I was so excited last week to head back to Georgetown for my first haircut since the “big cut” last fall. Since I didn’t take along my photographer, the picture’s not so hot. I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay so much for cutting such a little bit of hair, but it was so worth it. Dragan did a great job and I really love how it turned out.
Category: Virginia Hospital Center
Warrior Spirit
The day I had my head shaved, it was cool, so I wore this leather jacket. When I donned my soon to be favorite scarf, I realized that I had a bit of a bad-girl biker chick look going on. And I liked it! As soon as I put the scarf on, Sally and I knew that we’d need pictures of that look!
Upon seeing the pictures from that day, one friend commented that I looked like a warrior, ready to head into battle. I liked that analogy, and somehow “warrior” got attached to this photo in my mind, too. More than one friend who’s gone through breast cancer has commented that she never wanted to go out without her wig, fearing that she would look weak, sick. That people would pity her. I’m sure some people pitied me, but they never treated me like that. I told these friends that I always felt like it showed strength to put on a scarf, some good lipstick, and a smile. And now with more hair and little air of “sickness” to me, I think I’ve never looked stronger than in these pictures. (Many thanks again to Sally for capturing such lasting images of strength.)
Photography by Sally Brewer Photography
Lipstick: Dubbonet by MAC
More medical forms
I had a regular, non-cancer doctor visit today. I couldn’t help but giggle when I saw the first line on this section. And I couldn’t resist drawing a smiley face. Yes, there have been some changes…
In a Bit of a fog…
This is a blurry look at my life line lately. My calendar is filled with appointments, school activities, after school events, and a few fun things too. I’m constantly referring to this just to be sure I haven’t forgotten something. Notice all the scratch outs? And then there are the things that are circled so that I won’t over look them. Lately, I’ve been having a hard time keeping my schedule straight. Some things I’ve written down wrong, some things are written down right but stuck in my head on the wrong day. Luckily I haven’t totally missed anything (that I know of!), but it’s been close.
After coming home from the hospital, Clay gave me our copy of Scientific American to check out—the whole issue was on cancer. The most interesting article was actually on a phenomenon called “chemo fog.” (They blogged about the same topic here.) Chemotherapy drugs actually don’t usually cross the blood-brain barrier well, but somehow cognitive deficits are well documented in chemotherapy patients, some for months and years after treatment. It’s a phenomenon that’s hard to study in people, you can’t really do a trial of cognitive abilities before and after chemo (who isn’t rattled just after finding out they have cancer?) and you can’t withhold chemo from some patients to see if they remember things better than those who got the drugs. The study they referenced in the article used mice and established memory and concentration problems with chemo treatment. Interestingly, they found that exercise helped exacerbate** the cognition problems, so I’d hate to see what I’d be like if I hadn’t run all through chemo!
All that is to say that I feel like my calendar is sometimes fuzzy in my mind just like it is on this screen. Of course, it could be harder to keep straight just because it’s so full! The end of the school year gets pretty crazy. But just in case I forget something that’s important to you, please forgive me! I’m blaming the chemo.
**oops, that’s not the right word! In fact, it’s completely opposite from the right word! I’ll leave it, it illustrates the point well. What I meant to say is that exercise helps combat the cognitive deficits from chemo.
To scarf or not to scarf?
So many decisions… Wig? Hat? Scarf? On my very first visit to the oncologist, I sat in the lab to have blood drawn with another young woman. She was so stylish—skinny jeans, tall boots, and a long scarf tied around her bald head. Somehow, at that moment, I knew that I’d spend most of my time in a scarf. Just about two weeks before, I’d headed to Zoe Boutique to hang out for Fashion’s Night Out in Alexandria. I love a good swag bag, and that night was no exception—the pebbled Velvet scarf on the far left was part of Zoe’s swag for the night. It turned out to be the perfect “neutral” and I wore it more than any other scarf, with just about everything. It’s a jersey (t-shirt) knit, and so comfy, and I liked having the long “tail” hanging behind me. Maybe I was missing my pony tail. Second from the left was my second favorite—a silk scarf that I picked up at Amalgamated Classics Clothing and Dry Goods—a fun little vintage shop in Del Ray, I wore it with a few of my favorite bulky brown sweaters—it was a square scarf and tied more like a kerchief without the long tail. The rest actually got more wear around my neck, when I was looking to hide the straps and bulkiness of the post-surgical compression gear. I looked for more scarves, but came up with few options, in the fall, most of the scarves were too bulky. Now that it’s spring, I feel like I see scarves I’d like to wear on my head all the time! (I have to fight the urge to hoard them!) I’ve also noticed that there is quite a good selection of scarves at consignment and thrift shops, which is great not only because they’re not as spendy, but it’s easier to pick up a pretty unique selection at a place like that. Wish I’d been looking there last fall!
Just Me
Before we headed out on our photo shoot a couple of weeks ago, I was looking around on pinterest for some things to put on my Run Lipstick Chemo pinboard. I stumbled across some photos of a woman photographed just after she finished chemo. She was wearing a plain grey t-shirt and looked so casual and contemplative in the pictures. They were lovely. So instead of showing up for pictures in one of the lovely silk blouses I’d chosen originally (which of course, we did photograph eventually), I showed up in a plain grey tank top and my favorite yoga pants. I’d have never thought of being photographed in something so plain, but it turns out, I really loved the way all these pictures turned out. It was so hard to only show a few.
The other thing that surprised me about these photos—I’m not at all self-conscious of how I look, despite the fact that I was not even all the way through the first stage of reconstruction. It’s a long process, but I have to say that my surgeon is not only very compassionate, but wants to make sure that I’m pleased with how I look every step of the way. He made it very clear from our first meeting that he didn’t want me to feel like this was how I had to look because I had breast cancer, or even that I looked “good enough” for having had cancer. He wanted me to be happy with how I looked. Period.
In those pictures I saw on pinterest, the woman still had her port in. Why didn’t I have any pictures of my port? I can’t believe it! I told Sally that I didn’t want her to photoshop out my port scar, even still, you really can hardly see it in most of the pictures. Thankfully, it’s pretty prominent in one of my favorite shots. I like that I don’t have on fancy clothes or statement jewelry. These pictures are just me, scars and all. And that’s not good enough. It’s just good.
Photography by Sally Brewer Photography
Lipstick: Dior Addict Lip Glow
Bracelet: Choose Joy by lilblueboo
Kids | From the Pen of a Third Grader
I mentioned that I’m a little squeamish about using the term “survivor” and have a bit of a knee-jerk reaction to seeing the pink ribbon plastered all over. Turns out my precious third grader has adopted the symbol as her own, and even she identifies with the term “breast cancer survivor.” From the day I told her, I’ve found pink ribbons drawn all over the place, and I’ve had to work hard to convince her she doesn’t need a leotard emblazoned with pink crystals in the shape of a ribbon. I think I only won that one because she can’t buy it on her own! But seeing these notes she left me on my sewing machine (where she leaves most of my notes) is making me think about the term survivor again. While I nearly wince to have to call myself a survivor, maybe it’s important for her that I do. Maybe I’ll reconsider…
Missing Cancer | Naps
While I was on chemo, and for quite a while after, I took a nap just about every single day. I’d skip a day here or there, but for the most part, I napped for two or three hours every afternoon. Sometimes that put a bit of a damper on my fun, I once turned down a lunch invitation to District Taco just to be sure I had time for my nap! I usually had company when I was at the hospital, but occasionally I’d sneak in a nap there, too. My best hospital nap was probably just after this picture was taken, I was in this super teensy room while I waited to get appropriately radioactive for my PET scan. The recliner I was in touched one wall when it was reclined, and my feet were touching the other wall. I can see some people finding it claustrophobic, but it was huge compared to the tube they stuck me in moments later!
I’m missing my naps now, though. There’s something so luxurious about using a nap as a perfectly acceptable excuse to do nothing. Now I’m back to weekends-only naps, and last weekend was too busy, so it’s been a LONG time since I’ve had a nap. Those were the good old days!
This post is part of a series of what I’ll miss from my time as a cancer patient. I know cancer is a serious thing, not everyone tolerates treatment well, and not everyone recovers. I don’t mean to offend by making light of a serious subject. These posts are just a glimpse of my efforts to make the best of my situation—to find the silver linings wherever I can.
Love me, love my friends
All during my cancer treatments, I was so fortunate. I didn’t have an unmet need. Friends would literally fight over the opportunity to bring us meals. Sally would post meal delivery dates, and usually within minutes, all the slots would be filled. Friends watched my kids so that I could go to appointments or even just take a nap. Cupcakes showed up at my door. So did hats, jewelry, magazines, books… We were so well taken care of at my house, I couldn’t have asked for more.
Sadly, I didn’t realize until a little late in the process that there was something more I should have asked for. I should have asked for help for those who were doing so much to help me. Clay is the obvious caregiver, but he was pretty well taken care of, too. (I sometimes wonder if he misses all the yummy meals and treats people would bring us, now that it’s back to me doing all the cooking!) But there were others who cared for me who weren’t as obvious. Luckily, Sally’s husband was able to arrange his schedule so she only had to get a sitter a couple of times to come along to chemo. But frequently she would spend the day with me, and as I returned to find dinner ready and waiting for me, she would drive the 45 minutes home and stop at the store to get what she needed to make dinner for her family. My mom, many hours away, didn’t spend her whole day caring for me only to have to cook dinner. Instead, she would spend my chemo days worrying—despite all my best efforts to convince her that it wasn’t so bad. Please don’t think I’m complaining. (In fact, I think Sally would probably kill me if she thought I was soliciting meals for her!) Lots of people thought of my friends and family! A neighborhood friend watched Sally’s little one while I was in the hospital so she could stop by to visit. Several friends showed up at the hospital to bring Clay lunch, snacks, and magazines to fill the day when I was in surgery. A friend’s cousin (who I’ve only met a couple of times!) offered her home for my family to use when they visited us over Christmas. A good friend of my mom met her for a special lunch while Sally and I celebrated at my last chemo treatment!
I’m definitely more in tune now to see the needs of a fellow cancer patient. I know the things that people did for me that really touched me, perhaps I’ll share some of those some day. But I think one thing that I really learned is that it’s the best friend, the mom, the sister who is the unsung hero. She needs support, too. The challenge I give myself is the same one I hope you’ll take on as your own. Of course, if I have a friend going through something like this, I’ll make her dinner, take her kids, go with her to as many appointments as often as she needs. But I’ll also offer to watch her best friend’s kids. And the next time I see a friend whose good friend is going through a tough time, I’ll do what I can to make it easy for her to be there for her friend. Sally would never have asked, but a meal or a sitter would have made her life easier. My mom didn’t need a sitter, but loved the distraction of a lunch date or shopping adventure on my chemo days. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Love me, love my friends.”
Running from Fear
Saturday a woman was attacked near one of my favorite running spots. Thankfully, she wasn’t seriously hurt. But the attacker took something from her. I can’t imagine how long she will struggle to go running by herself again. It turns out, the attacker took something from me, too. He stole my favorite run of the week. There’s something that I really love about my Sunday morning runs. I can get up as early as I want to go as far as I want before hopping in the shower to get ready for church. I don’t have to worry about being in the way while Clay gets ready, and I don’t have to worry about getting the kids to the bus stop. Everything is quiet on Sunday mornings. My house, the streets, the trail. I’ve seen deer, foxes, bunches of bunnies, and the occasional cyclist. There is one older gentleman who runs every Sunday morning, too, and no matter how far I’ve run, we always pass at just about the same spot, when I’m about to get off the trail, to head through the neighborhood back to my house. He was there every Sunday morning when that was my weekly 6 mile run as I prepared for a race a year and a half ago, and as my mileage dropped after that race, I’d still pass him in the same area. Last Sunday, I only managed to run two miles, but they were strong, and it was so reassuring to pass him again. I imagine he’s been there every Sunday morning the past few months, when chemo and surgery managed to convince me to forgo my favorite run. I wonder what he thought as we passed last week—did he ever even notice that we used to pass every week? Did he notice that it had been a while?
Did he notice that I wasn’t there this Sunday morning? That attacker took my favorite run from me this week. Instead of heading to the familiar peace of the trail yesterday morning, I decided to stick to the neighborhood roads. Man, my neighborhood is hilly! Even though it was daylight, I took my flashlight, which I affectionately call my face shredder, just to be extra safe. (A friend in law enforcement suggested I get one—his best bet for personal security.) Really, I should be so thankful that I have such a nice place to run—lovely homes, well cared for sidewalks, friendly neighbors. But still, my ability to make my own choice was taken from me, and that made me angry. When I was running during chemo, I used to imagine what I’d say if someone approached me while running, made me feel threatened. (I should say that I run in a very safe place, but still the mind wanders…) I used to imagine how empowering it would be to rip off my hat and tell someone that I was on chemo—stronger than cancer, stronger than them. And if that didn’t work, I’d threaten to spit on them—the chemo nurse made sure that we knew that our saliva was toxic for a day or two after treatment! Yesterday as I ran, I was thinking how mad I was to have made it this far, past cancer, past chemo, past surgery, only to have my run thwarted because my safety was threatened.
Last night, I finally managed to figure out from some small news items that the place the woman was attacked wasn’t actually on my trail. There is a whole series of trails around us, and the one she was on was more isolated and close to a road to allow an attacker to flee. I wasn’t going to stay away forever, but I guess that means I’ll head back out on the trails for my very next run. I’ve never been one to let fear rule the choices I make, but perhaps I’ll start taking my face shredder, even when it’s not dark. And while I’m sure it’s probably the wise decision, feeling it in my hand will only remind me of why I need it, and that just makes me a little bit sad. But if I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that I’m stronger than fear, and so I’ll keep on running.
Run Lipstick Chemo 