It’s a very strange feeling to be over 16 months out from chemotherapy and yet be back to square one with the hair where it all began to fall out in April 2013 from FEC – D chemotherapy. Punk Chick and JRF helped me treat the hair loss as a celebration of sorts, a path to wellness. “Piece of cake!” I said, since it wasn’t going to be permanent.
In retrospect, what a genius idea it was to document that process for the SHITTY TITTIE CHEMO CUT CHALLENGE. None of us had any inkling that so much of my hair would be killed off permanently by my life saving chemotherapy.
Just yesterday, I had the pleasure of lunch with the radiant, rainbow coloured, hairdresser Punk Chick and my dear sisterlike friend Kenny. They agreed my head could do with a shave as there wasn’t a lot of other options holding out for me in haircut land. So this had to be. A clean slate. Starting afresh, moving on, and all that.
As it stands, this must be about Shitty Tittie Chemo Cut Fourteen, and hopefully one day very soon, I won’t think of this as a chemo cut anymore but just as “my cut”. The association between this and chemo is very strong. But so was the constant reminder of cancer from looking like I had the hair of the Three Stooges.
(Yes, all of them together) And many people still thought I was still having active treatment anyway.
I’ll continue ingesting Minoxidil and Spironolactone through the summer and then I think I’ll just forget about it. The hair specialist says the hair I have is likely to fall out once the meds stop. But I have so much to be thankful for and it’s time to direct my energies to more important things. You know, like things that actually matter.
So for now I’ll run with the slogan , “the family that shaves together stays together”. Or something like it.
Twenty three months ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Around the same time, 650kms away from me lived a woman roughly my age, married and raising two young children, who was also just diagnosed with breast cancer. We met in an online community for young women with cancer, a group that has connected me with women that will be lifelong friends.
Marina is one of them.
We had the same chemotherapy regimen and she would read my blog to see what laid ahead for her because I was a week further along. Despite going through exactly what I was going through, incredibly, when I struggled to get out of bed, Marina posted to me little gift packages with the sweetest cards. When I started to burn from radiation, we texted photos of our chests to each other and she shared what she had learnt from treatment. When my hair never grew back, she sent me her beautiful silk hair scarves (pictured) that she wasn’t using anymore. Later on, she brought me her wig when she visited me in my hometown.
Despite us both having aggressive, nodal positive breast cancer, we are positive for still being here, and now inextricably linked by our shared experience and friendship. Marina is such a brave woman and she has taught me a lot about myself.
Earlier in the year, Marina jumped on an extraordinary opportunity to tell her story through Canon’s “Shine a Light” promotion. Several months after we had completed our treatment, the Australian journalist Lisa Wilkinson chose Marina as her subject to photograph as a symbol of what matters to her. Shining a light on breast cancer was what mattered to her, and she wanted to capture an image of an incredibly strong survivor.
In the video below, Marina articulates the message that people see her as she is now. She doesn’t want to shy away from how breast cancer and a double mastectomy has physically transformed her. Here, Marina is coming out of the other side of her breast cancer. As if to say, “this is me, I’m happy with who I am, take it or leave it”. Bravery in spades!
This year the competition received the biggest number of entries in its history. Sadly, Marina’s images didn’t make the top two percent of thousands of submissions and although disappointed she didn’t make the cut, we wait with anticipation to see the final images selected when it is exhibited next year.
What is clear though, is Marina’s passion for photography and her incredible talent for it will go far. Marina turned to photography earlier this year as a positive focus in her life after the horrors of last year, and she has achieved so much in such a short time.
What was of interest in my story to Marina, was the cruel irony in me creating the Shitty Tittie Chemo Cut Challenge which can be viewed here, virtually celebrating the loss of my hair to chemotherapy with such positivity.
And yet here I am fifteen months later, overweight and menopausal, wearing my wedding ring on my necklace because It doesn’t fit my lymphedema swelling in my hand from surgery. I am still without eyebrows, and if you zoom in you can see the facial hair I have from the hair drugs I take. Let us not forget that ghastly hair!
But it’s not about the hair to me. It’s about the other things that it represents; the loss of health, youth, fertility, breast sensation, beauty, intimacy, womanliness, femininity. I think Marina has captured the essence of all of that so well. It can be seen in the tension in my eyes and forehead, in the anger with the wig. She HAS really nailed it. My story.
So, this is me. Take it or leave it.
TAKE WHAT YOU WANT AND PAY FOR IT: Shitty Tittie Chemo Cuts #1
KEEP YOUR HAIR ON: Shitty Tittie Chemo Cuts #3
When I look at Marina’s images I get choked up in the same way Marina did when Lisa Wilkinson showed her her images for the first time. There is grief and loss captured here, but there is also acceptance of self.
I can’t thank Marina enough for asking me to be involved in this project.
Thank you also to our gorgeous friend Candy for her assistance with the titles and words. I would never have reached that 100 word limit on my own!
This week saw the passing of three hundred and sixty five days since I completed my Fec-D chemotherapy regimen.
Yes. It’s my “Chemoversary”! And tonight I’m gonna party like it’s 1999.
No, no, no, I won’t be doing that! Instead, I will, on this splendid Sunday evening, present to you a bathroom selfie titled “Shitty Tittie Chemo Cut Thirteen – The Chemoversary Edition.”
With around 3-6% percent of women who have the drug Taxotere (Docetaxol) going on to have poor hair regrowth post chemo, and with doctors stumped about what the mechanism is that leads to thinning and baldness in some patients, I’m guessing this makes me pretty spesh and unique.
But there is more to life than having long, thick hair.
For example, wiping hairs out of your face on windy days is such a pain. So is getting a long hair in your mouth while you are eating. That stuff one can do without. Who needs to waste time purchasing hair accessories? Who really wants the risk of getting their hair caught in power tools? That is dangerous! Or braiding or platting hair. Pffft! Or tying it back with scrunchies. So 1980’s anyway. Those things are all so, so overrated! And quite frankly, pony tails belong on ponies. There I said it!
There is also much, much more to life than supporting the hair dressers of the good land in which you live. (Sorry Punk Chick – It was my dream to visit you every couple of months for a new do to make up for my abmissal hair dressing tally from the 1970’s to 2013). But in 369 days, and after a bit of fuzz trimming, this is where we are at. I ain’t going to be helping you pay your bills any time soon!
Thank you to all the people who felt sorry for me. It truly helps to know you hold some sort of nostalgia for my hair loss too. Thank you also to the people who finally conceded defeat and stopped telling me it was early days and would grow back normally with more time.
To get a little nostalgic for my lost hair you can see what it started out like prior to chemo and finished up as in the video here…
Huge thanks to my girlfriends Candy, Marina and Angie who sent me or offered to send me their wigs from across Australia. An incredibly real version of Lady Diana and Ab Fab Patsy arrived at my front door via Australia Post. I’ll share some pics of these at some stage. I have embraced these wigs a few times in my own house with the blinds pulled down. I even ventured out in public in the company of trusting girlfriends, when late one night we went out for dinner in town on one of the coldest and quietest nights of the week. At this stage, they still feel a little like wearing a dead marsupial on my head. But I might persist. Might being the operative word.
For anyone who ever finds themselves in this situation of hair not returning properly post chemotherapy, there are women world-wide who will share their stories and offer support and advice. Click here to be taken to the resource “Ahead of Our Time” from a group called the Taxotears. Permanant hair loss can be one of the hardest psychological issues to deal with post cancer treatment.
Thankfully, I’m getting to the stage where I’m starting not to care so much. But it has taken many months to get here and I’m not shedding Taxotears anymore.
“Wow, I can’t wait to see what your hair will grow back like” someone said. “I bet you it will be thick and curly. My girlfriend’s cousin had think curls.”
“My uncle’s wife had dark curly hair after her chemo” someone else said.
“A woman that comes to our craft group had cancer, and her hair regrew in so, so thick it was like wool!” Yes, that was said by someone too.
As well as about three thousand other examples of post chemo hair growth observations, and about five thousand “Just wait and see, it will grow back soon I am sure of it!”
Six months after chemo, time would tell, by then most people have their hair back!
We rolled on through the loss of my hair in March 2013 from FEC -D chemotherapy, treated it like a celebration. A celebration to saying goodbye to cancer and moving on. I created the Shitty Tittie Chemo Cut Reveal Challenge. Eleven different hairstyles with Punk Chick to make up for my abysmal life hairdressing tally before getting cancer at thirty seven. I even made a video. See…
The hair loss was easy to experience because it wasn’t permanent. Seems now it is. And that reality is now dawning on me.
In the months after the year of treatment finished I threw myself into triathlon, running, cancer fundraising, and walks. I was part of a team that raised nearly $71,000 for Peter Mac (which I will add a blog about shortly). I also walked in The Cancer Council’s Relay for Life, and ran in the Mothers Day Classic. So it’s fair to say I’m totally pinked out for a while.
Fourteen months ago, I had long straight thick blonde hair, and pretty much for most of the thirty seven years prior to that.
Today, I don’t. Today, I’m sitting in a hair loss clinic in the big smoke.
There are some white Eames replica style chairs in this second floor medical office and I am invited to sit by a doctor who clearly has never had any issue with hair loss.
The white chair beside me has one lone, thick, dark and very long hair on the chair. Just one.
We discuss my history of hair and the details of my treatment for breast cancer. What was the extent of my shedding prior to breast cancer? Prior to chemo? Was my shower plug hole filled with hair or just some strands? Parents, yes, they had excellent follicular coverage on their heads. Yes, my Grandparents all had thick hair, although my maternal grandmother’s hair was thin at 79. Yes, my older brothers both now have receding hairlines and male patterned baldness. So does my husband. (Just thought I’d put that in. It really has no relevance!)
I am shown a picture that documents the degrees of shedding with varies sized hair clumps in each box of the table. Mmmmm tasty!
“How is the hair on other parts of your body?” asked the hairy doctor.
“Well, eyebrows haven’t returned, eyelashes haven’t grown in. Leg hair and arm hair is okay, a bit thinner than before. Pubic hair is thinner. Nose air, hasn’t returned. I have a A LOT more facial hair now. You know those ones that grow a few inches in twenty four hours? Yeah those. And of course, my head has developed male patterned baldness or androgenic alopecia, which according to Google is hair loss that occurs due to an underlying susceptibility of hair follicles to shrink due to the role of androgens.
The hairy doctor taps away on a wonky keyboard entering all of this data into my electronic file. This incessant clunking of the iMac keyboard perched precariously on a mouse pad, half on and half off goes on forever. Why not just stop and straighten it?
Then, out of nowhere, tears begin to gush from my eyes.
The hairy doctor stands up from the white replica Eames chair, comes around to the front of the desk and takes my hand. I am told “Be happy for your children, be happy for your children.”
“It’s only hair”
But it’s not ONLY hair!
After a year and a half, this is the thing that gets to me. It’s not the mastectomies, the ongoing pain, the weight gain, the menopausal symptoms, the loss of sexual function and intimacy, the ruptured tissue explander, the damaged lung, the supposedly benign lesions on my liver that will be watched. The seeming ability to age twenty years in one. It’s not even the cancer or the loss of my expectation of my healthy life and my healthy future.
This hair loss, my hair loss, ten months after finishing chemotherapy, is symbolic of all of these things. Collectively.
So I compose myself and look sideways over at the artwork on the crisp white walls. There I find no distraction. For the artwork is an rather accurate representation and of my shiny thin scalp and my receding hairline. Surely, all of the follicular themed artwork that adorns the walls of this practise is taking the mickey? Lithographic prints of landscapes, detailing hills and depicting deforestation. Barren. Sparse. Just like my post treatment head.
Halfway through the appointment I am asked to move and sit on the chair with the long solitary hair strand.
My head is photographed from different angles. At the end of the consult I am sent to the blood collection room. My results will be discussed in a month. These tests are done to ascertain if there is any underlying cause of hair loss, not related to chemotherapy or genetics.
But the wobbly keyboard. The follicular styled artwork. The single hair on the chair. The tears just keep flowing throughout the consult and I am offered a box of tissues to quell the year of tears and emotion.
The hairy doctor leaves the room and gets the Professor. I’m a little too difficult to manage. Minutes later, the face of hairy hope enters.
The Good Professor says that with some people, their hair never grows back post chemo, and they just don’t understand what the mechanisms of this are. It is really just luck of the draw.
“But there are many things we can do” he adds.
Medications can be taken long term, not to regrow the hair that has gone, but to slow the rate of shedding going forward. So let me get this straight! These medications won’t work at regrowing hair on my head, but as a side effect, they will add it to my face and body. Pleeeeaaaase no!
As for those expensive lotions and potions, useless too.
There are hair transplants. At this point, the horror of the catchphrase of the “Advanced Hair, Yeah Yeah! Ashley and Martin television add flickers in my head.
There are wigs, so post consult and blood collection, I am shown a small wig display of cheap synthetic wigs as a starting point.
The wig option seems to be the most enticing now, after I ridiculed the prospect of them last year at the LGFB workshop I went to and wrote about here.
When I finally leave the consult room I notice the long, solitary hair is no longer on the white Eames chair. It must be stuck to my backside.
On the train I ask myself the question, WTF am I spending lots of money seeing a hair specialist to be told it’s only hair? I thought a hair specialist would understand that it is not ONLY hair to their patients. I mull over the expensive treatment options. I am not sure how to proceed. Does it even matter anymore?
As my train leaves the city and stops at one of the last suburban stations, my face lights up when I see my friend boarding my carriage. I really, really needed to see him today. He boards the train and fights off other passengers who want the seat next to me. We embrace. We have a long chat as we travel to his home in the county. He makes me a delicious meal and we talk about hair, chairs and being grateful.
I am cancer free at the moment, so why don’t I just focus on that? I should be grateful.
January the 18th was an awesome day for so many reasons. Twelve months on (and ten months of breast cancer treatment between), I went back and completed my second sprint distance triathlon. The first was done a week after diagnosis and marked the beginnings of me entering the fray of the disease blog genre when I published this post.
Three hundred and sixty five days ago I was filled with the terror of cancer and what was to lay ahead for me. When I made my way into the river for the triathlon start, all of the cancer related anxiety disappeared. I checked out of Cancerland and tuned into the sights and sounds around me in the immediate moment. It was sunset, there were hundreds of heads and arms thrashing about ahead of me so I waited at the back of the swim pack to compose myself. There were large rivergums on the banks and the sun dappled through their branches, there were sulphur crested cockatoos and galahs screeching at each from the treetops. Through my goggles I could just make out the Port of Echuca Wharf in the distance.
I recall the exhilaration of commencing movement through the tea coloured water, of seeing air bubbles emerge from my mouth, stick to my face and be pushed away with the momentum of swimming. Of seeing arms and legs thrashing and churning through the water. The thrill of turning the large meander bend in the river and swimming within metres of paddles steamers. Of being pushed along by the current of the ancient river towards something great. The sensation of fine river sediments squishing between toes as I stood to make my way up the hill to the bike transition. I was alive and the Dread Dragon from the previous week had finally taken a nap and didn’t return for a couple of days. My family and friends were there to encourage and support me. I wondered if I would ever do anything like it ever again. I would have to wait a long time to see.
Two days later, the Dread Dragon returned and breathed fireballs at everything that mattered to me in my life. Struggling to sleep and eat from the fear of the unknown, the long road ahead of cancer treatment ate away at me. Mr Cool took me off to my local hospital, anorexic from my short dalliance with the anti-depressant medication my doctor had tried to help me with a week earlier, nauseated and with heart palpitations from the sheer anxiety and terror of being a newbie to the world of cancer. The waiting for results had began.
After finishing ten months of treatment and giving my radiation burns time to heal I decided to return to this event. In November, once treatment was complete, I took off like a rocket and tried to train as I once had, six times a week. But it was too soon and too much for my chemo and surgically depleted hemoglobin. I was falling into bed at 7:30pm and was unable to wake in the mornings. So I dropped the training back to three sessions a week and that seemed to be enough to help lift my treatment fatigue. I almost gave up on the idea of returning to the same triathlon. For weeks it just seemed unachievable and unrealistic.
But in mid December I decided to have another go at reaching the goal and I started training more frequently again. I wasn’t waiting any longer. My goal was just to go back and finish it again, 700 metres swim, 20 km’s on the bike and a 5 km run and feel comfortable in myself through the process.
I’m glad I didn’t give up on this idea. I’m glad I didn’t wait.
This time, there was much less fear about doing the actual triathlon even though I had a lot less fitness. Having completed it before helped, but there was something about what I have been through in 2013 has made me a bit tougher with respect to challenges. A bit more of a go getter. Some people suggested I should wait. Wait till my body had recovered more. But there is no time to waste. Why should I wait to be ready to exercise? To train? What was I supposed to wait for? What was I fearful of? Getting better? Getting past cancer? Getting on with living?
I’ve put off many things in my life thinking there would be a more appropriate time down the track to start working towards something. I’ve made loads of excuses. I sat and waited. The years rolled on by, and I was still waiting. But I’ve learnt this year that the best time to start is NOW. Not when I think I look more respectable in lycra or am fitter, or have faster times or feel more comfortable while running. But to just jump in and have a go. Just drop the fears and the inhibitions that hold us back. I’m not going to be the Mum who sits on the side of the pool anymore and watches my kids. I am what I am. In all of my puffy, wobbly, bald, post treatment glory.
While waiting in a pre race toilet queue, I got talking to a lady who asked me if I had done the race before. My thin short hair still screams cancer to some people and after she glanced up at my scalp she paused uncomfortably. I told her my story and she proceeded to show me her open heart surgery scar from ten months earlier. Surgeons removed what was thought to be cancer on her aortic valve. And there we were waiting in a pre race toilet queue about to do a sprint distance triathlon. Both of us with an appreciation for our lives and making the most of things. Waiting for the loo. But not waiting for the things that were important to us.
Then, while waiting on the grass for the pre race briefing, I spotted a couple walking past the park. They had waited for the right moment to approach me. I bawled like a baby on recognising high school friends Mel from the Blog I GOT THE GOOD CANCER and ‘Bevan Lemon’ that drove a 700km round trip to surprise me. This gesture mean’t so much to me and I will be forever be grateful to them for doing that. Even more incredible was that Mel had just finished 6 months of chemo and here she was, in the northern part of the state on a 39 degree day cheering me on (and she still has better head coverage than me!) and all while waiting to see if her cancer was in remission or not.
When Mr Cool and I went to leave our children with their grandparents to walk to the start of the swim, my oldest son got upset. This was partly because he saw my reaction to Mel and Bevan’s arrival. But it was also about him remembering the details of this previous year vividly.
He remembers the state his Mum was in last time I did a triathlon and it was when his life changed immeasurably. Shortly after that triathlon his Mum went away to hospital many times, she came home with hard breasts with scars and spent long durations in bed and there was a bag of blood attached to her and she kept going back to hospital all the time to see doctors. She couldn’t hug him like she used to because she was in too much pain and she couldn’t lift her arm anymore. Then her hair all fell out and she was too sick to care for him and his brother, and people kept arriving at his home with meals and cards and flowers. He had waited a long time for “his” Mum to be “his” Mum again. And now we were back in the place where in his mind, it all began.
After reassuring him that everything was okay and that I was very happy and excited, he agreed to cheer for us and I gave him our camera and asked him to take some photos. He played with his brother and they watched and waited for their parents to come into view as the race progressed.
With all of the excitement of surprises from sneaky friends and unsettled kids, Mr Cool and I hurriedly made our way to the start and while walking with a friend the tears started flowing at the feeling of being back here. I had waited a long time to get back here, to this moment.
We were late getting to the start line and it was like a comedy of errors with Mr Cool and I trying to get our wetsuits on as the starter called five minutes and a few hundred people gathered in the water below us.
Still conscious of my post chemo Harold Bishop hairdo, (a character from the Australian TV Soap Neighbours) and the complexities of easing the new hot flush me into tight lycra and a wetsuit that fitted me much better pre treatment, I got a quick kiss from Mr Cool and ran down and jumped into the river at the back of the pack and immediately started the swim.
I’m not a fan of menopausal hot flushes underneath a winter wetsuit and swim cap. Half way along I had to stop to tug on the neck of my wetsuit to let some cool water in. Then I resumed swimming. When I reached the river exit I fell over getting out of the water. I was then unable to get the wetsuit down over my much broader chest and my arms were much more tired from the swim this year. I walked through transition and wasted 5 minutes just trying to work out how I would GET THE DAMN WETSUIT OFF! Riding a bike in a wetsuit? Now there would be a challenge. But I took my time and as the transition area emptied itself I was able to pry the wetsuit off my elbows and make my way out onto the bike course.
On the bike the wind picked up and I was at the very back of the bike field pushing on my own through the wind. Despite there being very hot and windy conditions, I rode the 20km’s with a big wide smile. As I pedalled along I reflected on what had occurred in 2013. My body felt more tired with each lap but I felt comfortable, and I was okay with being last. I was just thankful to be there, and so grateful to all of the people that supported us in 2013.
Then out of nowhere a woman rode up along side me. After some chatting about the heat and the wind and some introductions, it turned out it was her very first triathlon. She was intending to enter the event as a team, and wait till later on to enter as an individual. Down the track when she would have developed more fitness and discovered if she in fact liked triathlon or not. But when she went to sign up she discovered her ‘”friend” had already entered her as an individual to complete the whole thing. So on just 18 days of training she turned up and completed the race. What a legend! And that made two of us who were not waiting.
My incredible partner raced the swim and bike legs in the lead pack and then chose to stop and wait forty eight minutes for me at the start of his run leg to run alongside and finish with me. In his mind, I would not come last, as he would cross the line after me.
Yesterday, I surprised even myself. My second sprint distance triathlon achieved, twenty minutes slower than last year and my proudest achievement yet. But most importantly I was again reminded of what an amazing network of friends and family I have around me and in choosing to do this triathlon, I was able to give my sons the image of me running across the finish line, ecstatic and with their Dad in tow. I’m glad they didn’t have to wait a second longer to experience this.
Now if only I didn’t have to wait for some more hair!
My recovery is going well. Just three weeks post rads and the burns have completely healed with only a slight suntanned tinge to the area and some residual itchiness. The tissue expander is tender and there is some hyper sensitivity if I am brushed past. This may always exist and I’m hoping I don’t develop capsular contracture of the tissue expander in future which sometimes happens from radiated implants. But so far it’s looking good. I am scheduled to have an exchange surgery which will swap the expanders for silicone breast implants sometime in the next 18 months.
I am thrilled to be getting back to walking, riding my bike and running. Well, if you can call jogging slower than what most people can walk, at least it is something. It’s going to take some time to get any sort of fitness back. When I run it is hard. It is uncomfortable. I want to stop, but once I start I won’t let myself walk.
It has been a lot harder that when I started 21 months ago on a serious fitness and health kick, (which led me to discovering cancer). I must have low haemoglobin from the blood loss from surgeries and chemotherapy. The last mastectomy in August resulted in quite a lot of blood loss, but not enough to have a transfusion. I could really do with some Lance Armstrong type blood doping now! What’s that eloquent quote? “All good things come to those who wait go out an f@*ken earn it!” So I’ll just have to take my time and keep chipping away till I see some improvements in my cardio fitness.
All of the expectations of returning to what I was twelve months ago aside, getting out again has helped immensely with energy levels and getting on with things. Big thanks to Catherine, Megsie and Mrs Kenny for being there on the occasions where I took my first steps on the exercise road as a “survivor of cancer” which is a very strange thing to refer to myself as. I’ve been treated for cancer and now I am not being treated for cancer. But I am here, and I am out moving, and breathing, and smelling the air, and taking it all in. There is a new appreciation for everything.
The only thing that is bothering me at the moment and believe me, there is a lot of things that could bother me when I reflect on the last 11 months, is that four months post chemo I still don’t have a thick layer of hair on my head and I seem to have developed some male patterned baldness. You know when they say couples grow to look alike? Well I think that is what is happening. Mr Cool and I are morphing into the same man! My hair is one inch long and it is terribly thin and you can see all of my scalp in daylight. I’m hoping this will rectify itself in the coming months or I will forever be wearing scarves, wigs or opting to have a shaved head for the rest of my days.
I’m not sure how I feel about this given I had long straight hair for 38 years. I never contemplated how long it would take to regrow hair. I had a lot of fun taking the hair off for the Shittytittie Chemo Cut Challenge. Some women never have proper hair again due to the chemo drugs, it is rare but it does happen and can be psychologically difficult to come to terms with. If I turn out to be one of them, if at least I am alive and that is what counts.
Last week a student I taught back in 2006 wrote me a letter after hearing of my circumstances this year. The news made him reminisce about his experiences in a Winter Alpine Environment subject I taught at university. How amazing is it to receive a hand written letter in the mail from someone? I can’t even remember the last time I received one.
“You’ll be glad to hear that my relationship with the mysterious and moody mountains still continues strongly and I have just completed two terms teaching at an alpine school. Many of your alpine lessons have been passed onto my students too. I have been teaching people how to paragluide and have taking tandem joy flights for a few years now. Many of your weather lessons have helped build my meteorological knowledge up too and I fondly remember you saying “you should observe the weather in the mountains as often as you think about sex!” Lets just say I read the weather quite well now!”
Ha ha! I can’t recall saying that, as I used to observe the weather in the mountains more than I thought about sex. But that’s just me!
He then went on writing his beautiful letter and extended an offer for me and my family to go for a fly around the mountains with him if the weather is good. That offer might just be too good to refuse!
He was and is one of those free spirit and awesomely natured folk, with a depth to him and an understanding of how to really live. It’s no surprise to me that he now teaches outdoor education intermittently in the winter months so that he can spend the other half of the year taking paragliding joy flights in the mountains. If ever there was an experience of living on the edge it must be soaring high above the Australian Alps!
The letter and the offer, just awesome! And I promise to write back to you. With a real pen and paper, and an envelope and a stamp and everything!
Big smiles to you too Wally, big smiles on the winds,
A few weeks back I had the absolute pleasure of participating in a Look Good Feel Better Workshop. This free community program helps people undergoing cancer treatment manage the craptastic chemo appearance-related side-effects. Originating in the United States in 1989, for women, men and teens, it is now available in over 175 locations in Australia alone and helped over 10,000 Australian cancer patients in 2012. Demonstrations include skincare, makeup application and the use of wigs, hats, turbans and scarves. You can register on the website or through your oncology treatment centre. Except don’t let your chemo nurse fill out the form and say things like… you normally wear blue eyeshadow and grey eyeliner, and your complexion is the same as Marilyn Manson’s, cause thats what you will get in your loot bag! Oh did I mention all the free loot that you get to take home?
I was excited to attend this, given my ongoing bemusement at the loss of my eyebrows, eyelashes, head hair and blotchy bloated skin. It would have been very easy not to attend given my chemo induced stupor at the moment. But my motto throughout this expose with the Spanish Dancer has been to accept the support that is given to me and participate in all of the community programs on offer. So off I shimmied.
This workshop was hi-larious! It was so beneficial for lifting the spirits and meeting women undergoing treatment for various cancers. I actually went straight to my fourth chemo treatment after the workshop with a spring in my step.
Before the program I was terrified of wigs. They have always reminded me of fury animals that can move around the house when you are sleeping. Leave the wig hanging on the back of a dining chair and in the morning it might have climbed into your bed and hogged the doona.
I also think too much about who might have owned the hair if the wig is real human hair rather than synthetic. Has it come from the daughter of a struggling farmer in small village in China? Has it been cut from a Russian teenager while she was sleeping? Is it horse hair? I kid, I kid!
Thankfully, the workshop ironed out any of these wig preconceptions I had and if I wasn’t stingy I might actually purchase a few. But normally when I purchase accessories I damage or lose them. I have been known to lose spectacles and I once lost a very expensive dental prosthetic in rural Victoria somewhere. Somehow it fell out of my car when it wasn’t in my mouth (don’t ask) and I was so frantic at the loss that the next day I drove the exact same 300km route with my eldest child who thankfully wasn’t old enough to see how neurotic his mother was about losing things and wasting money, all while Mr Cool was at work. We stopped everywhere we had stopped the day before.. roadsides, public toilets, cafes, parks, gutters. The round trip took five hours, but alas, I did not find it.
So imagine what I could do to a wig? Melt it sitting too close to a gas heater outside a cafe? Yes, I would do that. Have my whippet claim it as a small fury toy? Yep, that could very likely happen. Put it on crooked? Yep highly likely. I still sometimes wear my clothes inside out or back to front and notice at 4pm after I’ve been out all day. I also can’t imagine wearing a wig in spring and summer in Australia. So at the moment I am quite happy to be utilising scarfs and hats through this cold bald winter in Southern Australia. But I guess in refusing to jump into the purchasing of a wig, I could possibly be in denial about how long this whole hairless process might take. I’m hoping to have my very own fashionable pixie type haircut by Christmas day. The regrowth could be grey, ginger or black curls. Chemo does some funny things to hair when it finally grows back. It will be interesting to see what eventuates.
Here are the wigalicious hairdos I tried on and yes, I did manage to take shameless narcissistic selfies on my iPhone in front of everyone. This was an occasion for it…my once in a lifetime chance to participate in a wig extravaganza! What hast becometh of me?
Now let’s have a look at the Celebrity Brandz Wig Catalogue. For your enjoyment I have selected some pearlers. I would really have liked to try these on but the wigs on the day were (thankfully) a bit more youthful. Introducing to you, Charlie, Casey, Concerto, Flora, Lauren, Megan and Celina. Seven of the absolute best!