Cancer - adjusting inside and out

As my cancer experience recedes into the past, it's easy to feel impatient and focus on what hasn't happened yet. A perfect example is adjusting to the reality that my hair is taking a painfully long time to come back. It was almost easier to cope with having no hair at all. I was going through chemotherapy, so of course, I lost my hair.

But now a year later, when I look in the mirror I'm often caught off guard by what stares back at me. I call it my duck-fuzz phase, the hair I do have is baby-soft and wispy at best. When I make the mistake of taking a mirror and looking at the back of my head, I'm mortified at what I see.

Most of the time, I'm able to just forget what my head looks like and move through my day without feeling self-conscious. But there are certain triggers that remind me. Sometimes it's just the fact that a bare head is a cold head when the temperature drops. Other times, it's a quick glance in a window or mirror that shows me I'm not a woman with long dark hair anymore.

I tell myself I should focus on how I live my life, not how I look while I'm doing it. That is sometimes easier thought than done.

To get myself back on track, I decided to read some journal entries I'd made over a year ago. It took me back to the day, I chose to shave off my hair and regain some control.

My daughter, Amy, was home from college and my sister, Victoria, had recently moved to town from Sonoma. My mom was there too - three generations of women facing my challenges with me.

"Woke up thinking, I've got to get to the water. Breath the salt air, see the waves. A few days later we went. The ocean brought immediate emotional relief, the physical rejuvenation took longer. Hair began coming out even more, handfuls releasing like overripe fruit.

"Again, my inner voice spoke, now's the time to let it go. Seeing the terror in Mom's eyes reminded me how hard this is for her to watch, to be a part of, and to accept it. But we pushed on. We carried a chair to the top of a dune that overlooked the beach. With the waves crashing white below, we made it an adventure, first I had a samurai cut, then a Mohawk. Each hairdo, took me smiling and afraid toward the inevitable.

"But I made the decision; I chose when I would lose my hair. I couldn't help smiling throughout the whole experience. The buzz cut became falling confetti. I kept my eyes on the waves and trusted the hands that gently took me towards the next step in this journey."

When I returned from the Oregon coast, hats took on a whole new meaning. They were essential. I developed a new found sympathy for men without hair... it's cold! But I also realized how important it was that I wear hats that truly reflected my personality, so I became discerning and true to my personal preferences... even if it meant I had to say, "No, thank you" to some very well-meaning offers of hats for me to add to my growing collection. If I looked in the mirror and felt uncomfortable, it came off immediately. At least I could control that!

I'm hoping that this is just one of those things that take longer than I'd like. If it's the new normal, I'll just be joining the many men and women who wear cool hats and look great. It's another lesson in letting go of what I can't control and making the most of what is.