Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow...

So it's been an interesting week. I've had more energy because my numbers have been coming up - just in time for my second chemo, and the more bothersome of the side effects have leveled off. I took a breath and appreciated the beauty of this season and noticed that the leaves were all letting go and falling - still pretty in the air and on the ground, but clearly marking the transition to a winter that is just around the corner. And I realized that as this was happening in nature, there was a striking parallel in my life. My hair, too, has been "letting go and falling" - almost overnight. Those of you who know me well know that losing my hair was not a major concern of mine -it is not a process that hurts, it eventually comes back, and it is a visible reminder that the drugs are working, and healing, and cleansing my body of any stray cancer cells. But there is something to be said for the visual and its impact.

I have a lot of hair even when it's cut short and within a few short days I've lost enough hair in the shower and in my brush to create two wigs. That leaves me with some but not much hair for my head. The hats are ready, no wigs for me, and hopefully when I can be around people again this cycle we can have a small ritual healing celebration to mark this event. As much as I am ok with the prospect of baldness, the reality of it brings up a concern about the change in perceptions - others' and my own.

Right now, I have no illusions that I am fighting and healing from cancer. I feel it every day in my body and soul. But I am still me - I laugh a lot, I recognize myself in the mirror, and I have interests and (can occasionally have), conversations about things that have nothing to do with bodily functions or medically related topics. But as I look in the mirror and begin to see my scalp I know that in a couple weeks I will look very different. I will see a cancer patient. Because I've had a chance to get used to living with this disease I am hoping that whatever feelings might come up for me will just be part of the rich experience of this journey. My concern (if I even have one - you are just reading early morning musings of someone the day after chemo) is that while I have been very much aware of the cancer and the treatment, etc., unless I'm having a bad day or moving slower, most people would have no clue that anything was going on with me. As a matter of fact, last Sunday in church folks were commenting that they "couldn't believe how good I looked." Then my hair started falling out. My experience with others has been that friends, family, acquaintences, feel better when "the patient" looks well and is upbeat. I'm pretty comfortable feeling how I'm feeling and letting people know what is going on with me. I don't feel I need to keep up any pretenses. But when people look at me and can't help but see a cancer patient, I get a little concerned that that is how I will be treated, that some won't be able to get beyond that and it may be too uncomfortable for them.

I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, with the image of falling leaves/hair and the reminder that winter is just around the corner I am nesting. I am looking forward to the holidays this year. While they will look very different from holidays past they will be full of love and gratitude and such joy. Having children around is such a blessing. As it stands now both Thanksgiving and Christmas fall at a time when my numbers should be fine...

I remember the day my mother had her second mastectomy. It was the beginning of December (1979) and I was sitting in the surgical waiting room with my father and Christmas music was playing. I love Christmas music, but I kept thinking that if something went wrong, or if this didn't go well then I would always associate it with Christmas music. Luckily things went well and my mother and I still enjoy listening to Christmas music together. So yesterday when I went to my second chemo and heard the Christmas music playing I felt some strength from those in my family and others I've known who have gone through this before me. It was very comforting. I am also comforted by the season of gratitude marked by Thanksgiving and the anticipation of Advent and the love and joy and promise of Christmas. And instead of the bleakness of "post holiday winter" I am looking forward to a time of hibernation and healing. I will have the opportunity (unencumbered by the obligations of work, etc.) to spend cozy time indoors - maybe with a fire, maybe watching old movies or something that will make me laugh, reading when I can, napping, staying in touch through facebook, e-mail, the blog, and occasionally phone calls or a visit here and there. And in the spring when the chemo is over (God willing) and we begin to move on to radiation, and the trees are budding and the earth is in renewal with the promise of rebirth and resurrection...my hair will slowly but steadily return...