Losing your hair as many do with cancer treatments, is a very strange sensation. You get little clues. One morning a clump of hair comes out as you brush; a number of strains appear on your pillow; the drain in your shower is clogged with hair. You ignore these clues as long as you can. The bald spot on the back of your head becomes more and more visible and spreads. You have to brush hairs off your coat after every wearing and sweaters seem like hair magnets. You are definitely shedding, more and more profusely. It's going--going--GONE! At least that was my experience.
Others react differently. Some take an in-your-face attitude and defiantly have their head shaved at the first indication of hair loss. Jill had a "Shave My Head Bald" party. She called her friends and invited them to attend, wearing a hat to leave for her at the end of the party. With a sheet covering the floor she shaved her head as her friends stood around her, sang and cheered her on.
Wigs, turbans, scarves are solutions for some. Florenece, on her blog Perks with Cancer, posted four pictures of herself with different wigs and asked viewers to vote on which they liked best. Wigs are a great way to express some hidden part of your personality. Do you want to try being a sultry brunette, a glamorous blond, a perky redhead? Go for it!
Some take a light hearted approach. Shelva said her grandchildren called her the Great Bald Eagle. She would pop her wig off and on to surprise people.
Record in your journal what the experience was like for you, or share it here.
Then reflect on these questions: What does your hair mean to you? Hair is often associated with beauty in women, but where does beauty really come from? As I reflected on this question, suddenly "hair" news was everywhere. I was watching an episode of "The Incredible Race" on TV. One contestant refused the assignment to shave her head. In tears, she took a penalty rather than comply. Just yesterday an item was on the news about a 13 year old girl who was in Court for cutting off the long hair of a little 3 year old girl she did not even know.
Some see hair as a Power Statement. In the Bible we read how Samson's hair was his strength. When I was just beginning to recover my hair and had a short fuzz covering my head, an acquaintance, who did not know I had had cancer, walked up to me on the street and said, "I want to tell you how much a appreciate your "Strong Woman" haircut. She seemed disappointed when I told her it was not a "Strong Woman" haircut but a "Weak Woman" desperation. Loss of hair reminds us of how little power and control we have.
Loss of hair definitely makes a statement. Think of Skinheads and Monks and Cancer Survivors. All very different but each an example of profound transformation.
What does Hair symbolize for you--a symbol of beauty--a power statement--a profound transformation? How are you handling this situation? your ideas may help others.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Chapter 5: Our bodies/an ever changing reality
The writer Annie Dillard, though not speaking to those of us with cancer, described us well when she spoke of "frayed and nibbled survivors." Sometimes when we look at our bodies that is just how we feel.
The bodily changes that cancer bring are a challenge. A new level of fatigue is something we learn to live with and, looking in a mirror we sometimes don't recognize the face looking back at us. There is a depth and sadness in our eyes that is different. Hard pain leaves its mark. Look at a child's expression. It is open, expectant, smooth with wide-eyed trust, vulnerable. This is gone for cancer survivors. We are taking, or have taken, a dark journey that no well person can share, and we are left with an indescribable imprint.
It helps us to remember that our body has always been changing. Science tells us that millions of cells in our body are changed and renewed every minute and in 7 years we do not have a single living cell in our body that was there 7 years ago. Try to recall what your body was like at 7 year intervals and record these changes in your journal.
Remember yourself at 7 years of age. I was _________________
Look how you had changed at 14. I was____________________
At 21_______________________________________________
At 28___________________________________________
Continue until your present age.
In doing so you are observing an ever-changing reality. "I" is something OTHER and MORE than the body.
How do you feel about your body right now? Sometimes it is hard for us to love this strange new body. One student wrote: "My body is like a poor cousin asking for more help than I care to give."
It helps to pause and thank our bodies for their continuous battle toward wellness as it tries so hard to repair itself. Your body works through great difficulties with amazing tenacity. The life force is strong. Thank the veins in your arms and hands for their endurance. Appreciate the beauty of bruises in their rainbow of colors and shapes. Thanks the scars that make broken places stronger. Put your analytical mind on hold and learn what the body itself can teach us.
The bodily changes that cancer bring are a challenge. A new level of fatigue is something we learn to live with and, looking in a mirror we sometimes don't recognize the face looking back at us. There is a depth and sadness in our eyes that is different. Hard pain leaves its mark. Look at a child's expression. It is open, expectant, smooth with wide-eyed trust, vulnerable. This is gone for cancer survivors. We are taking, or have taken, a dark journey that no well person can share, and we are left with an indescribable imprint.
It helps us to remember that our body has always been changing. Science tells us that millions of cells in our body are changed and renewed every minute and in 7 years we do not have a single living cell in our body that was there 7 years ago. Try to recall what your body was like at 7 year intervals and record these changes in your journal.
Remember yourself at 7 years of age. I was _________________
Look how you had changed at 14. I was____________________
At 21_______________________________________________
At 28___________________________________________
Continue until your present age.
In doing so you are observing an ever-changing reality. "I" is something OTHER and MORE than the body.
How do you feel about your body right now? Sometimes it is hard for us to love this strange new body. One student wrote: "My body is like a poor cousin asking for more help than I care to give."
It helps to pause and thank our bodies for their continuous battle toward wellness as it tries so hard to repair itself. Your body works through great difficulties with amazing tenacity. The life force is strong. Thank the veins in your arms and hands for their endurance. Appreciate the beauty of bruises in their rainbow of colors and shapes. Thanks the scars that make broken places stronger. Put your analytical mind on hold and learn what the body itself can teach us.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Chapter 4: Courage
We will spend one more session considering our times during treatment for cancer. Hopefully there will be something strengthening for those now undergoing treatment. For long term survivors we visit this time again, seeking insight. We acknowledge that one of our learning points is: Getting over it is knowing you will never get over it. You will never be "well" in the same sense again.
One overwhelming experience during cancer treatment is how easily we lose our humanity. We become a "thing" to be studied, poked, tested, examined, cut up and invaded. Many times we feel like a specimen--a non-person. This is the stage of hanging-on and hanging-in and a time to consider courage. I found comfort in this statement:
The only kind of ;courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next.
The pain may be sharp, the misery deep, but the commitment to another day, another moment must be made.
This period raises some hard questions: What is the purpose of my life now? Does my life have any value? Hopes fade and plans go unfinished. We want to be brave and cheerful but only survivors know how much energy this takes out of us.
Still, there are lessons we can learn from this experience. First, we can witness to the fact that pain and suffering are a part of every life. One of my students said, "I will never again so naively think nothing bad can happen to me." Just as weather contains sunny days and rainy days, so do our lives. We can affirm THIS moment. This is where we are now. We have this moment to live and our life has value.
We also learn about the fragility of life. We don't know why some suffer more than others. Cancer causes us to probe deeper into our faith. You may want to say, "Hang in there through this painful period and you may discover God at a deeper level of faith". Our faith is tested during great pain. It's easier if we have been in remission for some time but our goal is to trust God in this painful moment and not just in retrospect later.
Take the time to jot these and other thoughts in your journal and ponder them.
Finally we witness to the fact that we cannot answer these questions. We only learn to live with the mystery and we affirm that we can trust God whatever our life situation.
My grace is sufficient for you--my power is made perfect in weakness.
2 Cor. 12:9
One overwhelming experience during cancer treatment is how easily we lose our humanity. We become a "thing" to be studied, poked, tested, examined, cut up and invaded. Many times we feel like a specimen--a non-person. This is the stage of hanging-on and hanging-in and a time to consider courage. I found comfort in this statement:
The only kind of ;courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next.
The pain may be sharp, the misery deep, but the commitment to another day, another moment must be made.
This period raises some hard questions: What is the purpose of my life now? Does my life have any value? Hopes fade and plans go unfinished. We want to be brave and cheerful but only survivors know how much energy this takes out of us.
Still, there are lessons we can learn from this experience. First, we can witness to the fact that pain and suffering are a part of every life. One of my students said, "I will never again so naively think nothing bad can happen to me." Just as weather contains sunny days and rainy days, so do our lives. We can affirm THIS moment. This is where we are now. We have this moment to live and our life has value.
We also learn about the fragility of life. We don't know why some suffer more than others. Cancer causes us to probe deeper into our faith. You may want to say, "Hang in there through this painful period and you may discover God at a deeper level of faith". Our faith is tested during great pain. It's easier if we have been in remission for some time but our goal is to trust God in this painful moment and not just in retrospect later.
Take the time to jot these and other thoughts in your journal and ponder them.
Finally we witness to the fact that we cannot answer these questions. We only learn to live with the mystery and we affirm that we can trust God whatever our life situation.
My grace is sufficient for you--my power is made perfect in weakness.
2 Cor. 12:9
Chapter 4: Naming our pain
One way to manage pain is to name it. When we name something, in a small way, we control it or at least we are able to endure it. The fearful experience becomes a bearable sojourn.
I challenge you to try this. In your journal name the experience you are going through with a name that amuses you, or creates a pleasant image, or is so horrible and exaggerated it surpasses credibility.
During chemo I experienced days when all I could do was sit and stare. I named that a Catatonic Day. This always reminded me of a scene from Harry Potter where with a wave of a wand and uttering of magic words, a person was put in a temporary paralyzed state.
I had Eggshell Days when I felt so fragile I thought I could easily crack. An illustration of Humpty-Dumpty from a childhood nursery-rhyme book comforted me.
There were Mule Kicking Days when my insides felt as if they had undergone a losing bout with a kicking mule.
I had days when I was first infused with chemicals in which I felt as if my body had been zapped and I tingled. Krytonite Day from a Superman comic?
I experienced Cardboard Mouth Days when it felt as if a layer of cardboard coated the roof of my mouth and permeated all I tasted.
Fortunately there were Rainbow Days when unexpected respite came and I had the visceral feeling of a deep surge in my body toward wellness.
My students added other names. There were Bad Hair Days and Smell of Doom Days. There were Call the Plumber Days and Rag-Doll Weakness Days.
Our culture values mastery and control. The pain with cancer is something you can't always control but you CAN claim the power of naming. It may not be the real world for others but may be a saving grace for you.
Now is the time to remember we serve a compassionate yet joyful God. Create a playful world through your journal, affirming that despite suffering, loss and disappointment, a full life can lived.
I challenge you to try this. In your journal name the experience you are going through with a name that amuses you, or creates a pleasant image, or is so horrible and exaggerated it surpasses credibility.
During chemo I experienced days when all I could do was sit and stare. I named that a Catatonic Day. This always reminded me of a scene from Harry Potter where with a wave of a wand and uttering of magic words, a person was put in a temporary paralyzed state.
I had Eggshell Days when I felt so fragile I thought I could easily crack. An illustration of Humpty-Dumpty from a childhood nursery-rhyme book comforted me.
There were Mule Kicking Days when my insides felt as if they had undergone a losing bout with a kicking mule.
I had days when I was first infused with chemicals in which I felt as if my body had been zapped and I tingled. Krytonite Day from a Superman comic?
I experienced Cardboard Mouth Days when it felt as if a layer of cardboard coated the roof of my mouth and permeated all I tasted.
Fortunately there were Rainbow Days when unexpected respite came and I had the visceral feeling of a deep surge in my body toward wellness.
My students added other names. There were Bad Hair Days and Smell of Doom Days. There were Call the Plumber Days and Rag-Doll Weakness Days.
Our culture values mastery and control. The pain with cancer is something you can't always control but you CAN claim the power of naming. It may not be the real world for others but may be a saving grace for you.
Now is the time to remember we serve a compassionate yet joyful God. Create a playful world through your journal, affirming that despite suffering, loss and disappointment, a full life can lived.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Chapter 4: Scribbling and coloring mandalas
As you continue writing in your journal you discover how difficult it is to find words to describe some of your feelings--some of your thoughts--some of your emotions. What words describe something as nebulous as pain--as intense as fear?
For relief, try just scribbling. Without a planned design, think about your state of mind regarding pain, or courage, or your life in general at the moment, and just scribble lines. Make them thickk or thin, light or heavy, straight or swirly. Through the connection of your mind, your arm movements, and pencil on paper, let go the tensions you may feel in a certain area of your life..release built-up frustrations..scribble freely. The beauty of scribble is that it transcends artistic ability and you may discover something about yourself and how you are feeling about your life right now.
Colors are another non-verbal way to get at your feelings. I often use coloring in my classes. The first time I gave a box of fresh crayons to my students I was afraid they would think it was too childish. I was surprisingly pleased at the enthusiasm and enjoyment of my students in this activity. The number of adult coloring books for sale testifies to the fact that coloring isn't just for children. Coloring can smooth out the ripples in your ups and downs with cancer.
I find mandalas are particularly good for getting in touch with depth feelings and there are a number of good mandala coloring books on the market.
Mandala (a Sanskrit word meaning "healing circle") is an art form going back 2,500 years. Though originally practiced by Buddhist monks in Tibet, it is found in almost all cultures. Some date it back to cave drawings and rock inscriptions created by our primitive ancestors. These circular mandalas are created to bring balance, harmony and healing into your life. Letting the conscious mind go, we sink into coloring our mandala without tryng to analyze it. We use it to understand something about ourselves during our cancer experience.
My book, Fear Not! Learning from your Cancer, gives instructions on how to create your own mandala for coloring.
Sometimes sculpture, painting or a craft will open a truth to you. It may speak with power to you personally.
The experience of cancer and our feelings about it can never be fully explained logically. Use all the methods that work for you as we seek to LEARN from our experience with cancer.
For relief, try just scribbling. Without a planned design, think about your state of mind regarding pain, or courage, or your life in general at the moment, and just scribble lines. Make them thickk or thin, light or heavy, straight or swirly. Through the connection of your mind, your arm movements, and pencil on paper, let go the tensions you may feel in a certain area of your life..release built-up frustrations..scribble freely. The beauty of scribble is that it transcends artistic ability and you may discover something about yourself and how you are feeling about your life right now.
Colors are another non-verbal way to get at your feelings. I often use coloring in my classes. The first time I gave a box of fresh crayons to my students I was afraid they would think it was too childish. I was surprisingly pleased at the enthusiasm and enjoyment of my students in this activity. The number of adult coloring books for sale testifies to the fact that coloring isn't just for children. Coloring can smooth out the ripples in your ups and downs with cancer.
I find mandalas are particularly good for getting in touch with depth feelings and there are a number of good mandala coloring books on the market.
Mandala (a Sanskrit word meaning "healing circle") is an art form going back 2,500 years. Though originally practiced by Buddhist monks in Tibet, it is found in almost all cultures. Some date it back to cave drawings and rock inscriptions created by our primitive ancestors. These circular mandalas are created to bring balance, harmony and healing into your life. Letting the conscious mind go, we sink into coloring our mandala without tryng to analyze it. We use it to understand something about ourselves during our cancer experience.
My book, Fear Not! Learning from your Cancer, gives instructions on how to create your own mandala for coloring.
Sometimes sculpture, painting or a craft will open a truth to you. It may speak with power to you personally.
The experience of cancer and our feelings about it can never be fully explained logically. Use all the methods that work for you as we seek to LEARN from our experience with cancer.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Chapter 4: Patience
Patience is a lesson cancer teaches us. There is so much waiting involved--waiting to see the doctor--waiting for test results--waiting for medicine to work--waiting to feel better and on and on. You may have come to your cancer from a world of whirlwind schedules and fix-it-now agendas. Suddenly everything slows down. You feel out of the mainstream of life as the world continues at its frantic pace--without you. How do you fill the dead spaces and numbness that comes from long hours of waiting-- all those moments unexpectedly wasted as you wait?
It is obvious that waiting is easier for some than others. Many find their waiting periods to be characterized by nervous anticipation and tension. But waiting can become times of observation and reflection. One assignment I give my students is to take your journal to your next doctor's appointment and write down what you see as you wait. One of my students wrote:
"I'm in the waiting room at radiation/oncology. It won't be my turn for a while so instead of reading, I decide to sit and really look at the other patients around me. Someone is working on a puzzle that is on the table to help pass time. I think this is how she controls her thoughts. She is intent on the pieces she picks up. Maybe she is trying to put the pieces of her life back together. Another person shifts restlessly in her chair watching the door to the treatment area. I think she is anxious to finish her allotted number of treatments and get on with her life. And another person just sits and stares into the space in front of her with a disbelieving gaze, probably at her diagnosis of cancer and her future. Then I realize that all of these people are actually me and that their thoughts, actions and feelings are mine." by Fay Austin
Looking outside yourself is one way to cope with waiting. Another is to turn inward to a time of reflection. Here is a statement to ponder in your journal:
If you are used to your needs being gratified immediately, waiting can be a lesson cancer teaches us and a reminder of how God is so patient with us.
Does this tell us something about ourselves? Cancer offers us endless opportunities to learn about ourselves as we seek to master the art of waiting.
It is obvious that waiting is easier for some than others. Many find their waiting periods to be characterized by nervous anticipation and tension. But waiting can become times of observation and reflection. One assignment I give my students is to take your journal to your next doctor's appointment and write down what you see as you wait. One of my students wrote:
"I'm in the waiting room at radiation/oncology. It won't be my turn for a while so instead of reading, I decide to sit and really look at the other patients around me. Someone is working on a puzzle that is on the table to help pass time. I think this is how she controls her thoughts. She is intent on the pieces she picks up. Maybe she is trying to put the pieces of her life back together. Another person shifts restlessly in her chair watching the door to the treatment area. I think she is anxious to finish her allotted number of treatments and get on with her life. And another person just sits and stares into the space in front of her with a disbelieving gaze, probably at her diagnosis of cancer and her future. Then I realize that all of these people are actually me and that their thoughts, actions and feelings are mine." by Fay Austin
Looking outside yourself is one way to cope with waiting. Another is to turn inward to a time of reflection. Here is a statement to ponder in your journal:
If you are used to your needs being gratified immediately, waiting can be a lesson cancer teaches us and a reminder of how God is so patient with us.
Does this tell us something about ourselves? Cancer offers us endless opportunities to learn about ourselves as we seek to master the art of waiting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)