Being Me . . . moving forward
It is really amazing to me how much of the cancer experience has been about my hair. But, it really was. 11 out of my 41 CaringBridge entries were either all about hair or had a significant hair mention.
More amazing to me, is how much "the hair" still seems to play a role in my life. It takes some serious hair products to tame this hair as it is growing out. And, even with all of the products and care, some mornings I wake up and feel like I'm looking less like Annie Lennox (I wish) and so much more like Jay Leno, maybe Lyle Lovett, maybe Don King. Sigh.
Ah, the hair . . . may she grow back quickly and slightly, just ever so slightly less gray.
From the pages of the CaringBridge archives:
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Good hair day, bad hair day, no hair day, good wig day . . . It’s always about the hair.
Surgery, chemotherapy, nausea, brain fog, radiation set up, tattoos, radiation (two sessions down, 26 to go) are all nothing compared to the “hair.” Especially when you have cancer and a ten-year-old daughter, or you are a ten-year-old girl who has a mother who has cancer. It really is all about the hair.
Surgery, chemotherapy, nausea, brain fog, radiation set up, tattoos, radiation (two sessions down, 26 to go) are all nothing compared to the “hair.” Especially when you have cancer and a ten-year-old daughter, or you are a ten-year-old girl who has a mother who has cancer. It really is all about the hair.
My hair is slowly starting to grow back in, and if I didn’t have a ten year old with long, beautiful brown hair, I would very soon be whipping this wig off as quickly as Julie Andrews did in Victor/Victoria (1982) when she played a woman playing a man playing a woman.
The reality is that my hair is not entirely ready for the big public reveal. It still looks a little Schindler’s List (1993). E is horrified that I’m even considering going out of the house without one of the wigs. I explain that it’s almost time for me to lose the wig. It feels silly to put on a long, straight hair wig when I have an early stage pixie cut like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby (1968) growing in. I explain that going wigless makes me a little (a lot) nervous too. I explain that I’m not totally comfortable with the new hair look yet. But, I explain that I’m more uncomfortable with the wig on. The wig is beginning to feel a little bit like a disguise at this point. It really feels like the right thing to do--soon. So far, E’s not buying it. She gets very quiet and a bit weepy whenever I bring up the “no wig” talk.
School starts in our town on September 8th. I’d love for my whole family to be comfortable with my new hair by then. New beginnings . . . and all that.
If not then, I finish radiation (and all cancer treatment) on October 1st (10-01-10). I love that number, by the way. So many ones balanced and standing alone, but with others. There’s something very powerful in those collective ones--the sum of the whole being greater than its parts. It seems so strong and symbolic of a year that I have experienced on my own but shared with so many. So that might be a good day too.
For now, I’m not entirely sure when I’ll stop wearing the wig—or rather when I’ll start wearing my new hair. But, I know that it will be a big day for E and for me. I know that she’ll be nervous, and I’m sure that she’ll be a little angry. But, I hope that she’ll also (someday) be a little proud.
moving forward,
with love and gratitude (and movie references),
Barbara
Thursday, August 26, 2010 9:52 PM, EDT
thirtysomething
thirtysomething
This entry has little to do with my cancer or my cancer treatment (although, for the record, three radiation treatments down, 25 to go). It’s actually a bit self-indulgent. If you watched thirtysomething (1987-1991, Tuesday nights on ABC), you might appreciate it. If not, you might want to pass. Sorry.
I loved thirtysomething. It ran the four years I was in college, and I loved it. I loved watching the lives of Hope, Michael, Elliot, Nancy, Gary, Ellyn and Melissa every Tuesday. I loved that they were ten years older than I was. I loved that they over examined the minutiae of their lives. I couldn’t wait to be thirty. Marrying, working, not working, mothering, being friends, repairing friendships. I loved the relationships—marriages, friendships, and the group dynamics.
I (over) related to Hope, the non Jew, married to the dark haired, handsome, Jewish, Penn grad, Michael.
I especially loved the episode when Hope and Michael work out their interfaith Christmas/Hanukkah dilemma. They argue and disagree the whole episode. But, in the end Hope lights a menorah with Janie, their daughter, as Michael watches through their front window as he holds a Christmas tree he just carried home in the snow. I loved that interfaith couple and their daughter. Art imitating life imitating art?
I loved how Hope’s struggle between working and staying home with their daughter played out. I loved their leaky roof and all of their "real life" issues. I loved watching Hope and Michael and their friends together—the community of friends who were their family. I loved the show so much that I bought the soundtrack CD--twice (just in case one broke).
By now you know that music is always playing in my head, playing so loudly that it sometimes overflows to humming. I used to hum songs from the soundtrack all of the time. On happy days, the show's opening instrumental that ends with “and dance by the light of the moon” or Ellyn’s wedding song, Ray Charles’ “Come Rain or Come Shine.” Or, on sad, rainy days, the music from Nancy’s cancer episodes. I’m not kidding. Cancer soundtracks in my head and humming on my lips.
Plot /life twist—I was supposed to be Hope—not Nancy.
Nancy was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in season three.
I remember an episode after Nancy was diagnosed, and she and Hope went to an airport parking lot, and they laid on the hood of one of their cars. Nancy and Hope yelled and cried and screamed together about how angry and sad and scared they were, and no one hears their screams. The airplane engines drowned them out. I don’t remember how Nancy talked to her children about her cancer, and I don’t remember a lot about her treatment. I remember the screaming; I remember the fear; I remember her headscarves (it really is all about the hair); and I remember Nancy's cancer went into remission in season four.
Like Hope, I married a dark haired, handsome, Jewish, Penn grad. We had a daughter. Like Hope, I became a stay at home mom. And then a few seasons /years later, we had a son. Like Hope, I over examine the minutiae of my life. Like Hope, I have great friends and friendships. Plot/life twist—I got the cancer. Stranger plot/life twist, the sad music that played during Nancy’s big character arc (and used to play in my head on sad days) didn’t play in my head this year. Not even once.
Funny how that happened.
Funny how that happened.
Looking forward (to my season four, I mean to fall),
With love and gratitude,
Barbara
Saturday, September 4, 2010 9:45 AM, EDT
Today is a big day for our family. Actually, a big day for E and me. Today I am wearing my own hair for the first time in a very long time.
I had a deal with E that I would wait until after Rosh Hoshanah to lose the wig. But, I can't wait. I'm done. Today is the day. And, E is angry.
I asked her what makes her so upset. She told me that she is worried that her friends will say that my hair looks weird. While I'm sure that this is part of what she's worried about, I also know that this hair thing is is related to many of her fears and anxieties about me and my cancer. I don't think she thinks I look unhealthy, but I do look different. And, when you're 10 (or 41) hair is a big deal.
You have all been so kind and supportive throughout this whole year--and so have your children. I have an additional request. If you think it is appropriate to discuss with you children, please mention to them that my hair is going to look different for a while. And, E is very sensitive about the new look. Maybe you can encourage them to be thoughtful about what they say or don't say to her. Maybe nothing at all would be best. I'm not sure.
Wow. As I'm rereading this entry, it sounds super controlling. In a year that I haven't had a lot control, I really am trying to control this. I'm trying to protect Elizabeth. My girl, my girl with the long brown hair.
It really is all about the hair--for now.
Wish me luck.
moving forward,
with love and gratitude,
Barbara
For the record, J and A think my hair looks great.
And, if you're keeping track, nine radiation treatments down, 19 to go. . .
I had a deal with E that I would wait until after Rosh Hoshanah to lose the wig. But, I can't wait. I'm done. Today is the day. And, E is angry.
I asked her what makes her so upset. She told me that she is worried that her friends will say that my hair looks weird. While I'm sure that this is part of what she's worried about, I also know that this hair thing is is related to many of her fears and anxieties about me and my cancer. I don't think she thinks I look unhealthy, but I do look different. And, when you're 10 (or 41) hair is a big deal.
You have all been so kind and supportive throughout this whole year--and so have your children. I have an additional request. If you think it is appropriate to discuss with you children, please mention to them that my hair is going to look different for a while. And, E is very sensitive about the new look. Maybe you can encourage them to be thoughtful about what they say or don't say to her. Maybe nothing at all would be best. I'm not sure.
Wow. As I'm rereading this entry, it sounds super controlling. In a year that I haven't had a lot control, I really am trying to control this. I'm trying to protect Elizabeth. My girl, my girl with the long brown hair.
It really is all about the hair--for now.
Wish me luck.
moving forward,
with love and gratitude,
Barbara
For the record, J and A think my hair looks great.
And, if you're keeping track, nine radiation treatments down, 19 to go. . .
 |
| soon after the cranial reveal |
Saturday, September 18, 2010 3:39 PM, EDT
Membership has its Privileges
Radiate. Radiation. Radiant.
Radiation is the last third of my cancer treatment triathlon. I chose to have my radiation treatment at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center satellite at Phelps Memorial Hospital in Sleepy Hollow. The treatments are everyday, Monday through Friday (not including Labor Day). As much as I love the Sloan Spa, the trip in to the city everyday for 28 days would have been more exhausting than the actual treatments. The treatments are quick. I'm in and out in 30 minutes on most days. And, it turns out, the Sloan satellite is a pretty great place. It's no Sloan Spa, but I really like my oncology radiologist, Dr. Borys Mychalchak, and his nurse, Debbie ( she happens to be a knitter). And, I've grown to like the receptionists too.
There are parking spots reserved for the Sloan Kettering patients—see new photos.
Membership (even in this club) has its privileges.
Phelps is on the Hudson River. The view is amazing. Everyday as I drive up to the hospital, I am in awe of the beauty of that river. A “Sloan with a View.”
I remember the first time Jay and I went to the Sloan Kettering Breast Center in January to meet my breast surgeon. I knew that I had cancer. I knew it had spread to my lymph node. I knew that I would have surgery and chemotherapy.
We got out of the cab, and I saw the building with the words--Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Breast Center. I was a person with cancer, and I was going to be a patient at Memorial Sloan Kettering. It still takes me back. Cancer, really? Sloan Kettering--that's where sick people go, that's where people with cancer go. Cancer. I was a person with cancer getting out of a cab, walking into the Memorial Sloan Kettering Breast Center, meeting a breast surgeon. Like many of the milestones of this process, my memory of that day is super clear. The building, the doorman, the elevator ride, the waiting room, my breast surgeon. It was eight months ago, and it feels like yesterday. A lot of things in this whole journey have become “normal.” The calendar full of appointments, the doctors, the nurses, the side effects. But, every time I see the words Memorial Sloan Kettering, I'm taken back a little.
I am (still) a patient at MSKCC. And will be for a long time.
I have 10 radiation treatments to go. Then I will continue to have follow up appointments--every six months with my surgeon and my oncologist. After a few years I graduate to the survivorship program.
Survivorship.
Survivorship.
I am soon to begin my transition from patient to survivor.
And, I’m ready. Very ready.
Moving forward,
with gratitude and love,
Barbara
Somewhere in the middle of all of the radiating and school starting, A had a birthday. My boy who still kisses my head goodnight turned seven. Happy birthday, baby.
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| Cheeseburger (cake) in Paradise |
Saturday, September 18, 2010 3:51 PM, EDT
Ding Dong! The Wig is Dead
I stopped wearing my wigs two weeks ago.* They still sit exactly where they were when I wasn’t wearing them. One sits on a wig stand on my dresser. The other two both hang on a short coat rack in my bedroom. This week I realized I could put them away.
It made perfect sense; they’ve done their jobs. It’s time to put them away. I picked up “Twiggy”—the wavy, more ceremonial wig from her stand, and I began to cry, really cry. Crying in that completely flooded and overwhelmed way. Overwhelmed by how much energy went into choosing that wig—finding the right wig place (should we go to Borough Park—the self proclaimed “wig capital of the world” or the wig place on the upper west side “where all the girls go?”). Flooded by the anxiety of preparing my children (and me) for the wig and the nervousness of wearing the wig in public for the first time. (Is it on straight? Does it look “wiggy?" How’s my hairline?). Wig talk.
Back in December, I had no idea what this journey would be like. I had all the facts. I knew I had cancer. I would have surgery. I would have chemotherapy. And, I would lose my hair. Looking at and holding the wigs made me so incredibly sad for the woman I was nine months ago who was so innocent, unknowing and afraid of what was ahead of me. The big cancer treatment abyss. I tried to take one day at a time. But, I knew there would be so many days.
I had the surgeries. The chemotherapy is over. The radiation is soon to be over, and I have hair my own hair. I don’t need to wear the wigs. I still think “Cancer, really?”**
It has been a long year. And, I am tired. I am. I just am. I am tired of cancer and cancer treatments. And, I am tired of the treatments that have made me so tired. I am ready to not be tired. So very ready. A friend and breast cancer survivor recently told me that I probably don’t even realize how tired I am. A month from now when this is all over, she said, I’ll look back at September and think, “wow, I was really tired then.” Guess what? I am tired, and I really know it. I am ready not to be tired.
* Much to E’s credit, she quickly got over the big cranial reveal. She has since been embarrassed and angry about other things that I have or haven’t done. Ah, the mother and ten year old daughter dynamic. How lucky I am that we made it through this year and that she will have many years to be embarrassed and angry about things I say or do or things I don’t say or do.
I am looking forward to every minute of it.
** I still haven’t put the wigs away.
For those keeping track of Project Radiation, I have completed 18 treatments. Ten to go. And, by October 1st, I will be positively radiant.
Moving forward,
With love and gratitude,
Barbara
Monday, September 27, 2010 9:07 PM, EDT
Family
I have a cousin who is generous and also a computer genius. A great combination if you happen to be his cousin and are lacking in computer skills. I am both.
We haven't seen each other in a long time. Last time we were together, I was just getting used to wearing my wavy, more formal wig. I was feeling uncomfortable and very self-conscious, and he managed to take a candid picture of me. It turns out, one of the best pictures I have of me in the wig. And, he emailed it to me. I don't have many pictures of me in any of the wigs. It was so interesting to see myself as others (or at least his camera lens) saw me. And, it was good to see that the wig was on straight and that it didn't look "wiggy."
Anyway, my cousin came to our house yesterday to install a new computer for us. Good bye PC; hello Mac. Soon after he walked in, we were chatting, and I held up a picture of Annie Lennox (I have pictures of short haired celebrity women all over the house--Annie Lennox, Gennifer Goodwin, Maura Tierney*) and asked "what do you think about my new hair? Very Annie Lennox, huh?" And, he said without missing a beat "you know, I was going to say that, but I was thinking more Annie Lennox, The Bare Album."
My cousin, the photographer, the computer genius, made my week. (And, for those of you keeping track, this is a big week. T minus four days until the end of my radiation treatment).
He made my week, not because I long to look like Annie Lennox--although I am a fan--and so is he. He made my week, because I am really missing my old hair. I'm doing my best to work with what I've got. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that it grew back so quickly. And, I'm thankful that my friends have been so kind and tell me often how great the super short, gray, straight hair looks. One friend even went so far as to buy me new earrings to celebrate the new "do." (Note to self, earrings are a great gift idea for anyone in my situation). But, really, I miss my old hair.
So yesterday, my cousin really made my night (and my week) by telling me that I looked like Annie Lennox (The Bare Album).
And, he also did me the most amazing favor of setting up our new computer with ease. I'm telling you, he's a genius.
moving forward,
with much love and gratitude,
Barbara
*Maura Tierney, recently treated for breast cancer, is now starring in "The Whole Truth" on Wednesdays--ABC at 10 pm.
I have a cousin who is generous and also a computer genius. A great combination if you happen to be his cousin and are lacking in computer skills. I am both.
We haven't seen each other in a long time. Last time we were together, I was just getting used to wearing my wavy, more formal wig. I was feeling uncomfortable and very self-conscious, and he managed to take a candid picture of me. It turns out, one of the best pictures I have of me in the wig. And, he emailed it to me. I don't have many pictures of me in any of the wigs. It was so interesting to see myself as others (or at least his camera lens) saw me. And, it was good to see that the wig was on straight and that it didn't look "wiggy."
Anyway, my cousin came to our house yesterday to install a new computer for us. Good bye PC; hello Mac. Soon after he walked in, we were chatting, and I held up a picture of Annie Lennox (I have pictures of short haired celebrity women all over the house--Annie Lennox, Gennifer Goodwin, Maura Tierney*) and asked "what do you think about my new hair? Very Annie Lennox, huh?" And, he said without missing a beat "you know, I was going to say that, but I was thinking more Annie Lennox, The Bare Album."
My cousin, the photographer, the computer genius, made my week. (And, for those of you keeping track, this is a big week. T minus four days until the end of my radiation treatment).
He made my week, not because I long to look like Annie Lennox--although I am a fan--and so is he. He made my week, because I am really missing my old hair. I'm doing my best to work with what I've got. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that it grew back so quickly. And, I'm thankful that my friends have been so kind and tell me often how great the super short, gray, straight hair looks. One friend even went so far as to buy me new earrings to celebrate the new "do." (Note to self, earrings are a great gift idea for anyone in my situation). But, really, I miss my old hair.
So yesterday, my cousin really made my night (and my week) by telling me that I looked like Annie Lennox (The Bare Album).
And, he also did me the most amazing favor of setting up our new computer with ease. I'm telling you, he's a genius.
moving forward,
with much love and gratitude,
Barbara
*Maura Tierney, recently treated for breast cancer, is now starring in "The Whole Truth" on Wednesdays--ABC at 10 pm.
Sunday, October 3, 2010 11:18 PM, EDT
10-01-10
I finished my 28th radiation treatment on Friday.
The marathon of cancer treatments is over!
Let the "well" visits begin.
moving on,
with love and gratitude,
Barbara
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month--make your appointments and get your mammograms (and sonograms) ladies.
I finished my 28th radiation treatment on Friday.
The marathon of cancer treatments is over!
Let the "well" visits begin.
moving on,
with love and gratitude,
Barbara
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month--make your appointments and get your mammograms (and sonograms) ladies.
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