Onto the next chemo

I can’t quite believe that round two is upon me already. In the first few days of chemo I really thought that the next six months was going to be slllloooooow. Then before I knew it I’m onto the second chemotherapy, out of the six. A couple of days ago I was feeling a bit like I was psyching myself up before a sports match – you know how they do – growling, thumping chests (well, in the New Zealand haka at least). Sometimes I feel a bit like this is just one big game and I’m out to win. (That won’t be a surprise to those of you that know my competitive nature…which, in a way, has tamed over the years, but not when I’m competing with myself. I like to win. Hehe. It doesn’t always serve me well but in this scenario I don’t think it’s such a bad trait.) 

But my hair falling out kind of interrupted that “go get ‘em” feeling. What a crazy experience. I knew it would be, and I’d done as much preparation for it as I think I could have done. One woman in New Zealand even told me it would fall out around Day 15, so I knew the rough timeframe. I’d shaved my head to get used to the bald look. Even though I don’t wear earrings for pierced ears anymore I bought big dangly clip-on earrings (oh, how mum would be proud!) because I knew they’re meant to look good with a bald head. (Again, the competitive side of me sees rockin’ the bald look as a bit of a game – “how-well-can-I-do-this” type thing.) I’d kitted myself out with a few new head scarves and hats, bought some suitable makeup for when the eyelashes and eyebrows dropped. The whole shebang.

I was on the phone a couple of nights ago and scratched my head and a clump of hair came out under my finger nail. I then went up to the bathroom and started tapping my head and there it was…all falling into the sink. So I got the shower head to it and started rinsing it off. As ever, Kate was by side, just ‘being’...calmly supporting.

One of the things that I’m learning, or trying very hard to learn through all of this, is my expression of emotion – not suppressing emotions that come up, but allowing them to come out. Then when they are ready, also allowing them to pass on through, not holding on too tightly to them. Not easy, especially as it’s not something I’m used to. It was something that I learnt (theoretically) at Anahata (the retreat I was at in New Zealand), as it’s part of the yogic teachings, but I never really got the hang of it experientially, until all this came along.

I can see it hurts me, not letting emotions out. It literally hurts, funnily enough, now that I take note of it, in quite a physical way. In the past I guess I’ve always wanted to be ‘strong’ and not show my ‘weaknesses’ but I’m starting to see emotions for what they really are. It’s just movement of energy up and out. Not letting it out actually doesn’t serve me at all. I reckon, in fact, it makes things worse.

So here I am, going into this situation of losing my hair, commentating internally “yep, I’ve got this one sussed. It’s fine. You’re all good”. Washing washing. Watching watching. If we go back to the analogy of the ‘inner team’ that was one character – the type that thinks it’s better to just plough on through and hold it together.

I looked in the mirror. Wow, I’ve even got a lump in my throat as I’m recounting it. Even though I know I am still me, regardless of my physicality, bizarrely there was a split moment at that point that was surprised that I’m still in there somewhere. Funny eh.

There were still patches of hair left but I decided to pat it dry, put a hat on and call it a night, and let the rest come out as and when it wants to. At that point another member of the ‘inner team’ (who’s pretty strong these days) piped up realising that actually that was a pretty big process for me, and that that’s ok. I reminded myself that it’s ok to cry and that I need to express this one. Kate asked me how I was. I cried. Quite a lot.

There was one aspect of the narrative around the emotion that was based on the physical… obviously. “I don’t want to be bald”; “ I don’t want to look ill”; “I want to look normal”. Plus, my scalp felt very raw and sore. But the larger part of the emotion was something intangible. It was almost like it wasn’t just my hair that had just washed down the plug hole. It was something much greater. I was on the phone to Zac, trying to describe it, not really doing the feeling justice but trying anyway. “It’s as if I’m shedding layers, one by one, and that that was a big one that was just washed away”.

That’s all I could say to describe it, and it still is. Although it was a big emotional release I realised at that point that that shedding process was, and still is, not necessarily such a bad thing. I needed to cry and I hadn’t done for a little while, so it was much needed. At the same time, that feeling of shedding layers doesn’t have to be something negative. Change is scary but actually I have a deep knowing in all of this that this process of change is a positive one. It just takes a huge amount of that letting go and trust. A lot of trust in the process.

However, I can’t deny these last couple of days have been exhausting. It’s used up my energy, that’s for sure. There I was in Week 3 of the chemo cycle, which is, and has been, the week where you’re ‘on the up’ so have energy to actually do things. The challenge in that week, as far as I see it, is enjoying the time of having energy and doing some nice things but balancing it with rest and recuperation for the next round. But it’s very tempting just to ‘do do do’, because I can.

I decided to leave Monday and Tuesday free for resting before round two and actually it turned out I needed it big time as all my energy seemed to have gone down the plug hole with my hair.

So I didn’t manage to maintain that pre-sports match chest-thumping, growling at the opponent feeling. Instead I’m feeling a little bit more fragile and vulnerable. But I know that’s ok too. This process was never going to be an easy one, but it definitely is one that’s filled with wonders beyond comprehension.

Easier to pass through when I have the most unbelievable amount of support that I could have ever have dreamed of. I’ve always known, and been very thankful for, the amount of love that I have in my life, but I’ve never seen it coming at me, holding me, spring-boarding me with such glowing strength.

I know that mum is with me in this journey, but particularly today, on the 12 year anniversary of her passing, I want to acknowledge her. These days the 17^th June is a day to do exactly that. In actual fact, however, she makes up a huge part of who I am and in that way she walks alongside me every day. But it is a day to acknowledge, give thanks to her and for having her in my life and give love… more love… to whoever, however is possible. Like she did.

Many of mum’s “crew” – her closest friends – have been in touch with love and support recently. That feels really special. 12 years on you’re all still there, loving, supporting, being that incredible friend. Thank you.