Holy Chicken Feathers!!!
I keep looking for excuses to wander past mirrors, to admire my new chicken feathers that are sprouting from the top of my head! It seems like such a short time ago that I was sitting at the computer, trying to laugh instead of cry, as I wrote “A Bird of Different Plummage”, after realizing that my hair was falling out, whether I liked it or not, in spite of my holier-than-thou nutritional habits and superior attitude. Sure, chemo treatment is fraught with potential problems, some much scarier than hair loss. But once the hair was gone, there was no denying it…I looked like a sick person. And I’ve never done sick graciously. (Remember, in opera I’m typecast not as the love-lorn maiden who dies tragically, but as the parody of the love-lorn maiden!)
Anyhow, you can just imagine how thrilled I was to see a little 5:00 shadow on my normally shiny pate when I awoke the other morning! And now it’s more like chicken feathers! Not real hair, but a glimmer of hope. That’s all I need! I’m starting to believe that I won’t always look like a sick lady! I remember getting a Neulasta shot one day after chemo, and I was lamenting to the nurse how I felt great until I started to look like a sick person. She practically snorted with laughter. “DeAnne, I’ve never given a Neulasta shot to a lady with cancer who has such big strong arms as yours. No, you’re not that sick, and soon you’ll be fine.” As she slapped a band-aid on my arm where the shot was given, I wanted to believe her.
But soon couldn’t be soon enough!
Since the last week I have been starting to act more like myself. No running until the day after tomorrow, when the stitches come out. I couldn’t sing until Friday, exactly a week after the surgery, because my throat was still pretty sore from the surgery. It would have been fine in a day or two, but I was so overjoyed that I couldn’t stop talking in the car all the way home. By the next day I sounded like “The Godfather”.
I’ve got my energy back too! Just in time for the holiday weekend! Saturday was a July 4th BBQ at my parents’ with my sister and her family, then I met up with an old friend from high school to watch the fireworks. A few other friends were there too, whom I hadn’t seen in about 20 years. Was I worried that I was bald? Not particularly! These people remember when I looked like a dork 20 years ago. Even more, I remember when they looked like dorks, too, so THERE!!!
Everyone looked at me very carefully after the round of hugs and squeals and “Oh-my-go-it’so-great-to-see-you!” ” Where did you park? ” (I’d met them there two hours later, and the parking was limited when they had arrived.
“Oh, I knew the parking would be a mess, so I just walked down from my house.”
“DeAAAAAAne! Should you really be exerting yourself like this?” asked one of the old friends.
“Nahhh, don’t worry,” I said. Really, the day before surgery, I ran 10 miles and loved it, because I knew I wouldn’t get to run for at least a couple of weeks.
I spent the day at Point Reyes with Mom and Dad, then went to see that silly new vampire movie with my sister that evening. Huh! Cancer?! I don’t even feel like I have to defy and deny, because, for one thing, I have chicken feathers under my wig, and for another, I have so much energy that I’m unstoppable!
Next weekend, the same old friend from high school that planned the gathering at the fireworks has also cooked up an even bigger reunion with all the old band friends. There will be house parties, a rendez-vous at the pizza parlor where we all used to hang out after band events, and a picnic at the park. BC (that’s “before cancer”), I would have politely declined the invitation. Even though this friend of mine has worked all year to get in touch with everyone and extend the invitations and to coordinate the dates and places, I would have found a reason to stay home, even though she and I were very close friends in high school and have managed to stay in touch. BC, I used to lock myself away if I had bad hair, or had gained a few pounds or looked old or tired, or if I didn’t think my clothes were fashionable enough.
Not now, though! I feel as though I’ve got some wild oats to sow! I’m gonna make up for all the fun social events I’ve missed for foolish reasons over the years. Because I’ve got chicken feathers! (And I’ve learned to get over myself even under strange circumstances.)
As the fireworks burst overhead, I said a silent little prayer of thanks to the Universe. Not only am I alive and thriving, but I am starting to see what they mean when they say cancer survivors often find a new sort of peace within themselves.
And I’m thankful for my chicken feathers.
Said feathers make me as happy as when I finally got my first brassiere, even though there was nothing to put in it! (Same kind of happy!)
