Before I post as usual, I want to discuss the cleaning service that was sent to me. ‘Two maids and a mop’ was here because of Cleaning for a reason. If you or someone you know has breast cancer and is undergoing ANY treatment whatsoever, click here and sign yourself or your loved one up! (You can also make donations by following the link).
Should have a few more updates added today. (Like who is officiating, photography, etc)
Now, Business as usual:
If you wanna know what shallow is, talk to me about how much I love my hair. Maybe it’s not so much that I love it, so much as it is that I am obsessed with it.
I was thinking about that yesterday when I got 100% dressed and ready all by myself (and to more of an extent than I have since before surgery.)
I fixed my hair and did my makeup. I picked out normal clothes (by ‘normal’ clothes I mean I gave no consideration to my prosthetic boob. I should have. I swore it was about to pop out most of the night. And it occasionally made itself known by poking out a bit. Oops. Pretty sure no one noticed, though.)
I looked completely normal last night.
Why is this important? Because I just have not been on top of my game. And I know that.
I mean… While I may not have gotten to 100% before yesterday, I still did SOME stuff. I mean, I bathed. I put my hair in a ponytail. I occasionally put on a little mascara (because let’s face it- when I don’t put it on these white eyelashes, I look a bit like a weirdo). Very often in my recovery, I don’t wear a bra. I’m probably not supposed to tell anyone that. But still. I’m making a point here!
I know that I saw people and just did not look good.
I think that when you have cancer… people think you look good as long as you aren’t dead.
Do you have any idea how much I’ve heard, “You look so good/great/healthy/etc”? Because I have heard it a lot, and more often than not, I wanted to respond with, “Are you blind?!” At least 50% of these comments came on the day I gave my hair the dry shampoo treatment. Sure, it looks good when I’m going for rock star, but paired with yoga pants, a hoodie, a naked face and a ponytail… not so much.
How many people that don’t have cancer can leave the gym and get, “You look so GREAT!”? Because, really. That’s how I looked.
Here’s the thing, though. No one is going to admit that. But I know it. I mean, I’m not sheltered, nor out of touch with society and suburban, WASP culture.
I’m well aware of how people are.
And to top off my knowledge of basic human behavior, one of my close friends came to visit and went through the whole, ‘you look great blahblahblah’ thing and followed it up with something completely honest. She said, ‘I don’t know why but I thought you’d look awful. I imagined you propped up in the bed just looking horrible. And for some reason in my brain, it was a hospital bed… but that makes no sense.’
I got so sick of hearing people lie to me about how great I looked with my dirty hair and over-sized sweatshirt that I gave them something to compliment.
Because fuck yeah I look good!
I look like a normal 27 year old girl (with one leg and one boob.) Totally normal.
We were out last night and I was not in the least bit self-conscious. (Though I was conscious of my boob almost falling out.)
And I really, really, REALLY enjoyed fixing my hair.
Here’s the first completely normal photo of me to be posted on this blog!
Something to remember: Just because I have a terminal illness doesn’t mean I am terminal. Cancer treatments vary from case to case and the effects vary even more.
(By the way, I KNOW that sometimes these compliments are genuine, so if you’re reading this and yours was genuine, I’m not in any way referring to you.)
But I’m not done, yet.
Remember how I told you about my hair obsession?
Yesterday I started thinking about lice. I am SUPER FREAKED OUT BY LICE. I guess no one really likes lice so this is not really irrational, but I really started thinking about it and freaked myself out. Like, obsessing over it until I had a panic attack. Anyone with any type of anxiety disorder probably understands what I mean. Just one thought leading to another and another until you’ve basically made your own heart explode. Why did I do THAT?! I’ve always thought of lice as, like, ‘The children’s infestation.’ Considering it that is almost enough to make me REALLY not want anything to do with children. Little lice breeding teacup humans. Almost. So, I’m okay now. And no worries, no lice over here.
PS If you see a woman randomly raise her hand in a public place, it is likely that she is not waiting for her turn to speak. She is probably post-mastectomy and really needed to stretch RIGHT then. Forgive us, we can’t help it.