Breast Cancer Chronicles: A New Do

 Do not let your adornment be merely outward
—arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel— 
rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God. 
1 Peter 3:3-4

 

I've always believed this, or said I did anyway.  Now its time to see if I really do.   Time to see, and show my kids, what I really believe about beauty.

 

A few days ago, I discovered that my hairbrush was filled with hair, a little gift from chemo. Knowing it was coming, and its actual arrival, are very different things. But then, just moments later,  the doorbell rang and there was the unmistakable label that turned around the day. Shari's oh so delicious Berries from one of my orphan care/adoption heroes. God is ever and always in the details.

 

For the next couple days, more hair filled my hairbrush, until finally, big chunks started to fall.  So, I had a choice to make.  Watch it fall out in clumps or muster up some courage to take it all off at once.  Gradual with hair everywhere or ceremonial and quick?  Felt like a lose lose, but I chose to call shaving it all off a brave step.



 

On the day we planned to shave it, a second package arrived from another dear friend and her beautiful tribe of kids. Another sweet, right on time reminder that I am "Known by Heart". 

 



 

I had decided to hold off shaving until after Evelyn's Mother's Day lunch, so I could celebrate one last event with a full head of locks.  So, on a day that I felt like crying all day, I showed up at preschool and was showered in love. 



 



 

When the time finally came,  I had resisted the powerful desire to chicken out, but my courage level was at a zero, so my squad of life group friends showed up for hand holding purposes.  Giggle therapy was also needed, so the kids grabbed some hats from my new stash and were on the ready with crazy faces.  

My forever boyfriend had head phones ready with  "Steady Heart" playing to keep me, well, steady.
Then he cut and shaved, and my hair fell to the ground around me.  We all cried, one of us a bit harder than the others, for this new level of vulnerability, and for the whole journey from diagnosis to lost hair. 

The moment felt sacred and sweet. Our littles asked a thousand questions, prayed over me, held my hand, drew pictures, and offered tissues one by one. 

When I finally looked up into the eyes of my people, my head covered in short spiky hair that will eventually fall out as well, I felt the deep loss, but I also felt crazy brave.  Relieved to have it behind me. 

 



Then, we chose joy, and my girls quickly whisked me away from the hair covered floor to another house for some Pad Thai, vino, and late night giggles.  The night was just as I want to live this wild life: surrounded by family and friends, plenty of ceremony, unafraid to feel my feels, bathed in hope giving faith , a heaping dose of bravery, and joy by choice.  

(Photo grace for us, please. We'd done some late night crying.)

The next morning, I woke up for carpool rather dazed and sad to find a cancer patient in the mirror.  But just when some darkness started creeping in, my little buddy walked into the bathroom with his hat on too, his gentle solidarity.  Our little band of sweet, silly, high need, always moving little people leave me no margin for writing out pity party invites. 

 

 

 I'd love to tell you that I'm all brave and good with being hairless, but I am not there yet. A big part of me wants to hide out at home until it grows back.  I'll try not to let myself, and I trust my people will kick me in the pants if I try.   

 

Next time you see me, I'll have on a brave hat. I'm sharing as my own little preemptive attack before you see me for the first time.   Life's an adventure, isn't it?

 

Through it all, I'm reminded again that in this life, sadness and sweetness, loss and gain, tend to walk in step.

Courage, dear heart.
~CS Lewis