A living billboard

I’ve been on top of the world for the last few days. I feel great emotionally. I feel centered, balanced, and ready to take on what’s ahead.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what’s coming, and while I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, I’ve got a good idea. While I’m not looking forward to any of it, I know it’s all temporary.

(BTW: Following an e-mail back-and-forth exchange, my cyber-friend Robin scheduled her first-ever mammogram the other day. I was so proud of both of us—her for putting herself first and making the call, and me for encouraging her to do it. Hopefully I didn’t nag too much.)

This feels like my final weekend of freedom. On Monday I meet with the oncology nurse to learn about and plan a schedule to start chemotherapy. I’m contemplating what to about my hair. I think the smart thing to do is cut it short (even though there are those around me who feel short isn’t my best look). I can think of not much sadder than having longer hair and watching it come out the way people describe it will, in clumps and bunches. Thinning hair and see-through-to-scalp on a woman is, in my opinion, quite unbecoming, and I don’t want to look like that through this experience. Slap me if you see me doing a comb-over.

I’ve made the decision not to buy a wig. My plan is to survive the next few months with a wardrobe of hats. Not turbans or scarves, but hats. I’ve never been a baseball cap fan, I don’t like the way I look in them. But who knows, maybe I’ll like the way the bald me looks in one. I have one I picked up at Disney World a number of years ago; it reads “Grumpy” across the front. Might be very appropriate on certain days.

And on days when I’m feeling very brave I’ll go out and about without a hat. A lot of women go that route these days and if I can be brave too, I’ll be a billboard for my condition, my attitude, and my outlook.

I’m not happy to be in this position, but I’m proud of myself for a lot of reasons. I’ve been proactive about breast health. I’m taking the aggressive road to recovery. I’ve been doing a lot of reading, been all over the Web for additional information, studied my pathology reports. I’ve been open and honest about the situation and will answer any question someone wants to ask.

I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to be a breast cancer patient. I have my moments when I’m scared out of my mind about this, but those moments have—thankfully—been few and far between. I know this isn’t going to kill me, and that accounts for most of the reason I can look it in the eye and work against it instead of letting it work against me.

Hair grows back, right? Just about every woman I know who has been down this road how enjoys a head of thick hair. Who knows, maybe it will come back in curls?

I’m heading Maine in the morning with PJ. We’re going to stop in Sanford and pick up my mother and then head to Portland, to (among other places) the “Life is Good” store. I’ve got my eye on a sweatshirt that I’ve wanted since forever. The sun will be shining, I’ll be with my two best girls, and it will be a spectacular day.

Then I can come home and get ready to get started with the next phase of my life as a breast cancer patient.