Bravery

Throughout my cancer journey, many people have said to me, "You are (have been) so brave."  My internal response is, "Well, I don't know about that?"  To me, being brave is to be afraid of something and then to do it anyway.  So, yes, I guess in some ways I was brave to go through Chemo, surgery, radiation, and more.  I was most certainly afraid to have horrible chemicals poured into my veins; to allow people to cut me open; and to be in a room with radioactive materials; I didn't want to wear a gown all the time, and have needles stuck in me, and lie on tables.  But, on the other hand, when there is no alternative it doesn't really feel like bravery, it just feels like doing what you have to do, even though you don't want to do it.  


I don't know, I think maybe we lack the word for this in our language - when you do something you don't want to do because you plain and simple have to...Maybe it's "moxie", but I think that more implies having the strength to do what you have to do.  Maybe the word is resolve.  It takes resolving yourself to something and you can do that with bravery or you can do it with resignation.  Ha!  I just found the word - Resignation - ""The acceptance of something undesirable but inevitable."  

Of course, that still isn't the proper word, because it isn't about just accepting, but also about embracing it, whether you wanted to or not.  Huh.  I think I am going to call it "ravignation" - one part bravery, one part resignation, one part raving - as in it will drive you stark, lunatic crazy (raving), literally causing you to lose your hair, and not just because of the Chemo.

So, for the past nine-plus months, I have been full of ravignation.  Today. Today I was brave.

For a few weeks now I have been hearing, "Your hair is really getting there."  And, "You could almost use a trim now!"  And, "You've got a pixie cut!"  People, I wasn't that into my hair before I had cancer.  You may recall, it was stick straight and the most I ever did for it was go and get it highlighted and cut like once every eight weeks just to make certain I looked presentable, even though I was never certain if I did.  If there is an area of my life I lack confidence it is in the beauty department. Probably because I have rarely felt the need to look "beautiful" and have generally been utterly content to be "cute". 

So, when I hear people tell me that I need to trim my hair - and it is not just one person, no it has been many.  Many.  What I hear is, "Go and get your hair trimmed, already.  It looks awful, even if we are telling you, you look like a pixie."  Which, to me, looking like a pixie has no down-side.  It is like the ultimate in cute-ness. Something I am completely content to be.  But, I have been feeling all of this pressure to get my hair trimmed, so I thought, gee, I must really need to get it trimmed.

Linda took the boys this morning to play and the girls went to their camp at Elmbrook Church and so I found myself with the rare and precious few hours of alone time.  So, I decided to be brave and walked into a hair salon (I had never been to before) to see what they could do about my hair.

Shaving my head took less bravery then this did.

I walked in and asked if there was anyone who could "trim up my hair" and show me how to use some mousse in it or just do something to it to give it more of a style.  I got pity eyes and a "hold on a second" and then a woman came out and said she could fit me in now (the place was like completely empty, so I am confused by this statement.  Like, of course, you can fit me in now), and then I was led back to a chair and she fussed around about me for a bit and looked at my hair and coo-ed and clucked and made like three snips and then said, "You just have to be patient".  It will continue to grow back.

Uhhh...yeah...duh.  Then she got out some mousse and the hairdryer - the actual hairdryer! - and fussed some more. (This took all of five minutes.  Total.)  And then she told me again that before I knew it I would have enough hair for a haircut and that (again) I just needed to be patient.  

Umm...holy embarrassing, Batman.  I am not sure I have ever felt so humiliated in all my life.  And, not because of her.  Because I have all these people fussing over my frickin' hair.  It's just hair. I think I would feel more confident in myself if I were back to being bald and wearing my hats again. 

To make it worse, she said, "No charge."  At first, I was going to fight her on it.  She spent some time with me, after all.  But basically she spent that whole time coo-ing and clucking and fussing.  And, I just hate being fussed over.  And, so I held on to as much of my dignity as I could and thanked her and walked the heck out of there as at-a-normal-pace as I possibly could, with my hair looking essentially the same way it did before, but now with some mousse in it.

Bravery is not doing chemo or surgery or radiation.  It's not getting a port placed or taken out.  Bravery is not shaving your head, or going bald.  Bravery is walking out of a hair salon without crying first. Bravery is going to baseball games in your huge sun hat to cover all of the places you have been radiated. Bravery is asking someone for help carrying something because your lymph nodes have been removed and your arm is sensitive now.  Bravery is trying to go back to life-as-normal when life will never be "normal" again.

And so, after months of being full of ravignation, I now begin a new chapter in my life with bravery.

This is what bravey-filled hair looks like. Ooh, so different.