A couple of years ago, I had an encounter in the women’s change room of our local pool that was particularly embarrassing. By embarrassing, I mean a top-of-the-line face-palm cringe fest where I seriously hoped the ground beneath my feet would instantaneously open up and suck me into a vortex.
This particular disaster unfolded while I was busy trying to clothe two of my three children after a swim. It involved a big, busty naked lady and my then four year-old son.
Mange has struck crisis levels, kids. It’s time for action.
There isn’t much on this horrid breast cancer journey that I get to take control of, but this is one little thing I can.
Here’s to being ‘Master of my hair(loss) Domain’!
Children are pretty perceptive little things, with in-built radars constantly tuned in to the goings on around them. Even slight deviations away from their usual experience of the world are enough to pique their curiosity.
So it was last year on the day of my cancer diagnosis, that without a word of explanation, each of my children knew ‘something was up’.
I know I shouldn’t have done it…
…but I did it.
Cue: shaky-worried-face & big fat sobs
This morning I looked up the survival stats of women with my grade and stage of breast cancer.
Things can get a bit rough at times. Not just for me, for all of us.
What brings you happiness when the world rears its ugly side?
Being sick and going through chemotherapy treatment is tough, but whenever I’m feeling low, I channel my inner Julie Andrews and think of all my favourite things. Here is a little snapshot I want to share with you of some of the things that have brought me joy these past few weeks; little things that keep me smiling and feeling thankful every day…
Chemo is such a mental game.
Don’t get me wrong, the physical side effects of putting cytotoxic drugs into your bloodstream aren’t pretty, but the tougher game is in the brain.
The first time I went in for treatment, I was a great big ball of nerves. In the weeks prior, I had armed myself with as much information about chemotherapy as I could muster. I had lists upon lists of the potential side effects, and was absolutely convinced I was going to experience everything from hot flushes to heart failure.
My nipples might be missing in action these days, but I will let you in on a secret peeps (‘coz you know, we’re totes close and BFFs share stuff like this): my brain still thinks they’re there.
Tonight’s fun discussion topic, for all you playing at home, is phantom nipples, just because I will bet 20 cents not one of you has ever had an inkling of a thought about them, let alone read a whole blog post dedicated to their existence.
Who notices the odd, innocuous stray hair?
Perhaps you occasionally see a few poking out of your hairbrush bristles, or accumulating in the plughole of your shower. Perhaps you casually brush one off your cheek, or pull it from the knitted loops of your jumper?
I have always grumpily noticed the ones my husband leaves strewn through the bathroom sink after shaving, that’s for sure. Although now that he is cultivating a fair bit of facial hair, the scatters of stray hairs are likely mine. EEK!
I pore over them. I try and count them. It’s become a weirdly wretched obsession!
It’s nearly February, people. Already!
How is it that time seems to creep by us ever faster each year? As a kid it passes excruciatingly slowly; everything seems to drag. Nowadays, I feel like could practically blink in September and miss Christmas altogether. And boy am I glad that Bakers Delight start selling hot cross buns in January, because I need the three-month heads up or I’d totally miss the flicker of time before Easter!