I woke up this morning, fetched the paper, refilled my water glass and then took my shower. As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Specifically a glimpse of some bald lady. I was shocked for a split second before I realized that I was looking at my own reflection. Then I remembered, oh yeah, you have a bald head because of your chemo because you have cancer. My bald head is a badge of my disease that I am forced to wear. It has robbed me of my identity and my privacy.
My bald head outs me as a cancer patient. People stare. And they know something intensely personal about me just by looking at me. I attended a charity event that benefited the American Cancer Society. There was a booth selling crazy hats. I thought that was a magnificent idea and wanted to try on some of the hats. I whipped the scarf off my bald head and there it was, the stare. The acknowledgment that I was one of them, one of those unfortunate people with cancer. Maybe I am only uncomfortable with this when I sense pity. Nothing steals strength faster than pity.
My bald head sometimes garners me a little extra kindness. The grocery clerks are more patient. The banker rushes to assist me. Strangers hold the door a moment longer. What is counter-intuitive is that children are not afraid to ask me about my head. I welcome those questions and the dialogues that can follow. These are the interactions that give me strength.
That moment in the mirror this morning startled me. It reminded me that I have cancer. That must be what happens to some people when they first catch sight of the bald head. She has cancer. I remember that initial shock. It is blinding and consuming. I have had time to deal with this fact, I guess I can wait until they catch up. I can accept that fact that they know me as "the lady with cancer". I can accept that fact that they know some of my personal issues without me telling them. I reject the pity. I look forward to accepting kindness, hopefully with grace.
When I think about the fact that cancer caught you, Kathy, I want to scream. But... I have so much admiration for your courage and your strength. Your frankness about your fight is so inspiring. Your hair will return. Until then you can rock all those fun hats and scarves when you want to protect your personal identity. I send an overflowing truckload of kindness your way but not an ounce of pity.
ReplyDeleteI came across your post a couple of months looking for some information on a presentation for work. I stopped and read a few of your posts and then came across the one when you were diagnosed. I now keep coming back to check on you and read your progress and am admired by your ability to speak so openly and honestly about your cancer and the emotions you are feeling. It is someone like you that brings me to work everyday. I work in cancer research, and although I work in a lab and not with patients, I think of all of you and hope one day we can make a difference. Keep your chin up and your spirits high, I look forward to your posts and following your progress. You truly are an inspiration!
ReplyDeleteLynn~Keep on working for that elusive discovery that throws the doors wide open for a cancer cure! I appreciate all your hard work. And thanks for reading. :)
ReplyDeletethis post did my head in a little, as I did an almost identical post whilst I was bald and in chemo - the fright of seeing myself in the mirror and not realising it was me for a split second was rather unpleasant. But, your hair will grow back - and you are still you.
ReplyDeleteAnd now, I notice every single woman who has a wig, scarf or no hair - and I want to run up and hug them. But I don't - maybe I should. If someone had done that to me I think I may have loved it.
Keep on keeping on! :)
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