My Reflection

I somewhat freaked out some fellow coworkers when I showed up to the work happy hour on Friday. Why? Well, I had my hair pulled back. My chemo curls were blown straight last week. I had been wearing it down at work with my usual hair accessories. I had discovered on Friday that my hair is just long enough to pull back if I use a tiny clip and a million bobby pins to hold the sides in place.

So, when I walked into Taco Mac, no one recognized me at first. The looks of surprise were apparent.


No headband. 
No fascinator. 
No hair clips.


Just pure ME.

So why did the bulk of them freak out? One of my male coworkers said he hoped I wear a tiara or flower in my hair on Monday because then I’ll “look like royal one they all know.” I confess I was taken aback by the comment. I thought I looked smashing. I looked like the ME I remember. Then I thought about it and get his comment. I believe he was trying to say the hair bling fits my big personality.

I always wore my hair up or pulled back since I was a kid, teen, young adult and as an adult. Wearing my hair in a ballerina bun, French braid, French twist, pigtails, etc. is very much a part of ME. I used to be svelte and statuesque. I loved brushing my hair and deciding which classy or cute style I would create each day. Then when I added my glasses, I was often described as the “sexy librarian.”

I’ve been working very hard to claim back some parts of ME. I’ve been recognizing my reflection more and more when my hair is blown straight. I finally see the length.  The thing is, others I’ve met post-cancer don’t recognize me this way. They don’t know what I really look liked. Everyone at work knows I’m a cancer survivor because I don’t hide it anymore. So, they either forget these are chemo curls or think they are natural.

Someone commented on my Instagram when I posted a little about this. They said, “Interesting that you don’t see your curls as feminine. I see you as very feminine, but from my view, it’s not the hair but the face.”

To me, I…and I will repeat…I think I look like a chia pet on steroids. The chemo curls make my head look huge! The height of the hair really bothers me. I can’t wear hats when it’s like this. I don’t want “big” hair. I’ve never wanted curly hair. EVER. That’s why I started wearing the hair accessories because I can’t do anything with those chemo curls. The curls are so tight, that I can’t style it. So, I added the bling to feel feminine and give myself the variety I crave.

As a birthday gift, my mother is paying for me to get the chemo curls blown straight 2x per month. Any time I mention this, I always get those saying to get a keratin treatment or sending me pictures of the hair tools they use. Well, I don’t have the physical strength to blow these suckers out. They are TIGHT curls. It takes a lot of arm strength, technique and patience that I don’t have but my stylists do.  

How come no one sees I’m playing a character when I wear my bling? The character of a cancer survivor who doesn’t recognize herself or her body.

I’ve never once felt feminine with the chemo curls unless I have a hair accessory. Notice I never say ‘my’ when I refer to them. To me, they aren’t natural. Poison changed my hair chemistry, not me. It wasn’t MY choice. Why can’t others get that? I’ll say it again. It wasn’t MY choice to have curly hair.

I get sooo many people telling me how cute they are. If they were loose curls, maybe I would agree. I always feel the need to tell people what I used to look like and show the pictures as proof. I wasn’t always this overweight woman with a tight, curly ‘fro. I was fit, classy and stylish.

Am I happy my hair grew back? Of course, I am. Did I think it would grow back entirely different from what was my norm? No. So, I can’t stop being surprised and dismayed every single time I look in the mirror when the chemo curls are there. It’s not what I know.

I’ve always been a tad extra from birth. Adding a hair accessory doesn’t change that. It’s strange the more I’m starting to look like ME with my hair blown straight, no one else seems to recognize me.

My life on the cancer train lately is confusing, painful and disappointing. Yet, it’s also been liberating because I am beginning to see a reflection that is familiar.

I am seeing ME, even if no one else does.

Craving My Truth

As much as I love to socialize, I’ve been craving solitude more and more. I have limited energy. In some ways it makes me sad because I do love to talk, but my naturally expressive personality now wears me out. What many people don’t realize is cancer ages the mind, body and spirit.

My mind has been in utter chaos as I’ve tried to process my cancer experience. I wish I could forget the ugly parts of my cancer path. The thoughts and grief refuse to be swept under the rug. They continue to bubble and boil to the surface.

I still can’t fully verbalize all I’ve experienced and continue to experience. That’s why I write and started blogging. All I can do is continue to raise my voice and shed light on the difficulties of a cancer diagnosis. The fear, anxiety and anger never fully disappear. It sometimes moves to the backburner, but never gone.

I had become dependent on Ativan for sleep. My psychiatrist at the time kept enabling me. It took me two years to recognize that fact. Instead of helping me process, she was trying to keep in a sedated frame of mind. I finally saw the light this year and terminated the sessions and weaned myself off the Ativan. It was difficult and definitely caused additional stress to my immune system.

After I finished chemo in February 2016, I was shocked by how old I looked. Dark circles like a panda, pale gray skin and lines like a turkey around my neck. Heck, even my hands looked old. My baby face was gone. What I noticed most was the look in my eyes.

They looked haunted.

They looked pained.

They looked scared.

I still don’t recognize this body. So much has physically changed. The chronic pain wears on my patience. I can’t just get up and go, go, go like I could in the past. Every move is slow and deliberate. I don’t want to fall. I have a permanent handicap sign thanks to neuropathy.

My spirit has also taken a beating. I don’t ask why I got cancer. It was inevitable, especially after looking at my family history. I ask more why did I get cancer under 40 and still alive? I see others whose cancer has metastasized with significant others and families. Why have I been spared – the single cat lady – and not them?

Life post-cancer continues to be a daily struggle. There always seems to be a new pain or issue or unforeseen medical bill popping up.

I crave stability.

I crave my truth.

So, I wrote a poem that was originally crafted using a writing prompt from the Unspoken Ink Writing Class through Lacuna Loft. I finished it this morning.

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie

Is dating off the table?

This question is more complex than it was before cancer.  I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve heard of others meeting “the one” during treatment and after. I’m boggled by that.

Who has the energy?

Who has the sex drive?

Who has the funds?

I’ve been a body I don’t recognize since my 35th birthday, which is when I believe the cancer started growing. That’s when my thyroid got out of whack and major weight gain occurred. Even though my energy was somewhat lacking, I was still dating back then.

I’ve had my heart shattered once and deeply hurt once. I had begun to date myself and take time for personal growth when the cancer beast reared its ugly head. Dating was not even a remote thought once the cyclone of appointments swept me up.

I’ve been 43 years old for a month and starting to feel lonely. My life has been so busy trying to heal, battling long-term side effects from chemo, surgeries and radiation, serious depression and anxiety, chronic pain, medical leave, then more surgery and now I’ve had time to really process all that has happened since the cancer call on 9/14/15.

Things won’t magically become all right once I meet the ‘right’ guy.

I can’t expect to find happiness through someone.

I can’t keep waiting for someone to take care of me.

I don’t think like the woman I once was either. I’m jaded. I don’t even watch romance movies anymore. I used to be a sucker for those. I don’t read trashy romance books anymore either.

It’s like a light switch was turned off once I was medically induced into menopause at 40. Losing so many body parts all at once did something to me. I feel hollow. The only thing that makes me still feel like a woman are my tears.

I hear all the time “the right man will love you at your worst.” Well, I think many of you will agree that men are very visual creatures. Sure, I have a pretty face, but not a pretty body.

My body is scarred.

My body is numb in certain areas.

My body radiates and burns with pain.

My body is out of shape and struggling.

My body is utterly fatigued.

How can I date in such a low physical state? It was hard facing rejection when I was stick thin. I sure as hell can’t handle rejection looking and feeling like this.

I also realized that I can’t date a regular guy. I’ve nearly died. I’ve been through something life shattering and life altering. How do I make small talk about trauma? I don’t think lightly anymore.

Does that mean I need to meet someone also has/had cancer in order to relate? Hmm…

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie

A Cancer Triple Threat

For those in the theatre world, you know what that term means. For those not in the theatre world, ‘triple threat’ means you can sing, dance and act. Well, in terms of the cancer world, it means I have neuropathy, fibromyalgia and chemo brain happening at once. I knew I was talented, but this takes it to a whole new level.

I start off each morning with a painful and groaning performance before I even get out of bed. It’s usually been a fitful night of sleep tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position due to painsomnia. That’s when I access my pain level for the start of my day. I do some stretching to get some circulation flowing, especially my ankles. I have no feeling from the upper balls of my feet through my toes. Zero, nada, nothing. It’s been that way since my very first Taxol chemo treatment. I didn’t know neuropathy could be this severe and happen so suddenly with that first treatment. The permanent damage was done. No acupuncture will help.

Then I move my fingers and warm them up. I have neuropathy in them, too. The nerves are still regenerating in them because I feel tingling and many times stabbing pain like little needles in them, especially when I’m typing, like now. From there I move my head side to side and then stretch my legs.

Now I’m ready for my walk across the stage, aka the bathroom. I always have my cane next to my bed. I wake up with the fibromyalgia pain and osteoarthritis in my knees every day. Lately my hips have been in immense pain. We all know the hips don’t lie.

The groaning turns into a full on one- minute monologue of expletives as I make my way across the stage, hunched over like the Elephant man and holding onto my cane for dear life. Sometimes my fibromyalgia chronic pain is all over my body. It can often feel burning, especially my lower back, legs and arms. Then, of course, the extremely tender points on my neck and shoulders. It can move into my hands as well. That’s the thing about fibromyalgia, it can move, so I never know what to expect each day. The one major chronic pain area that I never, ever feel a smidgen of relief is my lower left back since that blasted hysterectomy/oophorectomy in 2017.

I’m fully awake now and ready for the pièce de résistance. I walk across the stage, aka the living room to the kitchen, with my usual straight posture from years of ballet and musical theatre but slow and short steps because my balance is still off. I see my many post-it-notes, notepads and planner filled with lists and reminders of things I need to do, to buy and to respond to. If I have something super important that I must remember to do that day, I always put a post-it-note on my front door above the locks, so I’ll see it.

I’m already exhausted and haven’t even driven to work yet. That’s my life in the spotlight of being a cancer triple threat.

Until next time,

Warrior Megsie