We aren’t using the word “cancer” with our boys. I know that they don’t have any connotation with the word cancer, but the rest of the world does. We told them that I had to take a medicine to get me ready for surgery, and that the medicine would make my hair fall out.
Alex listened and then asked if he could play with his train. I said sure, but that if he had any questions to feel free to ask me. Two minutes later he said, “I have a question. What if you’re not pretty any more?” I told him that he could help me find some cute scarves and hats to cover my bald head. He said, “I think a wig would be better.”
When I told Andy, he instantly started bawling. Big tears. Sad ones. “No mommy. I don’t want you to be bald. I want you to keep your hair. Please don’t drink the medicine.”
I am sure they will be scared when they see me for the first time without hair. It will be new, and weird.
I’ve been keeping my port covered up. It is creepy and it hurts. The thought of getting a needle jabbed in there tomorrow makes me tense up.
But pretty soon this will be normal. My bald head, my creepy port. They will be part of my “new normal.” I learned about “new normals” during my blood clot days. I remember crying as I pulled on my compression stockings and gave myself Lovenox shots in my stomach. Now, my compression stockings are no different than my socks– just something I put on every morning without thinking about it. Life is crazy that way. We adapt.
My mind is kind of blown that chemo starts tomorrow.
Chemo. I think I am still in denial. I have breast cancer. I still have to remind myself.
I’ve got no choice — gotta move forward.