owning our story

I feel I'm being tested on "loving myself through the process."  Quite honestly?  I'd like to turn and run.  Yeah, so much for bravery.  But do I really have a choice?  So this is a bit of my week last week, of learning how to "own my story."

I was groggy from all the pre-meds for chemo, when Amy arrived at my front door the other day.  I had just finished round 2 of chemo, and was chilled.  So I had plunked my foggy self down in the front yard, soaking in the sun.  And look what she brought?  A pillow, her mother Mary made, from one of my t-shirts!  See the "Team Vicky," on the boxing gloves?  My heart swells, every time I look at it.  Plus the cute bag?  I can use it for chemo.  Thank you, Mary!  Thank you, Amy!  Love, love, love! 

But there were more surprises too.  I've put some in my special "pink" corner of my room already, but here are a few more.  Thankful to Jenni who brought me some of her sweet mom's things, and treats and snacks for the kids, too.  I'm honored she would share her mother's hairpiece with me, and will see if I can alter it to have it fit.  (I seem to have a big head- literally.) And the beautiful pashmina, with Hockey Fights Cancer, on it.  The shawl is soft, warm and fits so nicely over my shoulders- thank you Bridget for always thinking of me! 

I wasn't up to attending the Blue Angels air show this past weekend.  So we drove to a parking ramp and went to the top level.  Rick got to shoot pictures, and I got to sit in the air conditioned car at the same time.

Even the Blue Angels were speaking my language.

And so it began...  the morning I got up and washed my hair in the sink... and tried to comb it.

But chunk after hunk after gob of hair came out in my comb.  It blanketed the back of my shirt, the floor of the bathroom, my pillow, and everywhere I went.  

Tears streamed, and vulnerability grew.  I was a wreck!  This second time of hair loss, was no easier than the first.  

And my stylist?  Was swamped this day.  

So I reached out to my friend Cindy, who graciously agreed to shave my head. 

So Anne, (on the far left), took me to Cindy, (in the middle).

And my sweet friends, helped me cope with an emotionally filled day, with all kinds of treats and compassion.  It was not only my first time of shaving my hair all the way down, it was Cindy's first time doing it for a friend, as well. Together, was the best way through it.

The floor all around the chair, covered with the last remnants of my hair.

Which means...

Stella is back! She is more red than I recall.  But still sassy.  And hides that vulnerability a bit, so I don't have to stare it in the face all the time.  

Even Dr. Panwalkar didn't notice for awhile.  But then when we were sitting, face to face, he peered down, and looked straight into my face and said, "That's not your hair!  But it looks great!"  

His compassion oozes through his words, and I felt seen.  He sees me.  

So I'm adjusting.  Trying to own my story, while being sensitive to those around me.

The boys, who don't like my "bare" head just yet,  and avert their gaze if I forget to cover up.  Or the poor person, who comes knocking on the door and I rush, then pause, my hand running across the bristly roundness of my head.  Did they see?  Do they know?  

Does it matter?  

It's just part of my story... and I'm learning how to love all the way through it.