My kick-ass girlfriends will get me the rest of the way. And, I am empowered and inspired by the love and support of all the people in my life.
Note to self: wear cowboy boots to next chemo.