I was talking with a friend this morning, about haircuts, and the endless search for the perfect hairdresser, and the true stress that a bad haircut or color can cause.  She has beautiful long hair that she has been growing out as an act of solidarity for me, along with several other friends---"Locks for Julie," they call it.  They'll all be getting cuts soon in order to donate their hair for wigs.  (I have the BEST friends!!!!)  Of course, I shaved my head after the hospital gave me a pre-surgery shave on half my head, months ago.  Gone is my long blonde hair, and here is short, currently bright red/auburn hair.  Although I've grown to like it, when I look in the mirror, I still sometimes think, "who IS that?"  It's as though I'm waiting for my hair to come back to normal; it's as though if my hair came back to normal, then I could forget this scary thing called cancer ever happened to our family.  Hair is such a symbol of the lost identity that comes with a cancer diagnosis. 

Sometimes when I'm out alone, such as, at the mall, and my eyes meet someone else's, I wonder what they're thinking.  Is it, "Whoah, that's a bright hair color!  Why did she do that to her hair?"  or is it, "I could never wear my hair that short," or is it, "Gosh that would be really easy to take care of, being that short"?  What is their impression of me, with this very bright hair?  Is the first impression I now leave one of a daring, artsy kind of person, or just of one who doesn't care what people think?  I can tell you this, it's different from before, whatever it is.  With a blonde ponytail  and yoga pants, it was pretty clear that I was a stay-at-home mom; now, with my short hair, I'm more likely to have on makeup and big earrings, and I know that people can't immediately categorize me just on looks.  As my friend and I discussed, right after a drastic cut, you want to run up to people and scream, "THIS IS NOT REALLY ME!!!  THE REAL ME HAS LONG PRETTY HAIR!  I'M JUST LIKE YOU!!!"

But in truth, I can't be the bland mommy that I was before, because it is my job to stand for something now, and I suppose my hair goes along with it.  It's okay with me that in circles of friends, instead of "Julie with the pony tail," I'm now "Julie with the short red hair."  My daughter and I always talk about how God thinks that we are all beautiful, and I think he's okay with a crazy new hair color, too.  :) There are so many changes on the inside, psychologically, emotionally, and physically, I suppose it's okay with me now that they show on the outside.  It's just one component of figuring out the new cancer "normal"--accepting that although you're still you, you're a DIFFERENT you.  I can only hope that DIFFERENT also means BETTER.  :) 

I recognized her instantly, I knew the names of the people she was with.  I have known her for several years.  Yet when I went to introduce her to the friends I was with, I blanked.  100%, I blanked.  Amy?  No.  Beth?  No.  What IS her name?  I introduced the other people in the party by name to my friends, praying that she would volunteer her own name and I wouldn't look (and feel!) like an idiot.  This was not a mere acquaintance, this was a friend, and I completely could not remember her name.  I'll admit, it freaked me out. 




Then a couple of days later, I was writing an e-mail with instructions on who to contact for various needs of our moms' club.  I got to the last name of one of the ladies, and it happened again.  Blank.  Nothing.  Smith?  No.  Thomas?  No.  Again, this was not someone I had only met once.  I should know this.  I sat for a few minutes, trying to pull it out of my brain. 

But it wasn't there, and it didn't come back. 

I've been tired recently, more than any other time since I started chemo. But I also just came off a vacation to NYC (exhausting), a move (exhausting), and I'm a stay-at-home mom of three toddlers (super exhausting). I've had a couple of small headaches near the site of my surgery.  But I've also been sleeping on that side more often, as I've fallen asleep several times that way while coaxing my 3-year-old to sleep without a paci. 

I could explain it all away, but still. . . ..

Cancer makes you paranoid.  Was I this forgetful with my keys/phone/names BEFORE  brain surgery?  Did I have headaches now and then?  Is the cancer coming back?

Well, I had another date with the MRI machine this week, and no, it is not coming back.  I'm just paranoid.  As my neuro-oncologist said at my appointment, "So what? I'm tired today.  I could shut my eyes and probably fall asleep right now."  Which was both comforting and frustrating, because, of course, chemo tired is a little different than "regular" tired.  Wait, or is it?  What WAS my life like before cancer, chemo, and change? 

I don't really know anymore.  It's just part of my life.  It's part of every day, even if I manage to file it in the back of my mind, I'm reminded about it each night for a few moments when I take my pills.  But this week, I am reminded of the importance of doing just that: filing it away in the BACK of the cabinet.  It's kind of like a document, say, your marriage license for example, that you have to keep forever, but you don't need to look at it every day.  File it away, don't forget what it means, how it changed you, but let that file get dusty!! 

Wow,three months have gone by since I've written here---it's hard to believe!  The amount of love, support, and donations that have been shown and given to Cradled or Carried has been overwhelming.  I humbly say "thank you."

Three months has held Thanksgiving, Christmas, my wedding anniversary (and vow renewal!), New Year's, my birthday (36--woohoo!), and Valentine's Day.  So many wonderful moments to cherish and hold onto, even more than before.  Three months also has held two more MRI scans for me, both of which showed no progression.  Go chemo, go! :)

Unfortunately, these past several weeks there have been funerals to attend.  One, a young boy gone to heaven at the age of three; another, a young woman who passed on with cancer; two more, a high school friend's beloved family members, taken by a terrible tragedy.  It's strange to me, in a way, how your perspective on death changes once you've looked it right in the face.  (We're talking, I could count his/her pores, we were so close.) :)  I can't help thinking that, although, of course it is horribly sad, and sometimes tragic, when we lose a loved one, it is, over and over again, an opportunity for self-examination. 

Did the doctor tell you that you only had X number of months, years to live? So what. How do they know?

Did the doctor tell you that your cancer is stage 3? stage 4? So what.  What if they're wrong?

The truth is, you NEVER know, even when they doctors think they know, even when well-meaning friends and family members think they know, THEY DON'T KNOW.  And neither do you.  So what are you going to do with this life you've been given?  Breathe the fresh air, give a friendly smile, show love to those around you, or sit at home and let cancer defeat you?  I know, there are days you are so physically sick from your treatment, it's all you can do to get out of bed. I know how scary it can be, trust me.  I know that panic in your chest when you're diagnosed and your world seems to be that of a dream.  But if you could find the strength within you (I know you can!) to stand up, and make a difference in someone else's life today, it will make this one, and the next, and the next, more worth living, I promise. What do you want?

 I promise. Do it. 

When I had long hair, did I wake up every morning and as part of my morning prayer, thank God for my thick, wavy, healthy hair?  Um, no.  I should have, but I didn't.

In fact, quite the opposite---I completely abused my hair!  I've had it chin-length to almost-waist-length, and everything in between.  I've had highlights, lowlights, brown, blonde, and green (oops).  I've curled it, straightened it, crimped it, over-hair-sprayed it, complained about it, and in, recent years, yanked it back into a pony tail and some days I didn't even bother to wash it. 

This morning I woke up and for those first few moments felt like the "old" me.  I could have sworn that I had long hair stretched out across my pillow.  For five full seconds, until I reached my hand up to my head, my long, blonde hair was there.  And oh, how sad I was when I was reminded that no, I have very short, reddish brown hair now.  It's maybe an inch and a half long all over.  But then, again, as always, I was reminded of what a blessing it is that I even HAVE hair, That it grew back to cover my enormous scar, and how silly it is, that in the scheme of all I've been through, that I was momentarily sad about hair, of all things.  There are bigger problems, Jules, there are bigger problems!

Short hair is an excuse to wear bigger earrings, I think.  :)
xoxo
Julie

For more ideas on post-chemo/treatment hair, see my Pinterest board "It will grow back": click here

When I was first diagnosed, I started a quote board in my kitchen, and my lovely Moms club friends later gave me a jar full of little slips of paper with quotes on it too, and now and then I pull out a new one. Some are a little more serious, some are funny.  I'll be sure to share my favorites here on the blog.  I also keep a board on Pinterest of favorites---we are under the username CradledCarried.
For today a couple that make me smile:
"Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the floor in the morning
the devil says,
 "Oh crap.  She's up."
and
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Except for bears.
Bears will kill you."
:)

Here it is 10 PM (I know, that's probably really not that late to some of you!), and instead of going out, or watching TV, I've spent the last hour and a half going in, then back in, then in again, to my children's rooms. 

"I have to go potty!" one yelled.
"I need a drink!" one yelled.
"Waaaaa!" one yelled.  (She's only 5 months old.) :0)
"My hangnail REALLY hurts!" the first one yelled again. (Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up!)

Yes, it has been a little frustrating, and I did have to use my "Mommy" voice, but at the same time, it's different than it used to be.  I am so glad, even after a very frustrating day like today, to be their Mommy, and to be here with them.  It's WAY better than any club I went to back in the day.  :)

xoxo
Julie