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The Music Of Life:
Journal Entries from my Season with Cancer
Since my diagnosis, I have relinquished one piece at a time, symbols
of control, power and pride that I've relied upon all my life. My once
smooth, toned abdomen is now decorated with a thin, red, five-inch
scar. I used to be able to push through almost any layer of fatigue
with my well-honed physical stamina - now I must sit or lie down to
rest if my body demands it - there is no pushing through the fatigue of
chemo. And, I have enjoyed having masses of hair - long, thick, wavy -
enough for several people, for my whole life. That mass of hair is
entirely gone.
It happened like this: on the morning of day 14 after my first chemo
treatment, I stood over the bathroom sink, barely ran my fingers
through my hair (which I'd had cut short just prior to my first chemo)
and watched in amazement as several strands just floated down. I broke
into a cold sweat, and wanted to cry. It was a helpless, sobering
moment.
After losing hair steadily for the next four days, I went to my
hairdresser for a close- cropped cut that I hoped would get me through
my performance with the Symphony - and miracle of miracles, it did. I
was so thankful to not have to be distracted with wearing a wig for
that special night. My "Jamie Lee Curtis do" lasted for another week,
and prepared me for the next phase of no hair at all. On Sunday,
September 17th, I sat in the kitchen while my husband, John,
clipped and then carefully shaved my head in what I will remember as
one of the most tender moments of our married life.
I feel blessed that this experience hasn't been as traumatic as I
feared. I had dreaded losing my hair, and thought I'd be faithfully
donning a wig every morning to get myself through this season. It
helped immensely that I went from huge hair to no hair through several
steps. By the time it was gone, I was emotionally prepared to let it go.
Another blessing is that under all that hair, I have discovered a
kind of cute shaped head! Wrapping a kerchief around it, or putting on
a soft hat, is kind of fun and really easy. I found some terrific
velvet hats at Zelda in Green Hills, which have become my "chemo
fashion statement." I have felt unexpectedly comfortable in this
extreme exercise of surrendering control.
The greatest blessing of all has been moving through something I
feared, to discover a new freedom to let go of layers of my persona -
illusions of self-esteem - that in some ways have shielded me from the
inherent vulnerability of the human condition. Cancer has facilitated a
deeper honesty and authenticity in my life that I could never have
imagined.
It is an unexpected gift.
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