I was riding the elevator to my office Monday morning, when another colleague joined me. She complimented me on my still very short hair and asked how I liked it. I paused, as I usually do when people remark about my hair and told her I loved it. I went on to explain how I had been on a cruise last month and my hair always looked great no matter what the weather.
After exiting the elevator, upon my walk down the hall towards my office, I pondered the fact that I did not tell my colleague about my breast cancer and explain this as the reason for my short hair. I was glad that I did not. She honestly wanted to know what it was like to have short hair and I may have been the encouragement she needed to take to the leap. It was nice to inspire someone outside of my cancer journey. The thought made me smile.
And truth be told, my cancer journey is coming to a close: my reconstructive surgery is scheduled for March 21! When I received the actual date, butterflies flew through my stomach like a race car. Brimming with excitement, I scurried home that night to celebrate.
As the reality of the surgery settles in a bit more, I am a bit more melancholy. I am not so much looking forward to adding another scar to my repertoire. The new scar will be across my right shoulder, which is where they will take muscle and skin to create a breast on my right side. However, I am busy, getting house and home in order, so to speak and am trying not to think about the physicalities of the surgery more than I must. Like the rest, I know this surgery will come and go, as will the pain and discomfort, severe as it may be this time around. Scars will heal and clothes will hide was does not. And as far as the actual risks, I am resolved not to worry. I know I have chosen my surgeon well.
Besides my cute short hair is bound to look chic, regardless.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Missing a Friend, Daria Maluta
A friend of mine that I met through my/her blog passed away this weekend. Today is her birthday. I cannot say that I knew her well personally, yet I did. Living in Canada, her words traveled across the continent and synced themselves with my heart. Through Living With Cancer, Daria bravely recorded the good and the bad, documenting the raw truth about surviving cancer.
I wish could remember how I met her. How are friendship first came to be. I know that we were blogging friends first, then Facebook friends. We commented back and forth on blog entries and Facebook posts. She was wise. Her kind words always resonated with me.
In one of her last posts, she writes:
As I type this, I cry. My emotions unchecked. The sick feeling at the pit of my stomach adds to the anxious feeling that has plagued my afternoon and the tears just flow. I tell myself that I am not crying from fear. I will not allow myself to ponder the thought that our cases and treatments were similar. My outlook is much too positive for that.
I DO cry because I have felt her unease. I DO cry because I know that she questioned every health decision that she ever made. I DO cry for her husband who has been lovingly updating her blog to let us all know about her last days and her funeral services. But mainly, I cry because the "breast cancer sisterhood" that I am privileged to be a part of (backwards as that may sound) just lost one of our dearest members. A shining light among the stars.
R.I.P Daria.
I wish could remember how I met her. How are friendship first came to be. I know that we were blogging friends first, then Facebook friends. We commented back and forth on blog entries and Facebook posts. She was wise. Her kind words always resonated with me.
In one of her last posts, she writes:
Since Thursday’s appointment with my Onc I’ve really been doing a lot of thinking. It’s made me very melancholy. It makes me wonder how much time l have left on this earth?...I am feeling ever so rushed to get things done knowing at any time I could be rushed to the hospital never to come home again. And then there are times I think I might have months to live....Sometimes, I feel the same way. I think A LOT. I feel rushed A LOT. I am not putting myself in the same boat as Daria, or even the same ocean. She fought for a long, long time. I fought for one year. However, her's was a recurrence, starting as breast cancer 2000 and ending up in her bones, liver and lungs. My biggest fear.
As I type this, I cry. My emotions unchecked. The sick feeling at the pit of my stomach adds to the anxious feeling that has plagued my afternoon and the tears just flow. I tell myself that I am not crying from fear. I will not allow myself to ponder the thought that our cases and treatments were similar. My outlook is much too positive for that.
I DO cry because I have felt her unease. I DO cry because I know that she questioned every health decision that she ever made. I DO cry for her husband who has been lovingly updating her blog to let us all know about her last days and her funeral services. But mainly, I cry because the "breast cancer sisterhood" that I am privileged to be a part of (backwards as that may sound) just lost one of our dearest members. A shining light among the stars.
R.I.P Daria.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)