Two weeks ago, prior to surgery, I got a pixie cut. I told my stylist that I didn’t want to contend with mirror time in the short term – or lots of hair in the drains later on. Snip, snip, boom: I’m cancer-friendly, and as a bonus Steve says I look younger.
The surgery itself has left me with five incisions arcing across my belly like a line of dashes. That’s a good thing – the doctor was able to do her thing using laparoscopy (with a robot assistant if I read the permissions forms correctly). But they have to heal, which means loose clothes and no waistbands for the better part of a month.
Following that, I’m told the radiation will irritate or even burn that same area. It’s already proving difficult to dress warmly enough right now, in mid-November, when it’s fortyish outside. I’m trying to imagine how I’ll cope in January when we could be ankle-deep in snow.
Now I’ve got cold air on my ears and the back of my neck. Now I’ve got chilled shins and knees because I’m wearing sleep shirts 24/7 and little else. Yesterday I went online to buy maxis, sweater dresses, and even leg warmers. It occurred to me this morning that I’d better also invest in boho jewelry and a couple pashminas. With the right accessories, I might sway this new look towards Stevie Nicks. Without them, I’m worried I’ll look homeless or chronically depressed.
I’ve had two conflicting visions of myself, of what I will look like going forward. In one scenario, I’m fortunate. The scars aren’t so bad. Neither is the nausea. I go bald but I do it with aplomb – with elaborate henna tattoos all over my scalp and Amanda Palmer eyebrows dancing across my forehead. In the other scenario, I start dwindling away. Food and vitality become distant memories. I could care less about my clothes, my persona, my outer shell – because it’s too exhausting to leave the bed.
I feel as if I am losing my former self one day at a time, one appointment at a time, one step at a time. I will never feel confident in my health again, not ever, even if I do beat this cancer. I just hope I’ll recognize myself when I’m through.
medicinal sausage 