The Haircut

Fifteen years ago, my mom's hair started dramatically falling out from her chemo treatments.  She asked my uncle to shave her head so it would be less dramatic.  She was heartbroken.

Fifteen years later, I decided to not wait for the dramatic and asked my uncle to shave my head.  I had my 3 year old daughter help.  I wanted her to learn that it was just a haircut and feel a part of it instead of just coming home one day and finding I didn't have hair anymore.  For me, shaving my head for the first time (we will probably have to shave it all off in a week or two) was less painful.  I felt like I took control and I know there is a valuable lesson I am teaching my daughter.  I had been so afraid of explaining my coming hair loss to my daughter, but for her it was fun. It was not something scary or strange, it was just something we did. She has no reason to think or believe that hair or physical appearance can define you.  I hope that I can keep her that way.  I hope that she never has to know the emotional and physical pain of cancer.  I hope Uncle Bryan never has to give her a haircut.  I hope that she will never look at me and know the gravity of the illness I faced or my true strength.  I hope that for her I will always simply be fun, loving, silly mommy.

BEFORE

I shaved my Uncle Bryan's hair first, then he saved mine.

 

CUT AND TRIM

AFTER

 MOMMY & HER BABY GIRL

 

It is odd that it took shaving my hair off to get here, but today, more than ever in my life, I feel strong and beautiful.

The Mother/Daughter Tree

I'm a week out of my first chemo treatment and I'm struck by the connection between my mother, my daughter and myself.  First, while the treatment hasn't been "that bad," it hasn't been easy by any means.  Like with pregnancy and motherhood, I feel incredibly connected with my mom through this experience.  I only have to do four rounds, her first time, my mom did 9. NINE!!!! Nine months of chemo and side effects. I have no idea how she did it.  While her experience taught me much and probably saved my life, I do not know how she got the strength and the fight and yet, I know where it came from.  It came from her desire to be on this earth as long as she could for her children.  My daughter is my strength.  One minute I might be vomiting and the next I have to be making Valentine's Day cards, because that is what my three year old needs.  That is what she understands and deserves, gifts for her friends, not a sick mom.  There is absolutely no time to feel sorry for myself. 

I am indebted to my mom for her fight and courage and I am indebted to my daughter for her joy and inspiration.  

I imagine that my mom, my daughter and I are all part of a tree.  My mom is the roots, sturdy and strong, keeping us grounded.  She is for the most part unseen, but the rest of the tree wouldn't exist without her.  I am the trunk of the tree, beaming and tall, firmly in place because of my strong roots.  My daughter she is the branches and the leaves.  She is stretched out far and wide for the world to see.  Her limbs reaching for the sky.  She is what makes the tree beautiful.  

The three of us are forever connected in this beautiful life and though I am always me, they are what make me who I am.  They make me whole.

Our Daughters Are Watching

This morning Catalina randomly asked me "mommy your owie doesn't hurt anymore?" I told her it does still hurt, and it would likely hurt for a while but eventually it would go away.  Then I asked her if she was worried about my owie. She said, "well when someone has an owie, you are suppose to ask if they are ok."  She was just being considerate or polite. Either way my 3 year old made me proud. 

Though I previously thought chemotherapy would not be part of my treatment plan, later test showed a high likelihood for reoccurrence. Over the next 12 weeks, I will undergo 4 treatments. I thought telling loved ones "I have cancer" was difficult, it is nothing compared to the fear of how I will explain my hair loss to my daughter. We are experiencing many changes and I don't want those spinning wheels in her head that randomly think of mama's owie to worry her. 

I have a few weeks before we need to have this conversation. If I tell her too soon she will ask me way too many questions before then. We are in a why/how stage. I know I will make it fun. A head shaving party is in the works and I need some face painting crayons so I can promise to let her draw on my head. And of course a Wonder Woman scarf is on order. I will need to remember my girl power and that my daughter is watching me. No matter how difficult it might be to lose my hair, she is watching so I will confidently remind myself and her that "I am not my hair." 

I am reminded of the strength of my mom and of countless other women, who in the midst of adversity or even the day-to-day business remember "our daughters are watching."