breast cancer – Page 3 – Lemon Drop Pie

I really don’t know why I keep this thing; this mop of hair that insurance paid for and that I hated from the moment I put it on my head. I wanted a fun blond wig, but the hairdresser thought I should match my natural, mousy color. I thought it would be fun to have a shoulder length bob, but my mom thought I should match my current short hairstyle. So I ended up with a wig that wasn’t really my choice. When I started running my fingers through my hair and it drifted through my fingers, falling to the ground, I began to wear hats. My favorite was a baseball cap I bought at Princeton when I visited my sister there.

Princeton hat — After my first chemo treatment, summer of ’96

[Tweet “I hated that mousy brown wig the moment I put it on my head. #breastcancer #youngsurvivor”]

While I was teaching, I wore dressier hats. But I never wore my wig, and I never took my hat off while I was teaching second grade. My students knew why I was wearing hats, and as 7 and 8 year olds, they accepted it easily and without many questions. To them, my hat was a part of me. I, however, dreamed of a time when hair would once again brush my cheeks as I leaned forward; to a time when I could run my fingers through my hair again.

breast cancer hat — A picture drawn by a student

The chemo nurses told me about wig burning parties some of their patients had had when their hair started to grow again. I really didn’t feel like burning a wig I never wore. It would have been a useless gesture. (I was also never going to burn my beloved Princeton cap!) And so the wig was thrown up on a closet shelf, moved around a few times, and came with me to a couple of apartments before my husband and I bought a house. In the back of my mind, I kept the wig in case I needed it again. But if I hadn’t worn it the first time, would I really wear it a second time? My wig finally ended up in my top dresser drawer among spare shoelaces and fuzzy sock-slippers, buried away and forgotten.

straw hat — On a field trip with my students

Forgotten, that is, until Emmy rediscovered my wig. As any eight year old would do, Emmy tried it on for size and then kept it on. She began walking around the house saying in a deep voice, “I’m Mommy!” She even wore it outside when she was playing with the neighbors.

My expensive wig, reduced to a plaything. Am I okay with that? Yes, I am. After 19 years, I’m pretty sure I won’t need it again. If I ever do lose my hair to chemo, I’m getting a wig that I choose. Maybe it’ll even be pink.

Maybe it'll even be pink. — Maybe it’ll even be pink.

I started this post last week for the prompt “discovery,” but I didn’t finish it in time. Since October is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I’m using this as my fall post. Link up your Fall post below, and be sure to visit our other Spinners!

Spin Cycle at Second Blooming — Visit my blog to get the code in my sidebar. Add it to your blog post!

My daughter’s friend told her mom that she wanted to work at a cupcake shop when she was older. Her mom told her, “Think bigger!” So she said, “I want to manage a cupcake shop!” Her mom replied, “Think even bigger!”

“I want to OWN a cupcake shop!” she finally said. That was more like it!

When I was a kid in the 70’s, there was a perfume commercial that was on T.V. all the time. A woman, dressed in a business suit, sang out “I can bring home the bacon, I can fry it up in a pan….” She could do everything, and do it well! She was a complete woman!

I was brought up believing that I could do anything and be anything I wanted to be. I felt empowered…most of the time. As they say, the school of life brings hard knocks. In 8th grade, I was ignored and belittled because I was the new kid. I struggled mightily with trigonometry in high school and received little help from the teacher. I was happy to get a C in that class when I was usually an A student. I was the smartest student in my Senior Physics class. One thing was holding me back; I was a girl. This story is a stereotype come to life, but it really happened; the football player who was struggling asked the nerdy boy who wore thick glasses for help, not me. I was getting better grades in Physics than all of them, and no one asked me for help. (Which was probably a good thing, now that I look back on it. I wouldn’t have cheated for anyone, either!)

Hello Dolly — My sister and I in our high school production of Hello, Dolly!

When I was 14, another event happened that showed me true empowerment; my mom had a mastectomy. Seems strange, doesn’t it, that a surgery some say is a mutilation of a woman’s body would be empowering? After her body healed, Mom showed me that losing a breast didn’t make her any less of a woman. She had four kids to take care of; she had a part time job, and she sang all the time. Little did I know that 13 years later, I would make the same decision when I had the same cancer.

Mom had seen a photo of a woman with a mastectomy showing off her tattooed scar; we planned for a long time to get our own mastectomy scars tattooed. Various reasons kept us from doing it, but the sentiment remains; a scar does not make me any less of a woman. (See that photo here; warning: it is beautiful but nude.)

Mom raised me to be a strong woman, but I am also a scaredy cat. I hate making phone calls. I get panicky at the thought of having to pick up the phone and call to make an appointment of any kind, even a haircut. I don’t like to walk into new places. I don’t want to ask for help finding something at the store. Sometimes, even I realize I’m just being silly and I seek out a salesperson to help me. I’ve even asked for help at Home Depot, all those aisles and aisles of various parts and pipes making it one of the most intimidating stores on Earth.

Loreeta and Christa — Mom and me; I was pregnant with Emmy

But I find that it’s not asking for help or having a job or being a mom that empowers me. It’s getting involved in something I feel strongly about…and sometimes maybe not as strongly. Being involved is as easy as saying, “I’ll do it!” when no one else will. It’s taking flowers to a congregation member who is confined to her home. Or reading to my child’s classroom. Or teaching 5th grade Sunday school, a task I dread every week and yet get so much out of. It’s getting out there and using my talents that empowers me.

I have been very pleased that while my children are both shy, they are also brave. Lily had chorus auditions for a solo part this past week, and she had the option of skipping chorus if she didn’t want to audition. I asked her about it, and she said, “Why wouldn’t I audition? I want a solo!”

Lily wants to do everything and be involved in as much as she can. I have to hold her back sometimes so that she doesn’t get too involved. As part of her K-Kids group, she is going to paint faces at the school’s fun fair tonight. Like mother, like daughter. Like grandmother, mother, and daughter.

What empowers you to be all you can be? Who has inspired you?

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