Samson

Perhaps it was inheriting who was the world's sweetest cat in the world, Samson, from my grandmother once she died, or maybe it was the notion of a woman being able to captivate someone to the point that they could be entranced without magic and fall victim to her, but the story of Samson & Delilah always intrigued me. I still remember reading the story over and over again in the children's bible my parents' got me when I was young.

A little over a year ago, it took all my strength to shave my head after watching my own personal Delilah, breast cancer, start to rip the hair from my head. I'd grown my hair to be the longest it had been for several years. I'd had the intent to never cut it again, let along shave it ever. But I had to. It was too heartbreaking to see it fall out like withered, fallen soldiers going into a suicide mission.

Unlike when one usually cuts one's hair, the expectations of having significant length more than a full-year from when you shaved your head, my hair is struggling along. I have "cute curls." I can flat iron my hair to make it flat and spiky, but I still can't pull it back into a proper pony tail. I can't feel it on the back of my neck.

And there seems to be an uncanny correlation between the day I cut my hair, at the LIVESTRONG Challenge 2011, and the last time I felt strong and fit. Now, I feel weak. I'm too easily winded. My energy is shot, and hasn't been anywhere close to where it was, no matter what drugs and supplements I take.

Is the growth of my hair directly related to my strength and energy? Perhaps. With short hair, on the bike, outside, I just feel cold. I can't stand cold air hitting my head. But I look forward to feeling the wind rustling my full head of hair.

My hair is just below my ears now. I only have 2-3 feet to go, now. I'll see you in 5 years.

My, how time flies...

Sometimes, it's weird how time flies.

Sunday, 1 year ago, I had my double mastectomy. 1 year and 2 days ago, I still had my breasts, nipples, normal sensation, etc. Now? I have foreign parts installed, tissue that's technically my own flesh and blood, but feel nothing, let alone hardly feel a part of me, and a strange numbing feeling in my chest.

I think Sunday, far more than my cancerversary, signaled that it's been a year since I felt "normal." Even knowing I had cancer in my body, I still felt whole. I still felt like myself. Once the scalpels invaded my skin, once parts of me were carved up and discarded, replaced by synthetic prosthesis, I became something... someone... else. I think the question still looms, who or what have I become?

The obvious response, given the context of this blog is, "SURVIVOR." But I'm not so sure about that. "Recoverer," yes. I recovered from surgery. I recovered from the infections.

But I didn't survive - at least, I'm not sure that I have. My breasts didn't survive. My hair didn't survive. My feelings and senses didn't survive. Most of the skin in my chest area survived.

My strength didn't survive. My cycling and athletics haven't survived... not yet. My ability to find ways to bounce back better than before hasn't surfaced, yet. I'm struggling to do it.

And I can't find a way to embrace the new boobs, yet. Perhaps if my nerve endings were still functional, I could. Or if everytime I flex a muscle, they didn't ripple and bounce around like a freakish body builder, I might be able to start. They still don't look like breasts.  One is larger than the other, one is fuller than the other, the horizontal scars are still visible, and have left some strange sculpting. They nipples still look like Frankenboob. Forget the cancer: If I had breasts like this before, I'd be seeking reconstruction.

By no means am I saying that Dr. Nordberg did a bad job - not at all! He did a great job, given what the task at hand was. The left side that is fuller and bigger is that way because of the scar tissue, etc - it was problematic from the beginning. The right side just settled the way that it did. And he's trying to fix things, but this is going to be a long time until it's close to where I envision being able to begin to accept them as being a part of me.

And my hair, oh, my hair. Yes, I'm not bald. But bald was a "cooler" look than what I have going on now. I look like a retarded Little Orphan Annie. Yes, it's great that I have the curls that I paid (well, my parents paid) for when I was in high school and didn't quite get. But they don't go anywhere. They curl in on themselves and don't grow down. It's like having a head of ingrown curly hairs. I touch my head and I feel a sheep, not my hair.

So, neither my breasts nor my hair feel like "me."

I don't know.

One year later, and I still feel so far away from really recovering, let alone surviving.

For my personal journey, the cancer was the easy part - it was caught before it caused any pain. Yes, I survived the cancer, I suppose. But what I'm really struggling to survive is the surgery, the treatment, the chemo, the after-effects, the recovery, the butchery.

It's the small victories...

The past several weeks have been relatively boring, I must say, with relation to my cancer survivorship. With chemo over, surgeries almost done, etc, I struggle as I straddle the line of being bed-ridden and being "better." I mean, what the hell does that word, "better," mean anyway? Technically, I'm totally better than I was when I had my last bout with chemotherapy. But does that mean that I'm "better?" I feel better than I did a month ago, but I don't feel better, or the same, as I did prior to the cancer.

But enough philosophizing - I can do that ad nauseum. Onto celebration.

I can officially declare that I have more hair than my father.

Point of reference

I also have more hair than My Rock. (Although he cheats. He started to grow his hair longer, so while I have a full head of longish stubble, he has a fringe of longer hair.) But he's got more greys than me, so neener-neener.

Here's the latest!

What? I have a cowlick? Can my hair pick ONE direction?

On a completely different note, I decided to take some artwork, a phrase from my friend, Nikol's husband, and put together a Zazzle shop. Take a gander! Percentage of all sales will be donated to LIVESTRONG, Crickett's Answer for Cancer or both!

Having Faced Chemo: The Cons

As a follow up to my October post, "Facing Chemo: The Pros," I felt that it was only fair that I include this companion piece.

So, here is the list of cons to chemotherapy:

• The Obvious

• You lose hair. Perhaps you'll just thin a bit, but you'll lose hair. Not only the hair on your head, but everywhere. From head-to-toe, you lose hair. You may not lose ALL of your eyelashes, or arm hair, or eyebrows. Though, it could be considered a pro - you don't have to shave your legs, or your armpits. And, ladies, let's just say that my "Hello Kitty" (as Nene Leakes puts it) has never been hair-free and smoother for this long before. Brazilian Waxes can't hold a candle to chemotherapy in that regard. (Though, I don't recommend holding a candle to anything in that general region... unless you're into that kind of thing.)
• Crap will be an understatement when people ask you how you feel. You will be forced to come up with a whole new vocabulary of synonyms for crap, each one getting worse as they go.

• If you choose to eat when you feel you can, consuming as many calories as possible for fear that you may not be able to eat when nausea kicks in, and the anti-nausea meds never wear off, you will realize at the end of treatment, that you have gained so much weight that you could give the Stay Puft man a run for his money, and rue every day that you ate because you could.
• Chemo brain messes with your mind. As a result, you can not remember the names and faces of all the kind nurses and technicians that take care of you and have to resort to writing notes somewhere (which you'll undoubtedly forget) so you can remember and not look like a moron when you come back in for your next appointment.
• Even if you've had 20/20 vision, expect some fuzziness. So, you'd better invest in some anti-aging/anti-wrinkle treatments because the squinting will age your face 30 years by the time you're done with chemo.
• You have absolutely no clue, if you've lost all your hair, what color, texture, or condition your hair will grow back in. You could have been a brunette, and, voila! 6 weeks after chemo, you have seedlings of ginger hair growing. You could have had pin-straight hair like Janice in the Muppets, and it will grow back curly like Little Orphan Annie!
• No, that ridiculously expensive, fine wine hasn't turned. And, no, that fois gras hasn't spoiled. That gnarly taste in your mouth, as though you've been sucking on rusted bike chains, is a result of chemotherapy. Now isn't the time to go fine dining, folks, unless you've given your taste buds a test run. Money down the toilet.

• The Not-So-Obvious
• If you are a blonde and bald, you are now capable of getting brainfreeze from the outside in.
• When you finally get the clearance to move again, and you're not feeling like a sack of leaden bones, you may find simply walking to and from your mailbox as exhausting as running a marathon (or whatever you might imagine it might be like if you've never run a marathon.)
• You stare at the first, single, isolated sprout of "real" hair, vs. the weird chemo peach fuzz that grows in its place like a transparent mold, and ponder if you should pluck it or not.
• You fear the impending itchiness as hair grows back. Anywhere and everywhere. I'll leave it at that. You can figure out the rest.
• You miss your oncologist and the regularity of the appointments and are not quite sure what this "daily grind" thing is anymore.

• When you start to dip your toes back into the "daily grind," you realize it's the wrong roast and are no longer sure you survived in order to get back into it.
• You will have to give up your yoga and pajama pants.
• You put mascara on, hoping to make your lack of eyelashes not quite apparent. Unfortunately, you only have 3 eyelashes per lid long enough for the mascara to adhere, so you end up looking like Spongebob Squarepants.
• You can't touch your toes. You see, apparently, for some of us, our organs react to chemotherapy negatively. (Duh.) They may swell, giving you a lovely bloated feeling that isn't just around for a couple of days a month. If you also put on some weight, you will find you have to get your children to help you take on and off your socks. So, if you're currently healthy and don't have cancer, treat those rugrats well. They may be taking care of you sooner than you thought.
• Invest in a hemorrhoid pillow. Not because you'll have hemorrhoids, but because you may find yourself frequently getting intimately close with your toilet seat, so why not make yourself comfortable? And make sure you have some disinfectant wipes nearby just in case you forget which side is up.
• Your oncologist is going to put you on a stool softener. Don't think that the minute you finish chemotherapy that you're home free. As you start to venture out of the safety of your home or hospital, make note of where all the bathrooms are wherever you go and just how long it takes to get there.

Giving Back to Crickett's Answer for Cancer - Join me!

I am teaming together & raise money for Crickett's Answer for Cancer & the fast growing number of women who benefit from this non-profit organization!

Want to know why? The wig in the photo was granted to me by Crickett's Answer for Cancer. I'm not just a supporter, I'm a client. And now it's time for me to give back.

Shop online at www.marykay.com/ricamendes

• 20% of EVERY order (excluding tax) will go to CAC
• Shipping is FREE on orders $50 or more!
• EVERY order comes with a Re-usable shopping bag

In order to participate, simply place a “CAC” after your name on your order, and 20% will automatically go to CAC, except for our signature Good Housekeeping seal approved Miracle Set starting at $90, for which $25 will be donated!

~ All products are 100% satisfaction guaranteed ~

~ For any questions to customize your order, simply e-mail me at Rica Mendes, ricamendes@marykay.com, and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have about any products, or about your skin or color preferences.

Gift sets are also available!

This will run through December 31, 2012!

Interested in joining my team or learning more about this amazing business opportunity? If you hear my story and allow me and my director to chat with you, I will donate $1 to CAC! Decide to join my team? I will donate $18 to CAC for every new team member that is introduced to me through CAC!

For more information email or call Rica Mendes at 914-384-3648 or CAC’s co-founder, Bonnie Julius, at 717-843-7903.

Crickett’s Answer for Cancer is a 501 (c) (3) breast cancer non-profit, providing cost-free wigs, mastectomy & lymphedema products, & pampering services nationwide to women with breast cancer, & was founded in memory of Crickett J. Julius, a vibrant, loving young woman who passed away at age 39 just 4 months after diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer. Her mom, Bonnie Julius, & cousin, Carole Trone, are committed to helping women facing the breast cancer diagnosis with dignity, hope, and keeping their identity & self-esteem.