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Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Top Ten Reasons to Be Thankful for Being Bald



Recently, my friend, Tina, reminded me of one of her mother’s many sayings, “You get used to hanging if you hang long enough.”

That got me thinking about how back in July, being bald alarmed me. Five months later, I’m still glad baldness is temporary, but I also see an upside.  


In the spirit of Thanksgiving, here’s my list of The Top Ten Reasons to be Thankful for Being Bald:
10. You save a bundle on shampoo and conditioner.


9.  Month after month, you never have to shave your legs.


8.  No eyelashes to get stuck in your eyes.


7.  You get to laugh out loud when your friend, Dot, recites Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear, Fuzzy Wuzzy Had no Hair!


6.  No jaunts to the hairdresser to choke on nail lacquer or hairspray fumes.


5.  Your annual skin check at the dermatologist is easier when she can actually see your scalp.


4. You never have a bad hair day.


3. No fretting about grays.


2. You can put on your husband’s goofy hair hat, rock the Guy Fieri look, and remember not to take yourself too seriously.


And the # 1 Reason to be Thankful for Being Bald:


This too shall pass. Your hair grows back!


“They” say you don’t always get the hair you had before chemo. Salt-and-pepper might grow back gray and curly might come in straight. I liked the wash-and-wear-just-enough-curl in my old hair, but to show up Fuzzy Wuzzy, I’ll take what I get.


Did I miss anything on my Top Ten Reasons to Be Thankful for Being Bald? And, what’s on your list of things you once dreaded and learned to be thankful for?


P.S. To thank you for stopping by, I’m running a Thanks-Giveaway. Win e-book copies of CAPE MAYBE and PEACE BY PIECE.


Easy to enter:
1.  Follow this link to my Facebook Author Page

2.  Like my Facebook Author Page (on the banner at the top)

3.  Look for the Thanks-Giveaway post and confirm in comments that you liked the page
 

That’s it; 3 simple steps and you are entered. For a bonus entry, share the link on your FB timeline or tweet so your friends can enter too.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

What Not to Say to Someone with Cancer


by Carol Fragale Brill

Are you old enough to remember the old Art Linkletter show, “Kids say the Darnedest Things? It turns out, adults do too. Since sharing I have cancer, I have heard some doozies. Maybe it’s that facing someone with an illness or disability unsettles us to the point where we grope for words, or ramble and unintentionally blurt out the not-so-empathetic thing.
Here are some of the “darnedest” things I wish I could un-hear.  
1.    Cancer Stories with unhappy endings - “My (fill in the blank; sister, mother, cousin, neighbor) just DIED from cancer.” Or even worse “Died from the same kind of cancer you have.
 
I can’t tell you how many times, after hearing I have cancer, the first thing someone tells me is about someone that died. Most of us have at least one personal story about someone who suffered an unpleasant cancer death.

Unless I ask you, this is not a good time to remind me that people die from cancer. If you feel compelled to share, make it a hopeful story about someone who beat the sucker and is cancer-free.  

2.    Chemo Horror Stories. “Do you know how often after chemo, cancer returns with a vengeance?”
 
In what universe does a person in the midst of chemo treatments need to hear cancer and vengeance in the same sentence? The only thing the local store-owner who said this to me accomplished is making me want to avoid him and his store with a vengeance.

Before starting chemo, I was freaked out enough about losing my hair, the possibility of nausea and vomiting, and the long list of other potential side-effects shared by my doctor without being bombarded with unsolicited real-life accounts of organ damage, excruciating mouth sores, fingernails that turned black and fell off, or life-threatening dehydration. There is only so much cancer and chemo horror I can take-in without completely wigging-out. If I want to hear the gory details, trust that when I’m ready I’ll ask you.

And for the record, my experience with chemo isn’t nearly as nasty as those alarming stories. That’s what I’d like someone embarking on their own chemo journey to hear.

3.    The royal “We”. We will get through this,” “Just six chemo treatments? We can do that.”

On a recent episode of Parenthood, I almost cheered out loud when a character who plays a cancer survivor complained about how much “we” statements bugged her.

Not all “we” statements bother me. I love to hear “we” when you mean you and someone else like, “we are praying,” or “we want to help.”

I know my cancer causes distress to those who care about me. I believe when you say “we” you mean you want to be there and support me. Instead, what I hear is you believe you’re experiencing the same thing as me--that you have as much skin in this game as Jim and me.
“We” can wish it were different. The reality is this cancer is happening inside only my body. That changes my life and Jim’s in ways it doesn’t impact anyone else. There are parts of having cancer I have no choice but to do alone—parts even Jim can’t do for me.

Melissa Etheridge, a cancer survivor, says it poignantly in her beautiful song, “This is Not Goodbye,”  

Where I go now, I go alone.
This path I walk, these days of stone. 

Before using the royal “we” it might help to ask yourself, “How does her cancer change my day to day life?” If you are doing pretty much what you always did, consider ditching the “we.”  

I know no one intends to upset me when they say these darnedest things. Innocent or not, some remarks nearly pushed me over the edge in the early weeks after my diagnosis when I was numb and fragile—when it was nearly impossible for me to hear a sad cancer story and not project the same thing happening to me. While I’m getting better at not agonizing and melting down, there are still things that rattle my hope and that I’d rather not hear. 

This was a hard post for me to write. I don’t know if others with cancer feel the way I do, so in spite of the title, this post is about me with cancer, not we with cancer.

Please share in comments and help me better appreciate and understand the flip-side, What does hearing a person has cancer—or any serious illness or disability—feel and sound like to you? 

And, follow this link to hear Melissa Etheridge’s song, “This is Not Goodbye”
                        https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksihRX4kPtM

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Perfect Love: Arriving in April


by Chris Brady


Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild.
                                                                                                    ~Welsh Proverb
 
The reality of becoming a grandmother has been percolating in my mind since learning my daughter-in-law was expecting. And now it is even more real as we know the baby is a girl. I have six months to study up on grand-parenting. 

And I can't help but wonder, what kind of grandmother will I be.

I have great role models: my mom and my mother-in-law come easily to mind.  Each in her own way forged strong bonds with my son, spending a lot of quality time with him. My mom was the first phone call when school would phone me that he was sick and I was stuck at work. And my mother-in-law would take him for spring break in Florida and a summer week in North Carolina. He hit the mother-lode in grandmothers.

A granddaughter seems like such a gift to me as a mother of a son. I recall my own
Nannie and me circa 1960.
experience as a granddaughter, and memories of my maternal grandmother “Nannie” still make me smile.

She wasn’t a cool grandmother in the modern sense, and I can’t say that she imparted any great wisdom that guided my decisions (more likely I wasn’t paying attention). But I remember her presence throughout my life, and I treasure the things we did together, just her and me.

I used to stay overnight with her a few days a week when I was in high school. She was about 85 at the time, living with my aunt, who was often away. We would walk to the Acme, which was about a half mile away, to shop for dinner. This involved crossing the six lanes of the Roosevelt Boulevard with no traffic light. When I would hesitate at the sight of oncoming traffic she would jog into the street in her black old lady shoes fearless of the danger, pulling me along for the run.

 “They wouldn't dare hit an old lady,” she proclaimed. And three lanes of cars would stop for us, with not a beep out of them.  

I won't be running in traffic with my new granddaughter, but I hope we share some adventures together so that she can smile about our time together after I'm gone.
 

Arriving in April 2015, she has no idea how much love awaits her.

Share your grandmother stories so that I learn from the pros.