Mirror Mirror...

I used to pay a LOT of attention to how I looked before having kids.

I enjoyed taking a good hard look at myself in the mirror before going out.

Hair...check, makeup...check, outfit...check!

Then babies arrived.

There was a little less paying attention to the mirror and a lot more paying attention to the teeny bundles of love in my life.

I still made the effort to look nice but going out with regurgitated breast milk on my shoulder was par for the course. Badge of honour really!

These days, I look in the mirror to draw on my eyebrows and paint what is left of my eyelashes and I'm afraid that its becoming a demoralising exercise.

My vanity has taken a big hit this year and although, in general, I believe that is a good thing, there are times when looking at my reflection causes a sharp intake of breath and I am shocked with what I can see.

Chemo has made my very pale, freckle prone skin incredibly photo-sensitive. Five minutes in the winter sun adds a dozen freckles to my face. I don't mind freckles in general...had plenty of them as a kid and each summer as an adult the smattering of freckles across my nose become more prominent. But when I look at my skin now, I see the damage that chemo has done. Freckles aren't cute anymore...they're a sign that my fragile, vunerable skin is in distress.

The wispy hair that covers my head should excite me because HEY, I'VE GOT HAIR AGAIN!!! But surprisingly, I burst into tears when I first noticed it a couple of weeks ago. Such an odd reaction. I can't even explain why, it just brought a huge wave of sadness. I don't know, maybe I spent too long telling myself that going bald was trivial and it didn't matter, when it really did.

I suppose I feel like the inner me is so far removed from the outer shell of me. I'm only 36 but the woman looking back at me from the mirror is 80. I'm past wanting to look gorgeous, I just want to look my age.

Maybe I need another stint in the Oncology ward to get my navel gazing issues sorted out. I should be grateful that chemo and surgery and soon-to-be-radiation is giving me the gift of life. The physical fallout should be superfluous right? Then why does it feel so wrong?

Mirror Mirror on the wall

Who's the biggest hypocrite of them all?

 

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Vanishing Vanity vs Va Voom Victory

You may be mistaken for thinking that this hand belongs to a very elderly lady.

I was, until it occured to me that it was attached to the end of my arm.

What the??? Are you serious??? Eegads!!!

Just a tad unnerving to realise that chemo can age your skin by 50 years in the space of one week. No jolly amount of moisturising improves it so I will just have to hope that once my body has recovered from treatment the skin cells will start to regenerate and plump up a bit. Another hit to my vanity...and again...I tell myself that isn't a bad thing. Losing a breast and all my hair has only managed to downsize it by half, still a ways to go!

My nails have not escaped a chemo beating either. All of my toe and finger nails have been agonisingly sore for the past few days. It's not uncommon for nails to fall out after chemo and that upsets me a hell of a lot more than having wrinkly skin. On a practical level its already making basic everyday tasks difficult, let alone running a household and caring for two kidlets when they do come out. But mostly it concerns me because it will expose me to infection and in turn Lymphodema which is a BIG NO NO!!!

No nasty painful sausage arms here thank you very much!!!

So...my request to the Nail Fairy...please, PLEASE you clever little sprite, do your magic and spare my nails?

Ever so grateful.

 

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Feeling Female

I went out to dinner with my husband tonight, first time in...oh gosh, I can't even recall...I think last September maybe? Talk about well overdue! Our wonderful neighbours came over to babysit, pushed us out the door and told us not to come back until we'd had a good time. We are so freaking lucky to have them living next door! And so we did have a good time, just the two of us talking about life, the universe and everything over a glass of white and a bloody fantastic pub meal at the local hotel.

It felt nice to put on a dress and a pair of heels. I can't confess to feeling glam or the least bit sexy but it did feel good to be out of pyjamas.

For the past four weeks I've felt like pieces of my femininity have been stripped away from me. Losing my breast was hard but it was having all my hair cut off that affected me far more than I thought it would. I know that seems utterly ridiculous because there are a gazillion completely gorgeous women out there sporting short hairstyles. Maybe it's because the choice to have my hair cropped wasn't really mine. Chemo is on the horizon and it is threatening my vanity big time. I don't love how I look. My hair used to be one of the features I'd always felt good about. Now, it's just a constant reminder of what is happening to me.

My husband on the other hand is taking everything in his stride. He told me tonight that he's never felt closer. And I not only believe him, I completely agree with him. How I feel about my appearance is something I will have to work on. He still loves me, in fact he's never loved me more than he does now and that makes me determined to get over my vanity and try to embrace this ever evolving version of me. I have to, because if I can't handle a pixie cut then going bald is going to be a real bitch!

I suppose its just part of the process. Some things are easier to adjust to than others.

 

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