I will walk 60 miles in 30 days to help raise money and awareness for Ovarian Cancer Research Alliance.
I have teal heart earrings on etsy available. And for the month of September I will include a teal cancer awareness ribbon pin and a $5 donation to Ovarian Cancer Research.
I am in remission. Officially. Was told by two different doctors that I can say the word remission and mean it. It feels like it’s not real, but it is.
Cancer has changed me in so many ways, I don’t think I can even describe the scope of it. but I’ll try to tell you some of the things.
There are some obvious changes.
If you look at my belly you will see a foot long scar (pubes to boobs). It’s healing nicely and I have unexpected impulses to show it to people.
I am still bald, but my hair will grow back. I’m almost tempted to keep it shaved. It’s my cancer card. My excuse for having groceries delivered (the delivery drivers don’t seem nearly as judge-y when you answer the door with a bald head).
Inside of me there are a whole bunch of parts missing. Thankfully, I don’t seem to miss them at all. Although their absence creates some menopause like discomforts, like hot flashes and heart racing and vaginal dryness, but we don’t need to talk about that.
I think I escaped most of the neuropathy, but I do have some tingles in a couple of fingers on my right hand sometimes.
Less obviously is the tiredness that comes from the treatments. They say that recovery time is 2 months per 1 month of treatment, so I should be back to something like normal in about a year. Although because I’m on a maintenance drug that may take longer. In lessons and socializing with friends, I seem to have enough energy to act “normal”, but then I definitely need a nap that afternoon, or the next day.
My brain doesn’t work as fast as it once did. And I sometimes get words mixed up as they are coming out of my mouth. It could be amusing, I guess, but mostly it’s just a little frustrating and I have to slow down and reset and have compassion for myself and speak slower.
My spirit is struggling to make sense of the cancer still, but more than that, I’m examining my life and the way I spend my time. The things that I want to do with the time I’ve got left.
Because cancer reminds you, that you will die. Hopefully I’ll still get to be an old lady with long white hair, but I don’t know that for sure anymore.
And so, I rest. I play. I love. I write. And I try to create more music, because my voice is most easily expressed in music.
Kate, wearing glasses and a black beanie, leans back in a chair by the fire pit in a friends back yard.
Caring And Comfort (Savvy Wigs) sent me my wig in May after a little delay. One of the main wig makers just had a little delay, I mean, a baby! I’m excited for her and still waiting for those pictures… I’m so grateful to Caring and Comfort, Christian and my Mom for helping me obtain this wig. It’s made from my hair and made to look exactly like I used to look…
I do feel ambivalent about wearing it. I love it AND it makes me cry.
It’s all very interesting to have it arrive when the hair on my head was starting to grow back in earnest. Of course, now, it’s falling out again from this second batch of chemo rounds. When I got diagnosed and cut off all my hair, I felt empowered and I didn’t really mourn much about the loss of my hair for that first part of chemotherapy. Cutting it off was a way I could take control of this out-of-control situation. But now, having my wig, and having my hair fall out a second time… I am mourning, more than I expected.
Here’s my journal entry from the day I received my wig (edited for language):
I got my wig. My hair. My hair all tied up in knots on lace that fits over my bald head. It’s emotionally very strange to suddenly have my hair back, but it’s not actually attached to my head. It does look uncannily like me. Or at least how I used to look. I’m not sure I look like that anymore. Which is maybe why it’s emotional. Why my hair got to be this symbol of something bigger, some letting go. Some mourning of a past self that will never exist again, cancer free and ignorant of the possibility of cancer. I am forever changed. It seems like a cliche, but it’s also a truth. I will never be the same again, cancer changed me. Physically, some of which I will recover from and the visible scars will be few. Emotionally, most of which will follow me until I’m gone. I want to travel and see my family more, I want to do the things I’ve dreamed of and never acted on. I want to do more of the same things I’m doing anyway, because I do love music, writing music, teaching music, performing music. My hair. My identity. My look. My sexuality. My quirk. My recognizable trait. My hair.
Picture of Kate looking uncannily like her old pre-cancer self with long wavy hair. Yes, this is my wig!
