This is My Warning

Everybody keeps asking me if I’m writing. You know, I always say I would love to have a few months off work so I could write and get my life together. I want to. I think about it all of the time.  I will capture some snippets of future blogs or quickly jot down interesting thoughts. But, I haven’t been able to complete anything that seems publish worthy. I didn’t know how to write about this. I don’t want to be the cancer blog writer – I was having so much fun being carefree. Plus, there isn’t very much funny about having cancer. Gallows humor doesn’t really count. No. I’m not interested in what’s happening to me, why should anyone else be? I don’t find it particularly interesting, either and if truth be told, I would like to just have it not be happening.  Also, I have the gamut of emotions – everything from RUFKM? I don’t want to die to hey – this is a gift. Not everyone gets a warning. Not everyone gets a reminder. Some just drip dead. That was supposed to say drop dead, but, I like the drip better. Either way, life is fucking short.

As much as I go on and on about how great I am at change – well. Maybe it’s only the good changes. Every day since my first chemo appointment, I run my fingers through my sparse hair. If you haven’t met me, you know that “sparse” is kind of a nice way to say that I have shit for hair. Okay, okay. For 45 years, I have had the SFH. It is fine in texture, doesn’t hold a perm (that was important at one time) and resembles baby hair most. I have a fair amount of it, but by no means has anyone ever taken one look at my head and said, I love you hair. I want your hair. It is stick straight. Was mouse brown, ‘til I highlighted it as I aged, A few years ago my stylist begged me to just quit coloring. It is the beautiful white/silver that is all the rage now. I spent forty-five years trying to make it look like dark, thick curly, rocker bitch hair. It is true. Back when I had goals and a plan, I had hair dreams. Hahahahaha. So funny now. When I finally accepted it for was it was, it was freeing and life changing. I save so much money and you would not believe the compliments. There are even the few who do not believe the color is my own. Even my daughter did not believe me. I had to ask a random hair stylist on the street for concurrence. The funny thing – I spend forty-five years hating my hair, and when I finally love and appreciate it – it is going to fall out. Probably. Every day the last eight days, I run my fingers through it. Instead of feeling like silk, it feels like straw. It doesn’t make me sad anymore – but, I am wondering what the final result will be.  And, I am so looking forward to picking out a sassy pink wig. I miss being pink.

I didn’t want this. At all still don’t. But, it was time. I had been whining about making some changes in my life – better diet, more exercise. To be fair – I was headed in that direction. But, nothing like fucking cancer to really commit to change. I have easily gone vegan. A choice I never thought I would make, but, am so very glad for now. Do you know – I have stopped snoring – even before I lost weight. I sleep better, I breathe better, I feel better. My skin is better, my gut is better. Everything is better. But, I miss shrimp. And, butter.  I really miss butter. I have found a bunch of healthy recipes and restaurants and not only am I improving my health – the kids are eating some meatless and veggie heavy meals. So, that is good.

So, I am making changes, accepting the ones that I cannot control and what else? Well, I cry a lot. A lot for me. I cried a lot when I was married and when Ii was divorcing. Since then, my tears are snow in Arizona. Lately, I cry a few tears almost daily. I am still trying to figure that out. I’m thinking it is my natural go to when I don’t feel well, I cry. And really, the list of complaints is long. Everything aches or hurts or feels different. That face that looked so great makeup free because of the new diet? It looks like the face of a fourteen year old awkward high school student. Some of it is tolerable. Some requires assistance.

This is my warning. My chance. I’m not going to squander it.