Stripped

This last week has been rough.

We didn’t expect cancer. We didn’t expect BRCA2. And we definitely didn’t expect chemotherapy to be needed. But it is, and they tell me I will lose my hair, so I decided that I would do something I have never done in my life: cut my hair SHORT.

So, last Monday night, a few of my local friends accompanied me to the hair salon where we met more of my friends and family via Zoom. For the next hour, we talked, laughed, cried, and watched my hairdresser cut off all of my beautiful, long tresses. (Part of the crying came from my daughter surprising me by cutting hers off, too.)

Everyone raved about how great I look with short hair. And everyone who has seen me in person or in pictures has done the same. (Y’all are amazing and helping me make the best of a terrible situation.)

But, ever since the haircut, I have been dealing with something new.

Anger.

I’m mad. I’m mad at cancer. I’m mad at short hair. I’m mad that I’m basically entering my own pandemic-style lock-down for the next 12-ish weeks. I’m mad I can’t have fresh salads or fresh berries. I’m mad that I can’t lay in the sun at the beach.

But it’s more than just the inconvenience of it all.

I’m mad because I feel like I am being stripped of who I am. One breast is gone, the other one will be gone soon, and eventually I am facing a hysterectomy. My hair has been shorn off, and will soon be gone altogether. For the first time in 16 years, I don’t have acrylic nails. I don’t feel feminine. I don’t feel pretty. And I’m angry about it. I’m angry at cancer and the way it is stripping me of things that have been essential to my identity as a woman.

But, I guess, anger is a good thing, because that means I am doing what I should be doing and moving through the grief of it all. I’ve moved past the denial and the feelings that this can’t really be happening and right on into the reality of it all. And that reality really makes me mad.

So often, people will try to squash their feelings, push them down, and in essence, refuse to feel them. But that isn’t healthy. We don’t have to wallow in those feelings, but we do need to feel them. We need to acknowledge those emotions that well up, not so they can control us, but so we can feel them and move through them in a healthy way.

So, I’m gonna allow myself some time to be angry, say some bad words, and probably cry over the next few weeks. I’m not gonna stay there long, and I’m not gonna wallow, but when the anger bubbles up, I’m gonna feel it and then take a few deep breaths and move on. Then I will repeat as needed. Trusting that one day, I won’t be as angry.

(For specific details related to the health portion of my breast cancer journey you can check out https://www.giveinkind.com/inkinds/V5A7Q4H/care-for-chrisy.)